Stay Sweet(18)

*

After the memorial, Amelia exits the church and exchanges a couple of quick texts with Cate, who says she can be there in fifteen minutes. As Amelia slips her phone into her purse, the boy in the suit passes her at a quicker pace than the other people emerging into the sunlight. He’s on his phone, urgently tapping away with one hand, while the two people Amelia assumes are his mother and father trail behind him, speaking quietly with each other.

She keeps the boy in the corner of her eye, looking but trying not to be obvious about it. Amelia doesn’t often see boys wearing expensive suits. It’s the color—a deep, almost velvety blue—that gives it away. And it fits him perfectly. It suddenly strikes her how frumpy the guys looked at senior prom, rented tuxes too tight across their shoulders, dress shirts not pressed. Also, this boy’s shoes are cool. Whiskey-brown wing-tip oxfords that he’s threaded with bright orange laces. The leather is rich and shiny—not a scuff on them.

The boy looks up from his phone and scans the crowd. When his eyes land on her, Amelia smiles a polite smile. This is apparently enough of an invitation for him to walk over.

“Hey,” he says. Like they know each other.

“Um. Hello.”

Amelia hates that her cheeks are heating up. He is that handsome. Tall and lean, but still muscular, like the boys who become lake lifeguards. He’s tan, with freckles, and his hair is brown, cut tight to the sides and left a little long on top, enough for it to roll into a soft curl. Father Caraway would definitely call him “movie-star handsome.”

He undoes the button of his suit jacket with one hand. “Sad, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Did you know her well?”

“I was one of the girls who worked at her ice cream stand.”

“I figured,” he says, lifting his chin, apparently pleased with himself. He glances around. “Are any of the other girls here too?”

“No. Only me.” Amelia presses her lips together. “I’m sorry. Have we met before?” she asks, knowing they haven’t. She would have remembered. But it seems like the most polite way to find out who, exactly, he is.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Well. So . . . how do you know Molly?”

“She was my great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister.” He holds out his hand. “Grady Meade.” Sheepishly, he adds, “I feel terrible that we were late to this, but we got held up with some legal paperwork.”

“Oh my gosh! Wait. Really?” She cups his hand in both of hers. “We didn’t know Molly had any living family!” A few people look toward them, and Amelia quickly dials back the enthusiasm in her voice to something more funeral appropriate. “I’m Amelia Van Hagen. I’m so so so very sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” He glances down at his hand, still wrapped inside hers. “Thank you.”

Blushing, she quickly releases him. “I was the one who found her. And . . .” Amelia momentarily second-guesses saying the next part. But if it were her relative, she’d want to know. She lowers her gaze respectfully to the sidewalk. “I don’t think she suffered. She looked peaceful. Like she just needed a nap.” Her eyes begin to tear up and she fishes a fresh tissue from her purse.

He is taken aback by her emotion. “Um. Thanks. I’ll make sure to pass that along to my family.”

Amelia dabs at her eyes, recovering. “You’re welcome.”

Grady Meade scratches his head. “Can I ask you something, Amelia?”

“Of course.”

“Are you one of the girls who broke into the ice cream stand on Thursday night?”

The directness of his question leaves Amelia feeling wobbly. No lies come to mind despite how desperately she tries to conjure one. “We . . . we didn’t mean any harm. I promise. We wanted one last taste of her ice cream.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Hey, look. No worries. I totally get it. I haven’t been out of high school that long. Me and my buddies used to pull the same kind of pranks. This one time, on Mischief Night, we broke into the cafeteria after hours and stole a box of five hundred frozen chicken fingers and Super Glued them onto the statue of our school’s founder. The whole next day, Halloween obviously, he looked like he was getting eaten alive by birds.”

For Amelia, there is no relief in being let off the hook. Rather, she is desperate to explain herself. Taking ice cream wasn’t some juvenile stunt. They did it because the stand meant so much to them. They had only wanted to say goodbye.

She struggles to say as much, but Grady waves her off. “For real, though, I’m hoping one of you girls has a key to the stand. I haven’t been able to find one at the farmhouse.”

“I do. I don’t have it with me right now, but I could run home and get it. I don’t live far.”

Grady seems to consider this, until he spots his mom and dad climbing into a black Mercedes. “We have to get back to our hotel. Can you drop by the stand tomorrow?”

“Of course. Absolutely.”

“Great. Let’s say eleven o’clock.” Grady types this into his phone, returns it to the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket, and walks away. As an afterthought, he looks back and adds, “Thanks.”

Cate pulls up to the corner in her pickup truck. “Who was that?” she asks as Amelia climbs in. “And you’ll have to speak up, because I’ve suffered permanent hearing loss from four back-to-back children’s birthday parties.”