Page 82 of The Weight Of Falling
“You do.” A second of silence. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
The sincerity in his voice warms me. Is there a hidden meaning there? Is he saying I’m the most exciting thing in his world? No. I’m overthinking everything, as usual.
“You’re good at this,” I admit. “The dog training.”
“It’s easier when you love dogs.”
Which he clearly does. I think about his golden retriever, the one he won’t talk about. “Will you ever get another one?” I ask, rushing the words out before I can change my mind.
His answer is quiet. “No.”
“Why not?”
He scratches gently behind Turbo’s ears. “I think you’ve hit your question limit for today.”
I suppress a sigh. Every time I’m with him, more questions surface. I know there’s no point in pushing. He’ll only shut down. Instead, I ask, “You up for lemonade?”
Joel and I sit in companionable silence on my back deck, sipping the lemonade I made earlier. Turbo is conked out in his dog bed, paws twitching. The sky is clear and bright, that perfect, rinsed blue that makes everything feel simpler than it is.
“Are you still coming to trivia at Sofia’s tonight?” I ask.
“Yes. Reluctantly.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d cancel.”
“I was tempted,” he admits. “But I’m convinced Tess would hunt me down.”
I laugh. “She would. And don’t forget Sofia.” I deepen my voice to mimic Liam Neeson. “She has a particular set of skills. You wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”
He smiles. “I can believe that.” His eyes drift to the locket at my throat. “You always wear that,” he says, curiosity flickering across his features. “You play with it when you’re nervous.”
I glance down to find my fingers absently hooked around the locket. I let my hand fall to my lap. I am nervous. And of course he picks up on it. He doesn’t miss a thing.
“It was a gift from my grandmother,” I tell him. “It’s one of my most treasured possessions.”
“You never take it off?”
“No.”
“Were you close to her?”
“I was. She died just after she gave me this.” I set my glass down and open the heart-shaped silver pendant to show him the tiny, pressed flower inside. “It’s a forget-me-not,” I say softly. “So I always remember who I am.”
“Wise words.”
“She was a wise woman.” I close the locket and feel the familiar weight settle against my skin.
His eyes come back to me. “The other day, when you talked about your work, it sounded like there was more behind why you chose to be a greeting card illustrator.”
I pick up my glass and take a sip to buy myself time. I’m surprised he remembered. Abruptly, I want to tell him. Bobby never understood, but Joel seems to get me in a way Bobby never did. “The world is loud and sharp sometimes,” I say quietly. “I want our cards to be a little pocket of softness. Something people can send when words are hard, or when moments matter. I guess that’s my way of helping.”
“I like that,” he says after a moment. “Your work means something.”
I look at him over the rim of my glass. “Why do you take more pictures of food than people?”
“I prefer food to people.”
“You don’t get along with people?”
