Page 35 of Keepsake
Even so, I was full of dread, because my ex-boyfriend was expected any minute.
“You don’t have to see him,” May fretted. “We could send you into town on an errand, and I could tell him you just weren’t feeling up to it. I feel bad because it’s my fault he’s stopping here.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said quickly. “That will just prolong the inevitable. I’m not afraid of Gilman. I just don’t like drama.”
“And that is why we are friends,” May said, leaning against her mother’s ancient butcher block prep table. “What are you going to do if he wants you to move back to Boston with him?”
Ugh. What, indeed? I tried to picture Gilman comforting me when I woke up screaming in his bed, and the image just wouldn’t come. He was a good guy, but his help was the analytical variety. He’d probably whip out a spreadsheet and ask me to categorize my symptoms. Then he’d hire a team of specialists to study my sleep cycles.
“I’m not going back to Boston,” I said firmly. “Not with Gilman, anyway. And not until you kick me out.”
“Well, that’s not happening.”
“Let’s bring a pitcher of cider or iced tea out to the porch,” I suggested. “I’ll face the ex in the fresh air.”
“Great idea. I’ll get the drinks ready. You go upstairs and put on one of the sundresses in my closet.”
I looked down at my shorts and tank top. “Hmm. I wasn’t going to dress up for Gilman. He might get the wrong idea.”
“True.” May plucked a pitcher off a shelf so high that I’d have needed a cherrypicker to reach it. “But I like to face trouble in a dress and lipstick. Makes me feel more confident.”
“You are very wise,” I said. “I’ll try it.” Confidence was in pretty short supply these days.
“There’s a sleeveless black polo dress,” she called as I headed toward the stairs. “Try that one.”
Five minutes later I jogged down the stairs again, but May had left the kitchen. I went out the front door onto the porch, where she was arranging cookies on a plate.
“Oh, yum,” I said, grabbing one of Audrey’s gingersnaps.
“I brought out enough for everyone. Including those hooligans,” she said, pointing. The guys had finished up in the orchard for the day and were playing Frisbee on the lawn. I watched them for a moment, realizing that coming outdoors was the right decision. Everything was made more bearable by watching Zach’s golden form lunge for a flying disc.
The men didn’t see that May and I had treats. So I picked up one of the two pitchers, put two fingers into my mouth and whistled.
My timing was unfortunate. Zach turned his head just as Griffin launched the Frisbee toward him.
“Look out!” I yelled, but Zach didn’t hear me. He was staring in my direction, slack-jawed as the Frisbee clocked him right in the head.
“Ouch!” May said. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
Poor Zach. He grabbed his head, and Griff ran toward him to apologize.
“Boys,” May muttered.
A minute later they came ambling up to the porch for tea and cookies. “I’m so sorry,” I babbled when Zach climbed up onto the porch holding his face.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his cheeks flaming.
Poor guy. How embarrassing to be nailed with a Frisbee.
“Let me see it, Zach,” May demanded. “Only a scratch,” she pronounced when he moved his hand. “But it will bruise.”
“You’ll look like a tough guy,” Kyle said, clapping a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Chicks love that.”
Zach rolled his eyes.
“Nice dress, Wild Child,” Griff said. “Rawwrrr. Zach almost lost his teeth because of it.”
“The dress is your sister’s,” I said. “I didn’t pack any dresses for farm work.”
