Page 87 of Good Days Bad Days
“I don’t know about that.”
“Greg likes to pretend to be humble,” Betty jokes, eyebrows raised at me, “but we know better.”
“Greg?” The friend’s eyes bulge, her head tipping toward me like she’s pointing. Betty nods and I wonder what she’s said about me. Itcan’t be good. I make one last tweak and then start to put the piano back together. “So you’re Greg, huh?”
“Yeah, I am.” I close the key cover.
“Sorry, I should’ve done it all proper. My head is a little all over the place since ...” She indicates the baby that couldn’t be more than a month old. “Greg, this is my college roommate, Laura. Laura, this is Greg.”
Laura is holding a baby, and my hands are dirty from the delivery, so I just wave. She smiles at me conspiratorially, but I’m not in on the message held in her dark eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Greg.”
“You too.” I close the top lid and push in the piano bench, dropping the last of my tools into the large red box with a clank that makes the baby jump, her little face scrunching as Laura’s bouncing intensifies.
“Shoot.” She stands, pacing the room. Betty’s calm, motherly expression ripples, revealing a sheen of desperation beneath. She leaps up, putting out her arms.
“She’s probably hungry.”
“She just ate. It’s colic. Little Betty had it when she was this age,” Laura says, keeping the baby close to her chest and lowering her voice. “I’ve got this. You need some rest before he comes home.”
Betty glances at me and then back at Laura, who has shifted the now-wailing baby up to her shoulder, worry visible on her brow.
“I should let you go,” I say, hefting the toolbox, wishing instead to sit at the piano and pluck out a calming melody to give Betty some support, but it’s not my job to protect her anymore. God, it never was, as much as I wanted it to be.
“Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner?” Betty asks, and even as she says it, I know it’s a hollow offer. She knows I’ll decline, but strangely, I appreciate the invitation, though I can’t accept it.
“Thanks, but we have other deliveries.” It’s not true, but she doesn’t need to know that. “It was nice meeting you, Laura.”
“Same here,” Laura says as though we’re old friends, and she bounces her way into the kitchen with the colicky baby, leaving Betty and me alone. This time, however, I’m more centered.
“Sorry, Laura can be a little fussy,” Betty apologizes.
“Fussy?” I snicker. Laura seemed a little snarky but mostly helpful. “She looks like she knows what she’s doing.”
Betty gives me a confused look and I swing the toolbox into my other hand, my arm aching from holding it so long.
“Oh, God. No. Laura is my baby’s name.” She points to the kitchen, where things seem to have calmed down. “They’re both Laura. We promised we’d name our first girl babies after one another. She has a four-year-old named Betty, so I’d be kind of a creep if I didn’t fulfill my half of the deal.”
We laugh together at the mix-up until the humor is sucked out of the room by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Her face falls, and a deep dread tugs at me like a magnet, sucking me back to the safety of the truck and the haven of my new town, my new home, my new life.
“If there’s ever a problem with, you know, the piano or you need something else from the shop, you can reach me here,” I say, handing her a business card. My name is written on the back, and on the front the name of the shop along with the address and phone number.
“I’ll keep it handy,” she replies, tucking it into her palm as the sound of the automatic garage door echoes through the house, sending the baby into a fit.
I hurry across the lawn, the sharp metal corner of the toolbox scraping against my calf in a painfully welcome distraction as she closes the door behind her, the faint echo of Don’s voice chasing me back into the truck.
“I think I’ve seen that lady on TV before,” Toby says excitedly as we drive away.
“Me too,” I agree. “Me too.”
Chapter 35
Charlie
Present Day
The red neon “Open” sign is lit up in the window of Ike’s Diner. It looks untouched, like it could be part of a movie set, and Betty seems to recognize it immediately. We rolled up the windows after a few minutes of singing and driving, the chill getting to Betty, though she didn’t seem to realize it, her fingers turning a little blue, jaw chattering. We’ve had the heat pumping since, and after using a small brush from Olivia’s bag, Betty seems ready for the visit to the café her mind hadn’t let go of.
