Page 19 of Hand Picked
Too bad every cell in my body was crying for mercy.
My phone dinged in my pocket several times in quick succession, and I flinched at the sound. I flinched again when I realized who was messaging.
Mom:Morning, LukeyLou!! *sunshine emoji*
Mom:I saw online you’ve got a high of 28* today and another day off!!! *snowflake emoji*
Mom:Are you stuck at home with all the snow? Did you put dental floss in your survival kit, like in that article I sent you?
Mom:If you’re stuck home, let’s FaceTime later! I want to see your fairy-tale house and meet my grandchildren. *sheep emoji* It’s been months and months already!
Oh dear Lord.
I loved my mother so, so much. I loved her enthusiasm. I loved her positivity. I loved that she was invested in my life in Vermont. I even loved her stubbornness… sometimes.
But I was not going to show her the reality of my “fairy-tale house,” no matter how often she asked, especially now that it had an unintentional skylight in the living room. And I was not gonna show hermewhen I was all puffy and bloodshot.
I typed a reply with one eye shut.
Me:Morning! Signal’s too weak to FT, remember? Busy now. Call me later. Love you!
I couldn’t say I regretted the previous evening, exactly… but that was only because I couldn’t remember all of it. Trying to recall specific events was like trying to see through muddy water.
That was probably a good thing, because every once in a while, a crystal-clear memory would rise to the surface, and my entire body would flinch in mortification.
Had I actually begged Webb Sunday to teach me about hockey?
Had hedoneit?
Had he accused me of being a con artist before or after he said I was trying to steal his orchard?
At what point had I mentioned to him the thing about—dear God—carrying my sheep?
Had I actually licked his bulging biceps? I was pretty sure that had been a drunken fantasy. But what about me smiling at him like he was the best thing since blueberry pie and him—oh heavenly freak—smiling back?
And tiny newborn baby Jesus, had we really ended up blowing a bugle in the middle of the town square, where my bosses and the parents of my students could see me being drunk and disorderly?Don’t worry, townsfolk! Your impressionable youngsters are safe with me! Pay no attention to the minor incidents involving brass instruments and misplaced children.
As of this morning, I was done with drinking for another decade at least.
I’d been sorely tempted to stay in bed and ignore reality for the rest of the day, but I knew from past experience that the best way to handle a challenge was to meet it head-on, with a smile and a can-do attitude.
Besides which, I couldn’t stop worrying that I’d done something worse than the bugle blowing and the longing looks. There was a memory on the tip of my brain that kept taunting me. Had I danced the two-step around the gazebo naked? Or compared Webb’s eyes to moss agate?
Better to know the worst.
Probably.
I took a deep, fortifying breath and pulled open the glass door to the diner. My stomach only revolted a tiny bit at the smell of cooking food, but the promise of life-giving coffee made it worthwhile.
I summoned a polite smile for the woman behind the hostess stand, which wasn’t hard to do. Katey Valcourt was one of the only people in town who always had a friendly word for me.
“Morning, Katey. Could I please—”
“Full house today. You’ll have to sit at the counter or join a table.” She snapped a plastic menu out of the holder. “I suppose you’ll want to sit with theSundays.”
“Uh…” My stomach flip-flopped. Sit with the Sundays?Me?
Did I?
