Page 84 of The Lookback

“You’ll have to tell me the best thing on the menu,” he says as we walk inside. “Although to be honest, I’m unlikely to be very picky right now.”

“Still hate mustard?” I arch one eyebrow. “Or have you finally seen the light?”

He shudders. “You’re still delusional, I see.”

“Miss Saddler,” Jasper says. “You want the corner like always?”

I’ve been doing a few too many meetings in here lately, but their coffee’s the only local brew I like. “Sure.”

The second Jasper’s gone, Tommy tilts his head. “Miss Saddler, huh? You weren’t kidding before.”

“Kidding?” I frown. “About what?”

“You never changed your name to Brooks.” Tommy’s rubbing his hand along his jaw, the tiny hairs on his chin rasping as he does.

My blood runs cold, realizing how close I am to being outed by a random waiter in a grill. All it would take is one question by Tommy in front of Jasper about why I didn’t take my husband’s name. Everyone in this town has been gossiping about me for years. They all know I’ve never been married. If Tommy had kept up with even a single person from here, he’d already know too.

Jasper has returned, blessedly handing me a cup of coffee without my asking. “And what can I bring for you to drink, sir?”

“I’ll have a water, please. Because coffee at lunch?” Tommy’s frowning. “I can’t imagine that’s very healthy.”

“I’m not really supposed to give it to her,” Jasper says with a wink. “But since she didn’t have any for breakfast. . .” He shrugs. “Her doctor said one cup a day, and she usually sticks to it.”

“Your doctor?” Tommy looks alarmed now, his hand crushing a napkin into a wad. “What kind of doctor?”

“Her cardiologist, I think,” Jasper says.

“I forgot how you hate tips,” I mutter.

Jasper pretends to zip his mouth closed and walks off.

But it’s too late. I can already tell that Tommy’s not going to let this go. “I had one small cardiac event, and it was resolved. I had not one, but two procedures to deal with the problem, and they’re monitoring it now. Everything has been cleared out, and I’m fine.” I pat my chest. “Fit as a fiddle.”

“Pardon my doubts, but I’ve seen plenty of fiddles that didn’t look fit at all,” Tommy says.

Before I can argue, he’s reaches over and snatches my coffee mug right out of my hands. “Let’s switch drinks. My doctor’s a quack who keeps going on and on about fish oil, but so far I’ve had not a single problem with my ticker. So I’m going to step in here and help you out.”

He’s not prepared for me to yank the mug back, so I manage to take it back as simply as he stole it in the first place. “Don’t get between me and my caffeine,” I say. “Not if you value your fish-oiled life.”

He laughs. “I didn’t say I actually take any of it.”

“That’s a relief. It’s a gateway drug. Before too long, they’ll have you taking collagen, and then multi-vitamins. It’s all downhill from there.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but I can tell he still gets my sense of humor. Just like when I went out to stay with him, we slide back into the same easy, comfortable relationship we had back in high school.

It’s funny how everything can change in sixty years. . .except the things that really matter. Those don’t even shift. After we eat, he wants to go for a walk. “You didn’t get enough walking around this morning?”

He shrugs. “I did a lot of reminiscing, and I guess I want to reminisce with you a little.”

“That sounds a little cryptic to me,” I say, but when he stands, I do too. Instead of forcing him toward his rental car, I amble along beside him.

Main Streethaschanged a lot in the intervening years. I wonder how it would feel for me, if I left and only now returned. It’s not so much that it’s bigger, but it’s definitely more modern. We still had tie posts for horses back in the sixties, for heaven’s sake. They were mostly a relic of an earlier time, but they were still there. Now the streets are littered with cars. Shiny ones, bikes, scooters, and even the occasional motorcycle. The antique tie posts have been replaced with chrome bike racks.

“The school looks the same,” he says. “And the general store hasn’t changed much. Neither has the diner.”

“The best things haven’t changed,” I joke.

“But you have changed in some ways,” he says. “I think those women and their kids have softened you.”

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