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“I know, I scared you.” He’s already said this many times. “Thanks for stopping by to check on me.”
“Any time. You know, Mary and I are always here.” I nod. “Patty said you were with Ian.”
My muscles tense and lungs contract, and on reflex, I smile.
“How’s he doing? I see Ollie all the time, never see Ian or Little Sam.”
“Ian’s doing good.”
“That’s good. Good to hear. Sounds like they all still look out for you. That’s good, too.”
With a smile plastered on, I give Frank a goodbye hug. From the front stoop, I watch as Frank climbs onto the tractor he rode over here. Apparently, he’d been nearby when he got the call from Patty.
Frank and Mary Barnes are close in age to Sam and Patty Duke. Frank had been friends with my dad, and they’ve been good to me over the years. Their kids are grown. One son lives in Arizona, and their daughter moved to Tennessee. There’s no telling how this story will get spun, but on the bright side, it’s unlikely it’ll reach my group of friends.
I glance over to the empty pasture and imagine Polly’s head hanging over the fence. She’s not there, of course, but an emptiness strikes hard. My eyes mist, and I ache to bury my face in her musty neck and for her nuzzle to tickle my palm.
Oh, man, I need a drink.
But I do not drink alone. That’s a lesson dear old Dad taught remarkably well. On a normal day, I’d meander up to the Dukes’ house and find Oliver. But, since he’s apparently out of town, I scroll through my favorites and press Noah’s name.
“Look who it is. I was on my way to your place.”
I hold my breath. If he says Ian called him, so help me… The purring of an engine and the low, distinct sound of wheels on gravel breaks through the tree hedge.
“Are you here now?”
“Sure am.”
The hood of Noah’s rusted green Bronco comes into view, and I end the call and slip the phone into my back pocket. I stand on the stoop, hands on my hips, and wait for him to climb out of his busted-up vehicle.
“How’re you doing?” Noah’s in jeans and the black boots he wears in the kitchen. He got into the restaurant business out of his love for cooking, but he’s rarely a chef these days. His thick, light brown hair is pulled back into a low man bun, and his white t-shirt has stains all across it.
“Were you the chef today?”
“Helped out with prep. We were short-staffed at Thai Me Up, but it’s all good now.”
“I didn’t think you were open on Mondays?”
“It’s not a vanity business.” Noah gives a teasing wink. “Hell, yeah, we’re open on Monday. Seven days a week. But I swear, people up and quit all the damn time.” His boot lands on the bottom step with a thud. “I need a drink.” He gestures to the door that’s behind me. “You gonna invite me in?”
“You don’t need an invitation. You still staying with Oliver?”
“Nah. Got an apartment down near Main Street. But I have a key to the Dukes’. I can crash there if I need to.”
“That kind of day, huh?” The screen door creaks loudly.
“Where do you keep your WD-40?”
“I think there’s some in my dad’s stuff under the carport, but don’t worry about it. I like to hear when it opens.”
The screen door slams behind him, and Noah follows me through the house. I open the fridge and peer inside.
“I’ve got beer, chardonnay, or there’s vodka in the freezer.”
“I’ll take a beer.”
I take a bottle out, snap off the lid, and hand it to him.
