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“You’re drinking with me, right?”
Lord knows I want to. And chances are I’m not pregnant. I open the top cabinet and take out a wine glass, then fill it with the Chardonnay, sniffing it to see if it’s still good. The aroma is a little strong, so I swirl it and focus my gaze on Noah.
“So, tell me about it.”
“Nothing to really tell. Just another day raining bullshit.” He chugs hard on his beer, and when he sets it down, the neck of the bottle fills with foam. “Where were you this weekend?”
Huh. So, Ian didn’t call him.
“Houston. Did you come looking for me?”
He shrugs. “Oliver’s out of town.”
“Well, I wouldn’t’ve been much good as a wingman.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“From what I’m hearing, you like them young these days.”
He grins and shakes his head, takes another long swallow, slams the beer down, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t believe everything you hear. You know how this town rolls.”
He’s right. I do. I take a dainty sip of the wine in my glass. It tastes fine, so I take another sip. “You know much about this girl Oliver’s seeing?”
Noah’s lower lip bulges out, and he looks thoughtful. “No. Neither does Liam. But he’ll tell us if he wants us to know.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“What’s this with Houston?”
I proceed to tell Noah all about my singing gig. He doesn’t question it at all. Even tells me I can sing at one of his restaurants if I want. In the summer, he has live music at Sweet Magnolia, one of his Austin restaurants.
Noah’s been a good friend for decades, and as he presses me about playing at his place, the truth tempts me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to spill, to tell him what’s going on. But the words get stuck. After all, the truth is a mouthful.
“Let’s go sit outside,” I say.
A swarm of lightning bugs beneath the old maple by the back pasture fence dots the darkness with intermittent golden bursts. The crickets and frogs kick in with a low hum that’s synonymous with summer nights. A plane soars above us, the bright lights growing steadily closer as it descends for the approach to the regional airport. Some people like breathtaking views in their back yards, but me, I like this. Peace.
We sit outside talking about nothing and letting the evening slip by.
“Welp, girl, I better let you get to it. You got work in the morning, right?”
“I do.” I look down at the two empty beer bottles beside Noah’s chair. “You good to drive?”
“Yeah, but I’ll probably just crash at the Dukes’. I need to put some food out for the barn cats.”
“I’m sure Frank did that.”
“Oliver says he’s apt to forget. You good?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“I’m not asking whether that miniscule glass of wine is going to prohibit you from making it safely back to bed. You seem distant. Quiet. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I give him a bright smile. “Just tired.”
He accepts my statement, and I watch from the stoop until Noah’s red lights disappear behind the tree line that separates our property from the packed dirt road that goes to the Dukes’. Nothing’s wrong, but I was a little out of line tonight, or, at the very least, reactive. That’s what my dad used to say when I’d get out of sorts. Sometimes, if Dad was in a strong place and felt like he could talk about her, he’d say I reminded him of Mom.
Ian Duke’s name sits near the top of my favorites in my address book, and I stare at it and the time. It’s too late to call him. He’s an early to bed, early to rise kind of guy. I shoot off a text without wasting any time debating it.
