Page 72 of Anywhere with You
“ ’Course, Mom’s the exception, but she’s the only one with avacation rental for miles, and the rental agreement is pretty strongly worded. We don’t have many problems.”
“I’m sure the diner doesn’t mind the extra business when the house has guests,” Cara said, snagging the last sweet potato fry.
“That’s the truth,” Lane said. “But we get plenty of truckers and travelers passing through. It’s a small town, but it’s a pretty big road.”
“And there are some pretty big cities at the end of it,” I said. “Do you ever go?”
“Now and then, but most people who grow up here, they either hate it like anything and never come back, or they love it too much to go.” At the last, they pointed at themself. “Cities can be lonely when you’re used to knowing everyone in town by name.”
“That makes sense,” Cara said.
“Don’t get me wrong—some days I’d commit a felony for a Starbucks Frappuccino, but most of the time, I’m happy.”
I had to stop eating and look at them.Most of the time, I’m happy.
My dad had said the same thing last week, on the phone.I’m generally a cheery guy, don’t you know?
Even Florence with her dubious Southern charm:I’m happier than a dog with two dicks.
How wonderful, to feel like I was returning to that, after months of dwelling on my own misery.
I pulled a slice of lemon meringue pie over to myself and spooned out some of the lemon filling. It was tart and cold and perfect. I took another spoonful and held it out for Cara to share.
* * *
I got out my guitar after Lane left, strumming with very poor posture on the living room couch, singing softly along, a tune and a handful of words that had been percolating in my thoughts.
After a few minutes, I had a melody and some words hashed out. “How did I live so many years without adventure, boxed in and more alone than I knew? How did I live without the adventure of knowing you?”
When I had fiddled with the key and made some notes on my phone, I looked up to find Cara holding hers up, recording me. She was smiling, but her eyes looked ready to overflow.
After a moment, she lowered it. “I won’t post it if you don’t want me to.”
I shook my head. “It’s good for the kids to see that you can love music without being Joan Jett.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “The kids don’t know who Joan Jett is.”
“I know!” I groaned, leaning back into the couch cushions. “It’s a tragedy.”
“Even I can agree with that.” She plopped down beside me.
“So what do you think?” I asked. “Do I need some Elton John glasses? Would they make me sexier?”
Cara looked at me, then lifted her hands, making circles with her fingers around my eyes to simulate glasses.
“You’d look ridiculous,” she said, seriously.
“Agreed.”
“I don’t like Kool-Aid, but what about blue lipstick instead of red?” She made a kissy face.
“I’d actually like to see you in every shade of every color. Is that strange? I want to find just the right one to bring out the gold in your eyes, and then—”
She kissed me, slow and soft, touching my cheek and then running her fingers over and through my hair, murmuring, “So soft,” in between kisses.
After a few minutes, she sat back. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”
I laughed. “I was about to say that I wanted to paint your lips rainbow colors, then have you kiss me on the cheek because that would look really cool.”
