How to Love Your Neighbour(85)

Going to stop at the gym. Frustrated and not good company.

Give my apologies to Morty & Tilly.



Grace blinked away her surprise, wishing she could do the same with the onslaught of disappointment coursing through her body.

He’d texted over an hour ago. That was why his truck wasn’t in the driveway. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she set her phone down without replying. Walking to the table, Tilly came to her side, some white envelopes in her hand.

“No answer?”

Grace pasted a smile on her lips. “He got hung up. He won’t be able to join us. He asked me to apologize to both of you.” She had a quick flash of her mother forgetting to pick her up at school, of showing up late or not at all for her science presentation. Forgetting her birthday or just blowing it off.

As she joined Morty and Tilly at the table, she waited for the old man to say something disparaging. Something about today’s youth, commitments, and how, when he was courting a young woman, he’d have shown up even if he’d been shot in three toes and two fingers. Grace would never know why those specific parts of his body had been shot but she’d know that when he said something, he damn well meant it.

They stared at each other. Grace wished he’d say anything to make her feel like there wasn’t just an empty seat at the table but in her heart as well. Stop being dramatic.

“Let’s eat,” she said too cheerily.

“Starved half to death, I am,” Morty said.

“Well, simmer down, Yoda. The food is being served,” Grace said, putting a huge piece of lasagna on his plate. Tilly added some bread she’d buttered for him. He’d brought her beer to the table, set it by her plate. They took care of each other. Grace’s eyes prickled with tears she did not want to shed.

“I’m glad you guys could come. Thank you,” Grace said quietly, after she’d filled her own plate.

“We’re always happy to visit, Gracie,” Tilly said. The suspicious white envelopes sat near Noah’s plate.

Morty dug in but Grace moved slower, cutting a small square out of her pasta. “We talking about those letters?”

“Not if you don’t want to. Damn girl. This is good,” Morty said around a large mouthful.

Tilly made an “mmm” sound and nodded her agreement.

“Thank you. When did they arrive?” Grace slipped her fork into her mouth but didn’t taste anything. Tammy was covering her bases, sending to both addresses.

“Couple weeks ago. Back-to-back.”

“Thanks for bringing them.”

They ate in an awkward silence. Grace felt like there was a large anvil pressing down on the room.

Morty cleared his throat, picked up his beer, and took a long swallow. When the can hit the table, he announced, “She called, too. Left a message saying she just wants to see you. You’re blood and all that.”

Grace’s fork slipped and dinged the plate. “When did she call?”

“Last Monday,” Tilly said. “She asked who I was, wanted to know what she could but I wasn’t telling her anything. She said she had a right to know. Just said we’d pass the message on.”

Grace nodded, tears filling her eyes, which did nothing more than piss her off. She didn’t cry over her mother.

“Only going to say this once,” Morty said.

“You say that all the time and then tell me the same thing fifty times over,” Grace mumbled, looking at her plate.

“Never mind your smart mouth. Look at me, Grace.” His voice was hard and soft at the same time.

Grace bit the inside of her cheek hard before looking up.

“She didn’t do right by you but getting old has a way of making you think about all the things you messed up along the way. Not saying you have to hear her out, forgive her, read her letters or nothing. Just know that the same as you aren’t that little girl scared and lonely in a trailer no more, she might not be the same either.”

The thickness in her throat made it impossible to swallow. She looked up at the ceiling without tilting her head back, hoping that would keep the tears at bay.

“You cry, I get all the apple-peach crisp,” Morty said.

The heaviness got pushed aside for the rest of the meal, dessert, and a few games of Farkle. When she walked them to the door later that night, stepped out onto the porch, she saw Noah’s truck in his driveway.

“Night, sweet girl. We’ll see you soon,” Tilly said into her ear as she gave her a hard hug.

“Don’t see why you get to keep all the leftover crisp. Tiny thing like you will never eat all that,” Morty said, coming in for his hug.

“Why do you keep issuing challenges you know I can crush?”

He hugged her tight. “You can crush anything you put your mind to. Don’t forget it.”

She held on extra hard for another beat. “Love you.”

“You, too.”

She watched them walk to the old Ford pickup. Morty opened the door, waited with the patience of a saint for Tilly to climb up in. He made sure she was settled and seat-belted before he shut the door and rounded the hood. He lifted his hand as he got in.

Grace waved back, crossing her arms over her chest, breathing in the cool, nighttime, salty air. The truck rumbled to life with several loud gurgles before he backed it out of the drive way. She stood on the porch another minute, looking over at Noah’s house. The lights were on upstairs. Everything else was dark. She didn’t know what to make of that or the way he’d bailed on tonight.