Page 27 of The Backtrack
“Everyone’s out back,” Damon said as he pulled away. “Are those for my mom?”
“Indeed.” Sam lifted the flowers in acknowledgment.
“She’ll love those,” he said.
“Would you say they’re her favorite?” Sam asked.
But a bark from the dog broke off her question. Pearl swatted at the tiny, vicious thing with her handbag.
“Pecan!” Damon’s tone was so stern that the little dog quit nipping at Pearl’s sandals. Then Damon held out his palm and added, “Slow.”
And it was the damnedest thing, but the dog slowly walked to Damon and booped his palm with his wet nose.
They followed Damon through the front door, across the living room and toward the back patio. This had been her second home in high school, but unlike Pearl’s place, Cathy and Humbe had made upgrades.
“Humbe got rid of the La-Z-Boy?” Sam asked.
“Cathy did,” Damon corrected. “She redecorated using only small businesses. But don’t worry, he found a place for it in the garage. And on weekends, he opens the door, lights a cigar and reclines the hell out of that thing.”
“A La-Z-Boy of one’s own,” Sam said. “Did she keep your room a museum, too?”
“Unfortunately, my velvet black light posters have been replaced with tasteful bookshelves. Apparently, my room made for a great home office.” Damon opened the sliding glass door and a wall of noise greeted them: big booms of laughter and the samba music Humbe loved to play.
Sam stepped off the patio and onto the grassy lawn where the scent of spiced meat cooking on the grill surrounded her. There was the perfectly round pool she and Damon lived in during the summers, the tire swing Damon used to push her in and the long picnic table where the Rocha family gathered for weekly dinners with Sam as the honorary plus-one.
“Sam!” an overly excited voice called out. When Sam turned, she saw Farrah, bounding toward her. Farrah’s rich black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swished as she jogged over.
Sam couldn’t help but smile; Farrah was Damon’s older, and much cooler, sister. They’d both idolized her, and she occasionally gave them a ride to the mall or school. Even now, Farrah wore cutoff jeans and a linen cropped shirt that looked effortlessly stylish.
Sam wrapped her in a tight hug. She was so relieved to see a friendly face that she completely forgot the rest of the party around them. Which is why she didn’t notice Cathy approach from the side.
“There’s our little valedictorian!” Cathy grinned. Much like everyone Sam had left in Tybee, Cathy had aged. Her hair had gone completely silver, and she kept it in a neat, cropped bob. There were deep lines around her eyes and forehead. And as she walked toward Sam in her chambray jean skirt, even her movements seemed slower. Sam wanted to stop time and go back to the Cathy she’d known before.
Sam started to get emotional, so she cut her feelings off and moved toward Cathy.
“I brought you pansies.” Sam held out the bouquet.
Cathy’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my favorite! Did you tell her I love these, Damon?”
“No,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I did not.”
Part of Sam screamedFuuuuck, because her CD player was, without a doubt, sending her messages from some other universe.
Cathy held Sam’s hands in hers. “I wouldn’t have recognized you, honestly. I mean, you always had the brains, but now you’re a real beauty.”
“She’s always been a beauty,” Pearl piped up. “Inside and out.”
“Such a doting grandmotherly response,” Sam said with a smile.
“But no more black lipliner,” Cathy said.
“Not at this time of the afternoon, at least,” Sam said.
“You must be dating someone, right?” Cathy’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“I’m not.” Sam involuntarily looked at Damon, but he studied his shoes.
“How can that be? Damon, how can that be?” Cathy asked, as if he’d genuinely know the answer.
