Page 2 of Pity Play

“They’re not telling him?”

“Mrs. Phillips doesn’t want Mr. P to know yet. She wants him to think Luke is just coming to see him.”

“I’m confused,” I tell my brother. “Hasn’t Mr. P always wanted Luke to cook at Pop’s?”

“Mrs. P doesn’t want Mr. P to think Luke’s doing it out ofobligation. She doesn’t want Mr. P to be more stressed out than he currently is.”

“But he’s sure to find out. I mean, Elk Lake is a small town. People talk.” I cite the time I accidentally ran into the McNallys’ mailbox with my old Volvo. I was sixteen; it was dark, and I didn’t think anyone saw me. Yet when I got home, the first words out of my mom’s mouth were, “You owe the McNallys an apology and you’re paying for a new mailbox out of your own money.” Turns out Mrs. Franken, the McNallys’ neighbor, saw me. She called her daughter, who called her cleaning lady, who rang my mother. There’s no way Luke is going to be able to keep what he’s doing a secret.

“I’m sure he’ll find out,” Noah concurs. “Just make sureyoudon’t spread the word.”

“Why would I tell anyone?” Although I could whisper it to a dog sitting on the street corner, and word would likely spread.

“Lorelai …” I can practically hear my brother’s eyes rolling all the way from Chicago. “You were madly in love with Luke from the first moment you saw him and you were only five years old. I’m pretty sure you maintained your unbridled devotion until he left town.”

While this is true, I have no idea what it has to do with anything. Also, it makes me feel pathetic. “That was a long time ago, Noah. I’ve gotten on with my life,” I say as I shamelessly plot how many times a day I can eat at Pop’s without people wondering what I’m up to.

“Says the girl who’s still living in her parents’ house and is working in a hotel gift shop.”

Ouch.“I take care of Mom and Dad’s house for them while they’re in Florida. I’m performing a service.” I know I sound defensive but that’s because I am. Before my brother can respond, I ask, “What’s wrong with my working in a hotel gift shop? The Elk Lake Lodge has become a big deal, you know.Travel Wisconsinmagazine just ran a huge feature on us.”Plus, it’s not all that I do. I knit blanketsfor the neonatal ward at the hospital; I walk dogs at the Humane Society; and I pitch in with Meals on Wheels for the old folks when one of their drivers is down. Yet I don’t think Mr. Judgypants would consider any of those things to be valuable contributions.

“There’s nothingwrongwith it,” Noah says. It’s clear he wants to say more but he seems uncertain if he should.

“But …” I prod him.

“I can’t help but think you’re settling.”

My hair trigger reaction is to hang up on him. Instead, I demand, “What about my life seems like I’m settling?”

He doesn’t answer right away, so I can only assume he’s compiling a laundry list of reasons. When he finally speaks, he says, “I just can’t see you being content working in a gift shop. You used to always talk about opening a bed and breakfast. You wanted to be a businesswoman.”

“I’m twenty-eight, Noah. I can still own a B & B someday if I want to.”

“Of course you can. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

No, he shouldn’t have, but I don’t tell him that. I know my brother is only looking out for me, so I remind him, “Michael and I broke up three years ago. The dreams I had then aren’t necessarily the same ones I still have.”

“Why, because Michael didn’t want you to have them? I don’t want to see him take anything more from you.”

“He’s not taking anything from me. It’s beenthree years. I’m totally over him.”

“Ifyou’re over him, why do you still live in Elk Lake? We all thought you’d move back to Madison.”

“I didn’t move back because Mom and Dad decided to spend half the year in Florida, and they asked me to mind their home while they were gone.” For a hot second, I wonder if Noah’s right, and I’ve given up on my life. But then I remind myself that I’m very happy. In addition, I’m busy contributing to my community. So, I tell him, “My life is very fulfilling.”

“Good,” he says. “But I’d still like to give you the opportunity to see if you’d like to run a B & B.”

“It sounds like you’re coming home and you’re trying to get me to cook for you.”

“Not me,” he says. And that’s when the purpose of this call hits me. He may not be coming home, but Luke Phillips is.

“You want Luke to stay at our house?” The thought of the two of us under the same roof causes my scalp to tingle with anticipation. My hands practically itch at the thought of touching that thick, gorgeous dark brown hair of his. Who am I kidding? The junior high school girl inside me is doing back flips at the very thought. I spent my entire eighth-grade year looking through my brother’s bedroom keyhole trying to catch a glimpse of “Luscious Luke” Phillips.

Noah casts a line that drags me back to the present. “It would really help him out.”

“Well, I mean …” I don’t want to sound too eager, so I force a deep breath before saying, “I guess he can stay here.”

“Good.” Noah pauses a moment before yelling, “Everyone in the shower and make sure you use soap! This gym smells like a barnyard!”

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