Page 33 of Finally Mine
“I feel like a slow clap is called for,” Gloria said.
Sophie pointed at her. “You’re funny. I like that about you.”
Well, at least there wassomepart of her she hadn’t allowed Glenn to destroy.
“Now that we’re all caught up on my love life,” Harper said dryly. “How’s work going?”
Gloria realized Harper was talking to her. She, Gloria Rosemarie Parker, had a j-o-b. The rush of pleasure at the realization was swift, potent.
“It’s going well. Claire and Della have been very patient with me.” She had a lot to learn, enough that it was still overwhelming. But Gloria had a glimmer of hope that she’d be able to hold her own…in a year or two.
They ordered—an iced tea and tuna melt for her—from Sandra, the redheaded waitress/proprietress, who only gave Gloria the “aw, poor girl” look for a second. Once the food arrived, they slid into a comfortable banter about work, kids, and town gossip.
“Heard Mrs. Nickelbee was excited to make a purchase from you,” Sophie said, snagging a French fry off Harper’s plate.
Gloria resisted the urge to make a face. “She seemed to like her flowers,” she said, taking a bite of tuna to prevent herself from having to comment further.
“You grew up here,” Sophie said, after a gulp of her diet soda. “You know everyone feels entitled to everyone else’s business.”
“I’m hoping that someone else’s business will interest them soon,” Gloria sighed. She wondered how interested people would be to know that she’d kissed Aldo, that she had a tentative date with him when he came back. Would they think she was crazy? He was crazy?
A threesome, two men in business casual khakis and polo shirts and a woman in a flowing maxi dress, took stools at the counter. Gloria recognized the woman as Kate Marshall from the town council and owner of a mortgage company.
The man in the pale pink polo that hugged his beer belly hung up his phone and tossed it on the counter in disgust. “Well, Merle’s hip is officially broken.”
“This is a disaster,” Kate grumbled. “The man’s been chairing the Fourth of freaking July festival for thirty years. Who the hell are we going to find this late in the game?”
Gloria perked up, openly eavesdropping now. Harper opened her mouth to say something, but Gloria shushed her. She had been an organizer in school. She’d once loved the neat and tidy coordination of tiny details into one big, cohesive picture.
She’d once clearly been a nerd, Gloria realized.
“I sure as hell don’t have time,” Combover announced.
“We don’t even have three months,” Kate lamented. “Who’s going to volunteer to step into this mess? The 5k, the parade, the carnival, the fireworks. We’re screwed.”
The Gloria That Left Glenn After the First Time would be involved. She’d be a volunteer, a doer, an organizer. She’d champion causes and lend her resources to support the community at large. She’d be on boards and hosting functions, making a difference.
Gloria rose as if pulled by puppet strings. “I’ll do it,” she announced loudly.
Conversation in the diner came to a screeching halt.
Sophie’s bite of sandwich fell out of her mouth and onto her plate.
17
He had sand in every fucking crevice. To top it off, the sand was mingling with the sweat that flowed from a bottomless, salty well, creating a kind of exfoliating slurry that Aldo knew from experience would take more than a week’s worth of showers to get rid of.
Afghanistan. Seven thousand miles from Benevolence. From his house. From his mother—that part wasn’t so bad. His job and his friends. The rocky landscape bounced heat back off the ground like a convection oven, cooking everything on its surface. He’d get used to it—mostly. He always did. But as a first lieutenant, part of his duty was to help his unit acclimate.
This stony slab of desert was about as far as you could get from the comforts of the U.S. Not only was it a combat theater with swarms of insurgents hoping to at least get a shot at any foreign “interloper,” it was also hot as balls and riddled with opium, and the education level peaked around first grade.
But over the years, he’d learned to embrace the discomfort. It made going home all the sweeter.
He pushed through the tent flap and angled himself toward his cot. It was a cozy setup with fourteen other soldiers crammed under the musty canvas.
“Hey, LT,” Private First Class Scotty Kettle greeted him, opening one eye on the cot next to Aldo’s. He was stripped down to briefs with a battery-operated fan blowing on his head. At nineteen, fresh out of high school, it was the kid’s first deployment.
Aldo grunted a greeting and toed off his boots. He yanked the blanket back on his own cot. He always checked for spiders. After his first encounter with a camel spider the size of a dinner plate, well, he never took any chances.
