Page 14 of Crumbling Truth
The only thing keeping me from banging my forehead against the side of the truck was the glitter of amusement in her eyes, the tiny dimple that peeped out at me even when she pursed her lips to keep from smiling.
“This is really nice,” I said, hoping to cover up my awkwardness once I was in the passenger seat.
Esther grimaced. “It’s like driving a big tin box, but it gets the job done. It sucks in the snow. Then again, so does my little sedan.”
“I have a hybrid down south and only use the pickup for work stuff, but with the timing of this trip, I figured it might do better in the snow up here.” I tapped my fingers on my knee, wondering where the line between curious and nosy might fall. “You didn’t grow up in Spruce Hill, right?”
“No, Oakville.”
It wasn’t effusive, but it was an answer. “Not too far away, then. Is your family there?”
She hesitated, then said, “My parents still live there. My sister moved to Phoenix several years ago.”
“Will you be spending Christmas with them?” I asked, hoping the question sounded casual.
From Esther’s lips came a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort. I glanced over and saw her shaking her head.
“No. My parents and I aren’t really on speaking terms.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“Don’t be.” As we pulled into the elementary school parking lot, nearly empty an hour after dismissal, she parked by the doors to the gymnasium and gave me a small, tight smile. “We just need to hand these off to Mrs. Meyers and then I’ll get you back to whatever it is you do all day.”
It was my turn to scoff. “There’s only so much television I can handle, the house has been cleaned top to bottom, and I’m pretty sure Toni hates me.”
“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, her smile widening. “Don’t all pets love the person who feeds them?”
“Not this one. She jumped out from under the bed and bit my ankle when I walked by her this morning. I think maybe she’s possessed.”
A choked laugh escaped her lips as she hopped down from the driver’s seat. When we both rounded the back of the truck, she was grinning. “That cat is just particular, that’s all. She attacks your dad all the time, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t soothe the flesh wounds she left,” I grumbled, but I considered this progress and wanted to keep her talking. “Maybe she just hates devastatingly attractive men.”
Esther’s response could only be called a guffaw. Maybe a chortle. Either way, it lit her features like a chandelier, brightening her eyes as the corners creased and her lips curved until that dimple was as deep as I’d ever seen it. My heart tripped at the sight, even when she plopped a box of cupcakes into my waiting arms.
“Yup. That must be it,” she agreed, grabbing a box of her own and tipping her head toward the gymnasium doors.
I followed obediently behind her, attempting to ignore the sway of her hips for a total of fifteen seconds before I gave in. She looked sweet and cozy today in leggings and a slouchy sweater that slipped off one golden shoulder. Her hair was pulled up into a bun like it had been when I stopped at the food truck on my way into town, exposing the long line of her neck. Little ankle boots with fuzzy trim completed the outfit.
During the minute it took for us to reach the doors Mrs. Meyers had propped open, I’d envisioned an entire scene featuring Esther sprawled in front of a fire, her hair falling in loose waves around that enticingly bare shoulder.
By the time we entered the gym, I hadalmostconvinced myself getting involved with her wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had.
Then, as we stepped inside, I was transported back to my childhood. The paper decorations might’ve been updated over the intervening decades, but the smell of pine floors, rubber kickballs, and youthful excitement was the same. When Mrs. Meyers strode into the room with an armful of disposable tablecloth packages, I felt all of seven years old again.
“Surely these old eyes deceive me!” she exclaimed.
I felt Esther’s curious gaze on the side of my face and forced myself to smile at the woman who’d taught me to play Hot Cross Buns on a recorder thirty years ago, much to my mother’s dismay.
“Hey, Mrs. M.”
With a grandmotherly tut, she said, “You must be old enough by now to call me Cheryl. How sweet of you to help Esther with all these cupcakes! This table over here is for the desserts, if you don’t mind, dears.”
Though Esther murmured politely, it didn’t escape my notice that she barely spoke a word as we brought in the cupcakes. Granted, she wasn’t the most outgoing woman I’d met, but it seemed strange to see her even quieter than usual. I wondered if she was simply shy, until I caught Mrs. Meyers laying a gentle hand on Esther’s shoulder.
“You should get back out there, darling. It’s been long enough,” the older woman said kindly.
The lips I’d spent far too much time thinking about since meeting Esther tightened into what I supposed might pass as a smile if I didn’t already know what her real smile looked like, and she replied, “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Meyers.”
