Page 17 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Would you like me to head on out there and call that boy back? I’m sure he’d love to say hello after all this time.”

“Absolutely not.” I grab her wrist before she thinks to open the door. But I’m careful not to yank her around. Doctor-Patient confidentiality aside, it doesn’t take a medical degree to know the woman is unwell.

“What’s wrong?” She’s devious and mean. Like a bully on the playground, aware my nerves sizzle and anxiety sprouts in my stomach, but instead of protecting me from my troubles, she’d rather treat me like an ant stuck beneath a magnifying glass in the summer heat, laughing while I suffer. “Tommy Watkins and his brother grew to be decent young men, Alana. Your judgment is showing.”

“Myjudgment?” I jam the heels of my palms against my eyes. “How am I judging him? Not wanting a reunion in the middle of Main Street is not judgment. And, wait—” I drop my hands, blinking my eyes clear. “His brother?”

“Hmm?”

“Chris?” Soft contentment spreads through my belly, pushing aside the determined splinters of anxiety. “He’s doing okay?”

“He sure is. Still pretty quiet, if you ask me. Tommy’s the spokesperson for the two of ‘em, but Chris always has a polite hello and holds doors for anyone coming by.” Now that Tommy is gone and her metaphorical magnifying glass is rendered useless, she turns on her heels and ambles back to the couch. “They come out to the house a few times a week to help with whatever I need.”

“T-to the house?” Panic surges once more. “Your house?”

“Not this week, though. I told them I had a guest and that I wanted them to stay away. Give you time to settle in.”

“You told them I was coming to town?” Oh God. Save me. “You told Tommy Watkins I would be in Plainview and staying at the house?”

“No. I told him I had guests and to stay away for a few days to give you a chance to settle in.” She meets my eyes. A smug, taunting glitter nestled in the depths of her stare. “Like I said. He didn’t ask who my guests were, I didn’t say, and though most would be curious enough to sneak a look out at the house, Tommy’s been kind enough to honor my request.”

“So they just…”Breathe, Alana, you vapid idiot.“They stayed in Plainview all this time? They never left?”

“Not sure they’ve been anywhere but here for more than a weekend inall their lives. Except when they have their fights,” she amends. “They head off to wherever they gotta go for those. But that’s work, so I figure it hardly counts.” She grabs a different book—Martha Stewart this time—licks her finger, and leafs through the pages.

Which means it’s her book now, and I’ll have to leave money in the till.

“You don’t watch them on the television?” she asks, faking nonchalance. “It’s broadcast all over the world.”

“No, I…” I swipe a hand across my cheek. Though God knows why. It’s not like I’m crying. “I don’t really watch TV.”

“Not even for the fights?” she presses. “Everyone in Plainview stops to watch when he’s on. It’s not often one of our own achieves that kind of fame, so when it happens, we pay attention.” She looks up from her book and shows me herI’m disappointedlook, a furrowed brow and pursed lips. “You were his girlfriend for alongtime, Alana. You honestly expect me to believe you’ve never once watched, if only to tell your New York friends you used to know him?”

No, Mother. Because unlike you and Bossy Barbara, some of us are normal, non-coattail-riding jackasses.

“I guess I figured he’d move out to Vegas or something. Get away from here and join one of those famous gyms. He has the talent, and since Chris could go with him, there’s no real reason to stay here.”

“Not everyone abandons their roots,” she sneers. “Those boys had it a million times worse than you ever did, but when push came to shove and family loyalties were on the line, you skipped town before the ink on your high school diploma was dry. Tommy and Chris knew their mother needed them.”

“Their mother?”Pamela Watkins is nothing but a neglectful, drug-addled, child-abusing whore. Screw that bitch and anything she wanted.“Why would she need them? What happened?”

“Grady left about the same time you did. He hasn’t been back in all this time, and Pamela was lonely, so her boys knew to stick close.”

“They see her often?”

“No.” Another page. “And she took off a few years later. Still, they did the right thing by her. A woman’s child running to the other side of the country is cruel. Probably half the reason I’m sick.”

Yeah, that’s on me, you wretched bitch. Of course it is.

But I focus on the Watkins family. On Pamela and Grady, and though my heart thunders, Tommy and Chris, too.

“Is Grady still alive?” I swallow the dry ache in the base of my throat,pressing my palm to my stomach when nerves make me a little nauseous. “Do they hear from him at all?”

“Don’t know. I don’t ask. Franklin?” She shouts, startling me until I stumble and the bell on the door noisily jingles above my head. “Grandma Bitsy’s ready to go home, and your mom turned the shop sign to closed. So I reckon she’s ready, too.”

“Don’t shout at him.” Crabby, I draw a long, lung-filling breath and exhale again until it feels like I might topple to the side and die. But then I push away from the door and stride through the stacks until I find my son buried deep in his story. “Honey?” I lower into a crouch and wait as he slowly emerges from his fictional world.

He blinks, reorienting himself. Then his eyes meet mine, and his lips curl into a sweet smile.

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