Page 38 of Blue Umbrella Sky
“Oh. Okay.” Billy brushed by him.
Ruby, of course, went nuts, panting and leaping up on Billy, almost bowling him over. Milt sometimes jealously thought she preferred Billy to her very own master. His dismay at this thought was tempered with the notion that he couldn’t blame her.
Billywaskind of fun to be around.
Milt chuckled as Billy got down to wrestle with the dog, who was acting as though she never got any attention or exercise. It seemed she’d completely forgotten the chicken potpie. She had her priorities straight. Men over food.
Milt would do well to listen to his dog, at least in this moment.
When they were through, Billy stood up and surprised Milt with a bear hug. And it wasn’t just a quick nice-to-see-you-again hug, but a deep, lingering squeeze that could easily qualify as a cuddle.
When Billy pulled away, Milt was disappointed, feeling almost as though Billy took a part of him with him as he retreated. “What was that for? You nearly took my breath away.”
“Because I’m glad to see you. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
Milt looked toward the TV and its blank screen, as though an answer to Billy’s question might be broadcast there. But the black screen mocked him, offering up no words of wisdom or even a distraction.
“Of course I am,” Milt said softly.I’m gladder to see you than I should be.
“Okay, then.” Billy glanced at the kitchen counter where the “deconstructed” potpie steamed. He pointed. “Supper?”
“It’s a Marie Callender potpie.” Milt scratched his chin as heat rose to his cheeks. Corky used to tease him about his love for junk foods. “Anything processed feels like Mom’s home cooking to you,” he used to say.
And he was right. Milt had grown up in the heyday of convenience food. His mom had delighted in TV dinners, Tang instead of orange juice, Hostess fruit pies, and TV Time popcorn. The truth was shortcut chemical-laden foods made him nostalgic. He suspected the same was true for a lot of folks growing up during his era. For Milt, they were the equivalent of Mom’s apple pie.
“I see your disapproval,” Milt said. He slid the bowl down the counter toward Billy. “Take a bite.”
Billy grimaced and then laughed. “I’ve had them before. They’re, um, good.” He took a step back while, at the same time, Ruby took a couple of steps forward, her nose in the air, twitching.
“See? Ruby knows.”
“Look. I didn’t come by here to eat potpie.”
“Oh? I thought you did.” Milt grinned.
“No. I came by because I wanted to talk to you, but since I see you’re just about to sit down to eat, I’ll come back in a little bit.” Billy moved toward the back door.
“Okay,” Milt said, knowing he should forego the pie for now.Be present for your guest.Billy was his gift on a lonely weeknight.
The pie would reheat just as easily in the microwave.
There’d been a strain between them. Billy, he thought, might be here to fix things, to remove the awkwardness that had sprung up between them. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
From out of nowhere, a little voice in Milt’s head told him,Maybe things are better left as they are—broken….
And at that thought, the strangest thing happened.
Milt felt a sharp rap to the back of his head. He whirled around, frowning, to look. Of course, there was no one behind him. He gingerly touched his head. He knew his face must have gone quizzical and confused because Billy peered at him strangely, a question in those blue eyes.
“What’s the matter? You okay?” Billy asked.
“Weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“I could have sworn—” He waved away the rest of the sentence. Saying it out loud would just be, well, too weird. He suspected Billy thought he was odd enough without his adding to the impression.
And then he got a chill. Because one of the things that annoyed him most about his sainted husband, Corky, who could do no wrong now that he was gone, was that he would always give Milt a quick rap to the back of the head, playful, when he thought Milt was out of line. It was never abusive and only in good fun, but there were times when Milt got so irritated by it that he came close to hauling off and punching Corky—seriously. Hard. Corky never should have done that. Yet he did. Repeatedly.
