Don't Let Go(4)

Closer to Johnny Mack than I liked, but then again, I needed to get over it. Normally I was able to mostly ignore him. It had been twenty-six years. Over two decades, living in the same town, working next door to each other, and putting up with his temper tantrums. I didn’t normally feel such a strong urge to get away. Maybe it was the dream, still messing with me; maybe I was being hormonal. Whatever it was, it had the little hairs on the back of my neck going stiff.
“Ugh,” I muttered, rubbing at my neck and my arms.
“What?” Becca said, looking up from the plastic menu.
I shook my head. “Nothing, baby. I’m just wiggy today.”
“You’re wiggy every day,” she said, perusing her choices like it was her last meal. “Last time I got the fried shrimp po’boy sandwich and it was to die for.”
I plucked a menu from its resting place between the napkin holder and the condiments, not really needing it but looking anyway. I sighed at the red napkins in the holder next to the salt and pepper shakers. Linny already had it going on. Ruthie would be redding up the store soon, too. Frosted glass wasn’t going to satisfy her. “I usually get the plate lunch. I think today is open-faced turkey with mashed potatoes.”
“That sounds so boring.”
“Not the way he makes it,” I said. “It’s amazing.”
“Thought you hated him.” She said the sentence in a completely disinterested tone, as if she were talking about the sky being blue.
I looked up at her. “I don’t hate him. We just—”
“Don’t see eye to eye,” she said, nodding, looking bored. “I know. Can we get dessert?”
“No dessert with lunch, Bec, you know that,” I said. “That fried shrimp you’re having is bad enough, you’ll never stay awake through class.”
She was blowing out a sound of disgust before I even finished the sentence.
“Sorry,” I said. “Have some yogurt tonight.”
“Yogurt,” she muttered. “Can we have real ice cream for once?”
I let it go. She was in a mood, and nothing I was going to say would make her happy, so I decided to keep the peace. Let her dad over there duke out every single battle. I chose mine. It was better for my sanity.
She bit her bottom lip for a second and closed her menu, which caught my attention.
“Something the matter, Bec?” I asked, closing mine too.
I could see the gears working. There was a question percolating somewhere. She wanted something, or needed something, or had a world-shattering revelation to tell me. I didn’t like those.
“Hey, ladies.”
I turned at the familiar voice and fought the mixture of joy and annoyance. Especially when I saw Becca roll her darkly lined eyes. So much for an almost-moment.
“Hi, Patrick,” I said, patting the hand he’d rested on my shoulder. Possessively, I thought. I patted it again to give him the hint to let go. My skin was jumpy enough without someone holding me down. “I thought you were working that site in Torrence?”
“It’s delayed a few days, for permits and shit.” He stopped short and glanced at Becca, touching her shoulder. “Sorry—stuff.”
She glanced up at him hulking over our table, looking hot in a scruffy motorcycle gang kind of way, and smiled tolerance before widening her eyes back to the menu she’d reopened. She’d met Patrick twice before. Once at the bookstore, where he was so painfully out of place he practically glowed. And then one awkward moment at our house, when Becca came home early from a night out with friends and we were walking down the stairs looking like we’d forgotten how to dress ourselves.
I nodded, and I couldn’t help darting a glance over to Hayden’s table, hoping he hadn’t caught sight of us. Not that he cared, since we’d been divorced for almost seven years, but he was one to make comments that weren’t supposed to mean anything and yet usually left marks. He was still deep in conversation with the woman over whatever was on the papers.
“So, maybe we can grab a bite to eat or something tonight?” he said, squeezing my shoulder again. “Or tomorrow?”
I knew exactly what that “or something” was, and as I let my memory travel the planes of his body built from years of site construction labor, my stomach tingled.
“Tonight’s not good,” Becca said, replacing the menu. “I have a test to study for. I’ll see if I can find something to do to be scarce tomorrow.”
Even smooth-talking Patrick looked lost for words, and I felt the heat whoosh up to the top of my head.
“I’ll call you,” he said quickly. “Y’all have a good lunch.”
I stared at her as he grabbed a to-go bag and bolted out of the diner.
“Becca, that was—” I began.
“Awkward?” she finished, nodding with a sarcastic smile. “You have no idea.”
I rubbed at my face, wondering if I just needed to go home for the day. “What happened to doing nothing? And since when do you study for anything?”
“Since maybe I want to watch TV without hearing my mom bang Mr. Hardbody down the hall.”
“Becca!”
It was loud. It was too loud, and drew the eyes of everyone in the place, including Hayden’s. But never in my life had I been so mortified.
“Sorry, just sayin’,” she said, at least having the decency to color up, herself.
“Sweethearts, how’s it going?” Linny said then, appearing at our table with a smile and a wink and a significant girth pushing at her apron. “Everything okay?” she added in a quieter voice.