The Relationship Pact(37)

Instead of responding, Judy takes a napkin out of the dispenser and wipes it across the table.

I go back to my sandwich.

“You don’t sound like a Georgia boy,” she says, wadding up the napkin. “You sound like a Midwestern.”

“Good ear. I’m from Indiana. The good ole Hoosier State.”

She nods. “What are you doing down here?”

“I have a football thing in a few days,” I tell her. “I decided to come a little early and … kill some time.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands.”

She says it like she’s just making conversation. But she’s not. She’s curious.

I take the last bite of the sandwich and sit back in the booth while I chew. Judy pins me to my seat with a sharp yet kind eye.

“What’s a college kid supposed to do on winter break?” I ask her. “Kill time.”

“I think most kids are home with their families during winter break.”

I narrow my eyes. She narrows hers. We have a battle of the wits that I’m not sure I can win.

Finally, I shrug.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not a normal guy,” I say. “I do the whole path less traveled kind of thing. Keeps me mysterious.”

She senses something is amiss, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. I stay calm and act as though I’m here to chat when, in reality, I’m trying to find a segue out of here.

“When is the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” she asks.

I laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Well, heavens yes. Now answer the question.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, already regretting saying anything. “Can I get a check?”

“No, but you can answer my question.”

I lean forward. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll swat your behind.” She grins. “Go ahead and don’t answer me. I might like it.”

Our laughter blends together as we get to our feet. I hold out a hand and help her stand. She presses her free hand against the top of our joined grasps and pats it.

I look down into her face and feel the warmth she’s radiating my way. I appreciate it.

“You just never know who this old world is going to throw in your path. Do you believe that, Hollis?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Should I?”

“Yes. You should.” She takes her hand off mine and releases my other one. “I have to think that seeing you today wasn’t random.”

“Wasn’t it?”

She shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “The world put you here so I could feed you.”

Judy’s eagle eyes watch every move I make. There’s something about women—the older they get, the more refined they get. You can’t get anything past a mother. I know this for a fact. But a woman with grandkids? A woman who’s seventy-five? If she wants to read me, she will. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I think back to just a few days ago, to the last day of the semester when I took off from campus. Crew was gone, and I knew River would be going too. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t even want to be the last guy there. It always feels worse if you’re the one left behind. I know.

Sure, I could’ve gone with River. If he knew I really didn’t have anywhere to be on Christmas, I’m sure he would’ve demanded it. I lied to him and told him I was meeting up with someone and would be fine.

“How long are you here?” she asks, looking up at me with the bluest eyes.

“Just a few days.”

“If you need anything, you come by and see me. You hear?”

I smile at her. “Only if you let me pay for that sandwich.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I won’t hear of it. You’re one of mine now. You may call me Grandma.” She squeezes my hand before letting it go. “You wait right here.”

It takes her a moment to get her feet under her and steady herself. Then she shuffles through a doorway behind the counter.

I watch the spot she just vacated and replay her words. You’re one of mine now.

The sentence pokes its way through the shield I put up to keep people away … just as she did.

Even though I’m sure her words were a Southern slang or term of endearment kind of thing, they still feel good. And despite my natural reaction to shrug them off, I let what she said sit with me for a minute. Because no one has ever laid claim to me like that.

“Judy, you’re something else,” I mutter as I look around the shop.

Racks of shot glasses and bells with pictures of the beach painted on them are for sale near the cash register. I walk around the corner until I see a rack of little bracelets. They’re obviously not actual gold or silver, but they’re dainty and have little charms on them.

I finger through the line of dangling chains until I see the third one from the end. It’s a pinkish-gold color and has a tiny little succulent charm hanging from it.

“I prefer rose gold. But I really don’t love expensive jewelry. I’m always afraid I’ll lose it, and the stress isn’t worth it to me.”

My jaw works back and forth as I replay Larissa’s words to Danielle last night.