If It Makes You Happy(43)

“What?”

Cliff places his sandwiches down and holds up a pink envelope. “It’s addressed specifically to you and says Happy Birthday.”

There, in his hand, is my sister’s loopy writing with a doodled cake underneath.

My face burns as I snatch it from him. “No.”

“It is,” he says on a laugh.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I do.”

“I hate my birthday.” I tuck the card underneath the rest of the mail.

His mouth opens mid-laugh, like he’s surprised. “Why?”

Sourly, I confess, “It gets lost in the mix of other holidays.”

“Oh, you poor soul. When is it?”

I purse my lips. “It’s at the end of this month.”

“Halloween?”

I roll my head back and groan, “Cliff—”

“Is it?”

I sigh. “A few days before.”

“Well, lucky for you, I love birthdays. I love birthday parties even more.”

My eyes widen. “Cliff, don’t you dare plan something.”

“I would never.” He spreads his palm over his chest. “Who do you think I am?”

“The pushiest person on earth.”

He tilts his head side to side, but I don’t miss how his lips turn down almost imperceptibly. I wonder if I offended him.

He points to the spiders hanging from the gazebo ceiling. “How do you think they turned out?”

That’s the magic of Cliff. He knows when to change the subject, and he does it without warning. Sometimes it’s jarring, but sometimes it’s my favorite thing about him. It only makes me worry more that I said something to upset him.

I trail a hand over the one spider dangling near my head. “Not bad actually.”

He nods his chin to Rocket. “What do you think, Rocky?”

Rocket turns up his nose. How dare you speak to me?

“The attitude,” Cliff says under his breath.

“Testy, isn’t he?” I joke, smiling to myself.

We finish lunch together and I watch Cliff return to work, pushing his flannel sleeves up his forearms—his watch shifting down his protruding wrist and back up with the motion—to pull more items from an open brown box.

He ascends the ladder again, and I stand to lean on the side of the gazebo. My face flushes red hot as he climbs each rung. His jeans fit well.

“Cliff!” Carol calls, making me jump. She strides down the path toward us.

Cliff twists on the spot, and my hand shoots out to steady the ladder.

Carol finally sees me and waves. “Oh, hi, Shells.”

I close my eyes in frustration at the nickname, and Cliff snickers.

“So …” Carol says slowly. “Don’t kill the messenger.”

Instantly, his grin slides down his face. “Why?” His word drags out almost as slow as hers.

She winces. “Lisa said Emily skipped work today.”

“She what?” In two seconds, Cliff is off the ladder. “Do we know where she is?”

“No. But … I have a feeling …” Another sentence lost to the unspoken abyss.

Cliff’s jaw grinds back and forth. Then his eyes dart across the square—directly to the video store.

Oh no.

Suddenly, he’s striding through the haystacks and pumpkin-lined walkway.

I exchange a wide-eyed glance with Carol and then Lars staring from across the park before rushing after him with Rocket by my side.

“Cliff, where are you going?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer me. I know where he’s going. Anyone in town would know where he’s going.

I groan in frustration. “Cliff!”

“I gotta check,” he growls.

“She’s probably not there.”

“But she might be.”

I hurry into a walk-jog—Rocket trotting beside me on the leash—and finally catch up to him before he crosses the street. He places a hand on the small of my back, escorting us until we’re on the other side, then rips open the door to the video store. The dinging bell is so loud that I wonder if he knocked it from its screws.

I wrap Rocket’s leash around the light pole and push my way inside too.

I instantly sigh.

Leaning over the checkout counter, hinged at the waist with her chin poised in her palm, is Emily. And clicking at the keyboard behind the counter is the same pimpled teen I saw sneaking around with her two weeks ago—Josh.

Damn it, Emily.

“What movie are we renting today, Em?” Cliff calls out. “Rebel Without a Cause? Dazed and Confused? ’Cause that’s sure me right now. Or how about Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? That seems the most applicable, kiddo.”

Emily turns, and any tint of red she had while batting her eyelashes at Josh drains from her cheeks. “Dad—”

“Did the post office explode?” Cliff asks.

“Wh-what?” Emily stammers out.

“Well, that’s the only explanation for why you’re not there, working with Lisa. But considering I haven’t seen a single mushroom cloud all morning, I’m a hair confused.”

The only other time I’ve seen him this frustrated was when he found Brittany after she was pushed in the pumpkin patch at the Harvest Festival. But even that pales in comparison to now.