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“That’s a no,” she confirms, shutting the lid and heading for the door.
Tommy’s parents are walking down the sidewalk as we emerge from Adler’s. In Oak Grove, it would be impossible to visit downtown and not run into someone you know.
“Kyle!” Mrs. Sullivan gives me a hug, and Mr. Sullivan slaps me on the back. “So good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” I reply.
“I’m so glad you’re getting a break. I was seeing articles about your last tour nonstop,” Tommy’s mother tells me.
I nod and say, “Me too.”
“How long will you be back for?”
I’m careful not to look at Piper as I shrug. “Not sure yet.”
This is how ninety-nine percent of my conversations here go, it seems like. Everyone sees me as transitory, here for only a moment before I’m gone again.
I wonder what they’ll all say when I announce I’m back for good.
After another minute of small talk, they continue down the sidewalk.
“We can’t wait for Wednesday!” Tommy’s dad calls over one shoulder as an afterthought.
“What’s Wednesday?” Piper asks.
Thanks, Mr. Sullivan.
I glance away from the Sullivans’ retreating backs. “Summer fair opens. I’m performing.”
“You’reperforming?”
“Mm-hmm.” I head for the truck, purposefully ignoring Piper’s incredulous expression as she trails after me.
“And you didn’t think to mention that?” She’s practically jogging to keep up with me.
“What difference does it make?”
“What difference—you’re performing! You said you’redone, but you’re performing!”
I spin around to face her. “Keep your voice down, please.”
She rolls her eyes, but the next words are softer. “You didn’t tell me because you’re reconsidering.”
“No. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’dstill be here. You were right earlier. I underestimated you. I figured you’d run back to your fourth-floor walk-up after one night. I play at the fair every year, Piper. It’s a town fundraiser. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
I toss the plastic bag of my purchases in the back of the truck, the thud as the box of nails hits metal immensely satisfying.
She exhales as we stand, facing each other, both trying to figure out what else to say.
I’m just as annoyed as I was last night, and I can’t really figure out why. She’s like an irritating fly I can’t bring myself to swat away. And that makes no sense. I’m resolute in my decision; I have no interest in returning to music. But it won’t be a cause for celebration when Piper leaves. It’ll be back to a bleak, predictable routine.
She breaks eye contact first, looking away from me and across the street. “What were you planning on having for dinner? We’re out of Mabel’s leftovers.”
I blink, thrown by the sudden subject change. Not to mention the casualwe. “The freezer is full of…”Meat, I realize. “We should get groceries.”
Neither of us discusses what that implies as we cross the street and head toward the supermarket.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a grocery store.
