Don't Let Go(20)

“I love you, Bec.”
“Love you too, Mom,” she said quietly before the house swallowed her up.
The photograph of her and Harley looked at me from the side table, and my eyes went to the park painting from there. Has everything always just fallen in place for you?
Wow.
I got up and walked upstairs, passing Becca’s room and mine, going to a door that was seldom acknowledged anymore. I opened it, instantly breathing in the old familiar smells, as charcoal and paper and mostly dried-up oils wafted up into my senses. My art closet, easels hanging obediently on their hooks, drawers of supplies sitting unused, and huge portfolio envelopes of charcoal drawings leaned together in stacks.
I licked my lips as my fingers twitched, itchy to pull things out and explore. But to what end? Something else to fill up time I didn’t have? I closed the door. I had a business to run now.



Chapter 6

A whole day with no drama.
No Becca tantrums—she got up and fixed herself some Pop-Tarts and headed off to school. No Johnny Mack canings. And no Noah sightings. It felt almost normal. And had me feeling just skippy enough to hit Ruthie up on her night out offer. Why not, I thought. It had been forever since I’d been out to eat with anyone except Becca—well, unless you counted the pizza and beer with Patrick. I didn’t count that, since it was really all just foreplay.
I even left work an hour and a half early so I could run some errands before I went home. And smiled at Georgette Pruitt when she flashed her new delivery of white carnations for her carnival parade float.
I got in my car without a second look at the diner, this made easier by the fact that I started parking on the other side of my building. Deciding to top off my gas tank, I slow-rolled into the station, turned down the song I’d just cranked up, and got out.
And enjoyed my peaceful feeling for about fifteen seconds into my fill-up.
The midnight blue Ford truck that pulled up behind me at the next pump had a chrome grille so shiny I could have fixed my makeup in it. I actually chuckled at that thought until the driver’s door opened and Noah Ryan stepped out.
It was everything I could do not to groan out loud. I was so damn close.
He closed his door and glanced back inside to Shayna sitting in the passenger seat. “Hey, Jules.”
I smiled politely, remembering the sort-of precedent we’d set at the bank the day before. “Hey.”
Shayna opened her door then and stepped out, still looking adorable even without her chic red dress. She looked girl-next-door sweet in faded jeans and a hoodie pullover. I turned my focus back on the pump handle in my hand and thought of happy thoughts. I thought of Ruthie’s cupcakes. Of Harley and her sweet face. And how—
“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink, want something?” Shayna asked.
“Yeah, a Coke, thanks,” Noah said offhandedly as he pulled a card from his wallet and fed the pump its magical numbers.
His words triggered a memory. Coca-Cola used to be the only soft drink he’d touch. “Coke’s the real deal, Miss Ju-li-an-na,” his young smart aleck-voice reverberated in my head as I flashed on a second-grade elementary school moment. I’d bought a Dr. Pepper from the “Coke machine,” as they are all called in the South. And a young, cocky Noah, sweaty and dirty from playing touch football at recess, stood there with his seven-year-old swagger and dissed my choice.
“So,” I said. “I like Dr. Pepper.”
“That’s because you’re a stupid girl,” he said. “With a stupid name.”
“Well, who asked you?” I said, scrunching up my nose. “You stink.”
“Why’s your name so long, Ju-li-an-na?” he said, his voice mocking.
I made a face and walked around him. “Why do you have dog poop on your jeans?”
He whirled around like a dog chasing his tail. “I do not.”
I laughed, sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Made you look.”
The glare I got was short-lived. He dropped to the ground in a lunge, as if he were practicing reaching first base. “You need a nickname.”
I shrugged. “I have one. My dad calls me Jules.”
Noah nodded and sat up, as if he had to give that some deep thought. “That’s better. At least for someone who drinks Dr. Pepper.”
Wow, I thought with a start, there was something I hadn’t pulled up in decades. I studied his profile as he leaned against his truck. Worn jeans that fit him like heaven. A blue sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up on his forearms.
“Here you go, honey,” Shayna said, walking between our vehicles to hand him the icy can. She glanced my way and did a double-take, smiling curiously.
I saw Noah take the cue and his manners kick into gear. “Shit,” I whispered, staring down at the pump handle. Don’t do it, Noah. Don’t do it, Noah.
“Jules,” he began, and I raised my head with a smile as if I knew nothing. “I don’t think I’ve gotten to introduce you to—Shayna.”
I met his eyes and caught the pause, no matter how slight. He was going to say my fiancée, but his tongue flipped it just in time. In any case, I was glad. I’m not sure I could have masked my reaction that well.
Shayna turned to me with an outstretched hand and a soft smile. “Hi. Shayna Baird.”
Her long dark hair was shiny and perfect, even pulled back into a carefree ponytail with shorter pieces falling around her face. She didn’t look thirty. Fresh-faced and dressed like she was, she looked like she could model for an outdoor magazine or a college catalog. When I pulled my hair up like that, I looked like I was scrubbing my toilet.