If It Makes You Happy(19)
Okay, Cliff’s not that funny.
But then he talks to another person—a man with a thick mustache and a small gut—and the two of them grin from ear to ear. The man lightly hits him on the shoulder. Cliff loops an arm around the man in return.
Once again … charming … or cocky?
Finally, Cliff pinches the fabric of his pants to squat down to Brittany’s level. She points out a booth behind him. He nods over and over with a grin, rolling his finger in the air, as if saying, Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, sure.
Emily looks in the same direction that Brittany did. Cliff stands up, gesturing two fingers from his eyes to theirs before walking off with the mustached man.
I don’t realize I’m frozen in the narrow soup aisle until someone bumps into me. We collide, and an apple atop their grocery basket topples out.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I shake my head and bend to pick it up.
An older female voice responds shakily, “Oh, don’t you worry …” She pauses and gasps. “Oh my goodness, Michelle?”
I look up to find a woman I don’t recognize at all. She blinks down at me, crouched on the floor with my hand wrapped around the apple. Her cropped white hair is soft along her jaw, but her oversize glasses drown her eyes into pinpricks.
I straighten up. “Do I know you?”
“George!” she calls into the air. “George, it’s Shelly!” I raise a single eyebrow as she yells again, “George!”
The aisle is already tight, but when a man shuffles around the corner with glasses as large as this woman’s and pants tugged up to his ribs, it suddenly feels too cramped.
“Christ,” he grunts. “What is it, woman?”
“It’s Shelly!” She holds her palm up to present me. “Birdie’s girl.”
George squints. “I thought Sara was—”
“Hi,” I interrupt. “I’m Michelle. It’s nice to meet you.”
I extend my hand, but when I realize I’m holding the apple, I drop it back into her basket. Her smile is wide.
“I’m Lisa. This is my husband, George. We’re really close friends with your parents. You must have heard all about us.”
“Yes,” I lie.
I only know them from Cliff. The man’s helping, even when I don’t want him to.
“We didn’t know when you’d make it,” Lisa says. She elbows George. “From what Paulie said, it should have been a month ago, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since then. I assumed he was busy … well, you know …”
Grieving.
“Dad’s in California now,” I explain. “He’s staying with my sister temporarily.”
She gapes. “So it’s just you?”
“Just me.”
The two words settle in my stomach. I came to terms with the fact that it’d be just me after the divorce. Honestly, it felt more comfortable than me and Allen. But having it said out loud again pinches my chest. My thumb twitches against my bare ring finger.
I glance out the window again—suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here—and I spot Emily talking to a teen boy. Her cheeks are flushed as she leans closer. Brittany runs through the pumpkin patch behind her.
“Oh goodness, you poor thing,” Lisa coos, her palm wrapping around my wrist, snagging my attention back. “George, did you hear that? She needs help.”
My face falls. “Oh, no—”
George grunts, “I can hear fine.”
“No,” I repeat quickly. “No, thank you. I’ve got a list.” I flash it with a forced smile. “Mom left instructions, so I’m set.”
Lisa’s lips turn down, and I wish they hadn’t. Lately, that expression forebodes tears, and I can’t handle any more emotions.
“We miss her, you know,” she says, her hand tightening on my arm.
Yeah, I definitely can’t do this.
“She was the best lady,” Lisa continues. “Volunteered at the festival. Drove the mayor’s Fourth of July float. Hosted Thanksgiving for the neighborhood last year …”
“A real class act,” George finishes.
“She was,” I respond, except I was never close with this version of my mother—the one who belongs to Copper Run. The bed-and-breakfast mother hen. The town sweetheart.
Sara knows her, but I only know the woman who kept a garden with my little sister and tried—tried so hard—to do the same with me.
Rocket barks. I jerk my eyes to the window to see he’s tugging against the leash, eyes locked on Brittany, who stands in the pumpkin patch by herself.
Wait, where did Emily go?
Lisa pats my arm. “We’ll stop by the inn soon, okay?”
I shake my head. “You really don’t have to.”
A boy approaches Brittany in the pumpkin patch. Rocket whines, tugging against his leash restraint.
“No, we help each other around here,” Lisa insists. “Now, here. I’ve got coupons,” she announces, splaying them out like a magic card trick. “Take them. Please.”
“Thanks, but I should go.”
“Dear—”
“I’ve got to—”
“If you would—”
“I’m all set,” I snap.