Page 13 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“I’ll get glasses and ice,” he said, indicating the camp chairs he had set up. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

As soon as he went inside, my phone buzzed.

“Where are you?” Kathleen asked. “Did you fall in?”

“Ha, ha,” I replied. “Just taking a walk.”

“I can see you. You aren’t walking.”

I swiveled in my chair. Sure enough I could see the back end of our RV from where I sat.

Kathleen waved.

I didn’t wave back.

“MYOB,” I typed, proud of my awesome texting skills.

Joe came out of the door with two glasses filed to the brim with ice.

My phone dinged.

I ignored it. Then I got up and shifted my chair a little so my back was to Kathleen.

I’d forgotten how nosy she was.

“Here you go,” Joe said placing a glass on the small table next to me before sitting in his own chair and taking a long drink from his glass.

He’d aged well. While his figure wasn’t the painfully taut ropes of an obsessed athlete, he didn’t have the small pot belly that many men carried at our age. He still stood erect and seemed to move about with the kind of ease I remembered from when he was a kid.

“You look good, too,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, flustered. I reached for the drink, something to hold onto, but I missed and instead set the glass rocking back and forth. I managed to grab it before it fell over completely.

My phone dinged.

I was going to kill Kathleen.

Joe laughed.

I might add him to my mad rampage.

“Come on, fess up,” he said. “You were checking me out, weren’t you?”

“Not in the least,” I said.

“You’re a terrible liar, Di. You always were.” He gave me an appraising look. “You’re looking good.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m overweight, my hair needs a styling, and I didn’t get my make-up on.”

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t put yourself down. Those things aren’t important at all. What’s important is the smile I saw when you realized who I was. The years fell away.”

An ache bloomed in my gut, one that threatened to spill over with tears.

I went on the offensive.

“You always were over the top,” I said. “Some people kiss the Blarney Stoney. You were born on top of it.”

His laugh roared out.

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