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Instead of loosening, the knot that started in my gut following Tripp’s surprise visit yesterday tightens. All I can do is pray word on the street is wrong.
Hollie doesn’t deserve more trouble than she’s got.
And if wordisright, I may open up my own can of whoop-you-know-what on that son of hers.
Hollie
Despite yesterday morning’s drama, my day with John was a reprieve, leading me to expect a good night’s sleep. Jacob’s meltdown, however, threw a wrench into those dreams, and sleep was an uncooperative, we-do-it-my-way toddler.
“You look dead on your feet, girl.” Marlene, insightful as ever, eyes me as she fills a glass of orange juice and I replace the filter in the giant coffee maker.
“What else is new?”
She snickers. “If I didn’t know you like I do, I’d tell you you needed a date.” Her over-tweezed and penciled-on eyebrows dance with suggestion.
I’m too exhausted even to roll my eyes. While I despise these kinds of conversations, Marlene loves them. I can assure her, however, that a man is not the answer to my problems. In fact, men are basically the reason for all my—
Oh, no.
Have I becomethatwoman? I don’t hate men. I don’t, I just—
I’m too sleep deprived to think about this now.
“My vote is for the hot agent.” She wiggles her shoulders. “He’s adorable, girlfriend.”
Yes. “He’s a grump.”
My conscience contracts. John was…different…yesterday. He was good to me, and on a day where it meant so much.
“That doesn’t mean you two couldn’t have some fun together. Know what I’m talking about?”
I ratchet up a glare that halts her. How many times must we have this conversation?
Shrugging me off, she rolls her eyes. “I don’t get you, girl.”
Because some things are private. Lots of things, in my case.
The cacophony of a diner during breakfast rush makes deeper conversation impossible. The morning drags, and work at the dental office feels practically at a standstill. At five o’clock, Dr. Mead is running behind, shorthanded again, so I linger. The day has already faded to dusk by the time I turn up the driveway at home. John’s reprimand about walking alone has rattled through my head the entire trip.
What John doesn’t need to know is that I probably hate walking alone at least as much as Jacob despises me driving him.
I’m surprised to find my car in the driveway, and even more so when I see Jacob…cleaning the windshield? This child of mine is not known for such things. His room could be declared a federal disaster area.
“Hey.”
He jumps when he sees me and starts rubbing a faster.
As I advance, I make out remnants of black shoe polish. “Who did that?”
He shrugs, rubbing the front glass furiously.
During football season, the kids like to deck their cars out with peppy slogans. Yet, my son’s demeanor is tense and turns almost frantic. “Jacob?”
“Just some of the guys, I guess.”
The way he saysI guesstips me off. I move closer. “What did it say?”
Rub, rub, rub.“I don’t know, Mom. Stupid stuff.”
