Page 16 of Tell Me You Love Me

Distracted or not, Bitsy Page is no fool. “I don’t know about that fancy city you come from, but out here in Plainview, a woman’s medical information is protected by law. That’s a conversation for her and her doctor.”

I roll my eyes and turn to follow my son. “I was just making conversation. Is that all you two did?”

“Pretty much.” She flips through the pages in front of her. “Did you hear that Gus Darling recently got back from the city, too? He was visiting his daughter for a bit.”

I reach the end of one aisle and move to the next, where Franky selects a book and sits on the floor to read it. “Mr. Darling went to New York?”

“No. Copeland City. It’s been a minute since that girl had come back, and he was done letting her brush him off, so he hopped on a plane and went out there to see her. He only just got back a few days ago.”

“Cool.” Small-town living, where the old folks’ favorite hobby isgossiping about all the things their kids do that annoy them. “How is she doing?Whatdoes she do?”

“For work?” She makes a non-committal sound in the back of her throat. “Gus says she’s a doctor of some sort. But if you ask me, I reckon he’s lying. Because any time Barbara—you remember Barbara, right? From bingo?”

Good lord.“Yes, Mom. I remember Barbara.”

“Well, her son is anactualdoctor. A surgeon. So when she tries to talk to Gus about it and presses for information, he doesn’t really have a lot to say. And he’snevermentioned hospitals or surgeries or anything like that. So we think he’s lyin’, so he can compete with Barbara’s son.”

“The fact they’re competing boggles my mind.” I stand over Franky while he reads each line, each page, with efficiency. He dives gleefully into a fictional world instead of listening to Plainview drama. A skill I developed long ago, too. He sits directly below an overhanging stack of books, a mistake that promises a headache, so I grab them and set them aside before they fall and ruin his day. “So what if she’s a doctor—or not—and so what if Barbara’s son is a surgeon? I bet they’re not competing with each other. I doubt they even think of the other. They moved away, Mom. There’s a reason they chose careers outside of Plainview.”

“Oliver stayed.” She sets her book down with a clatter, then stands with a noisy huff of exhaustion. “He was content to come back here after college and open his own practice.”

“Good for him.” I bend and brush my fingers over Franky’s scuffed knees, winking when he peels his eyes from the book. Then I straighten again and head back the way I came, if only to stop my mother from interrupting the solitude he craves. “And sinceyoubrought it up,” I stop five feet from the end of the aisle and wait for her eyes, “did the doctor say anything I should know?”

She opens her mouth to argue.

“Set aside your need for privacy. You called me. You asked me to come home. You said you were unwell and needed a little extra help around the house. So how about you stop with the vague BS and just tell me straight? What’s wrong with you, and is it being managed?”

“I don’t need to tell you my private business. I only need to inform you of the animals’ eating routine. You’re here to take care of them, not me.”

“Mom!”

“You sound like Gus’s daughter. Pretending to be a doctor when you’renot. I’m fine, Alana. Focus on feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs before they eat them.”

Frustration and anger wash through my veins, a wave of emotion that sears my fraying mood and almost beats out my hard-earned ability to ignore this woman’s annoying barbs.

Moving away for so long left me a little out of practice.

I paste on a smile we both know is fake, and in my mind, at least, I congratulate the doctor, who is most certainly a doctor, despite Barbara’s competitive streak and tendency to pry.

“You haven’t stopped doingthat, I see.” Mom gestures with an up-down flick of her wrist. “I know when you’re having a whole conversation in your head, Alana. It sent me crazy when you were a teen. I doubt it’ll be any less irritating now that you’re an adult.”

“It’s how I filter through my thoughts and keep the especially unkind few to myself.” I show her a real, sarcastic smirk before I stride past her frail frame and wander to the shop door. I haven’t had a single customer since I got here, which kind of makes the sign redundant, but I flip it from OPEN to CLOSED anyway, only to catch a hulking shadow eating up the sidewalk in my peripherals.

A muscular chest wrapped in a tank that shows off thick arms and tattoos thatalmosttempt me to stop and stare. But in just a single beat of my heart, my eyes catalog everything my mind is not quite ready to. Short, dark hair and piercing green eyes. Thick thighs, though they’re partially hidden beneath baggy basketball shorts.

Worst of all, I know there are two of them in this town, identical in every way except their personalities. And because this one walks with a grin, I spin and slam my back to the door, my heart thundering out of control and my stomach readying to hurl all over poor Mrs. Middler’s merchandise.

“Problem?” My mother sashays across the shop and stops on my right to peek through the glass.

Then her eyes flicker with smug satisfaction.

Tommy friggin’ Watkins.

No model wife in sight and no beautiful children in tow.

“Hmmm.” She makes that sound I know too well. A subtle click in the back of her throat and an annoying flick of her tongue. It’s the sound of my youth, right before she was about to destroy my self-esteem and ground me into the dirt for daring to hope for a decent day. “Thomas Watkins. Is there a reason you’re making a scene right now, Alana Bette?”

“I’m not making a scene!” And yet, I whisper-shout my words. “No one except you can even see me.”

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