She sees my truck, and I swear she makes a face when I point to the passenger door. She mutters “Thanks” when she opens the door. And then, “You don’t have to give me rides. I’m fine walking.”
“I just left the ball field; it was on my way.”
She sets her purse between us and then pulls on her seat belt. “Is she any good at T-ball?”
“Yeah. I don’t think she likes the game as much as she likes hanging out with her friends, though. But if she stuck with it, I think she’d be pretty good.”
“What else does she do besides T-ball?”
I can’t blame Kenna for being curious. I’ve put myself in this position by already sharing too much with her, but now the moms have planted a seed in my head.
What if she’s only asking so she can get a handle on Diem’s schedule? The more she knows about Diem’s activities, the easier it would be for her to show up and take her. I feel guilty even thinking that, but Diem is my number one priority in life, so I’d feel even shittier not feeling a little overprotective.
“I’m sorry,” Kenna says. “I shouldn’t ask you questions you don’t feel comfortable answering. It’s not my place.”
She looks out her window as I pull onto the street. She does this thing where she flexes her fingers and then grips her thighs. Diem does the same thing with her fingers. It’s incredible how two people who have never met can have so many of the same mannerisms.
It’s too loud in the truck, and I feel like I need to warn her, so I roll up my window as I pick up speed. “They filed a restraining order against you.”
I see her look at me out of the corner of my eye. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I wanted to give you a heads-up before you get served papers.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I think what happened at the grocery store scared Grace.”
She shakes her head and looks back out her window. She doesn’t say anything else until we pull up to the alley behind the bar.
I feel like I’ve set her up for failure tonight by putting her in a bad mood as soon as she got in my truck. I shouldn’t have told her about the restraining order right before her shift, but I feel like she has the right to know. She honestly hasn’t done anything to deserve being served a restraining order, but the simple fact that she exists in the same town as Diem is reason enough for the Landrys to file one on her.
“She takes dance,” I say, answering her earlier question about Diem. I put my truck in park and pull up the video from her recital. “That’s where I was last night. She had a recital.” I hand Kenna the phone.
She watches the first several seconds with a straight face and then bursts into laughter.
I hate that I love watching Kenna’s face when she watches videos of Diem. It does something to me. Makes me feel something I probably shouldn’t be feeling. But I like the feeling, and it makes me wonder what it would be like getting to witness Kenna and Diem interact in real life.
Kenna watches the video three times with a huge smile on her face. “She’s horrible!”
It makes me laugh. There’s a joy to her voice that isn’t usually there, and I wonder if that joy would always be present if Diem were a part of Kenna’s life.
“Does she like dance?” Kenna asks.
I shake my head. “No. After the recital was over, she said she wanted to quit and do ‘that thing with the swords.’”
“Fencing?”
“She wants to try everything. All the time. But she never sticks to anything because she gets bored with it and thinks the next thing will be more interesting.”
“They say boredom is a sign of intelligence,” Kenna says.
“She’s very smart, so that would make sense.”
Kenna smiles, but as she hands me back my phone, her smile falters. She opens the door and heads toward the back door, so I follow suit.
I open the back door for her, and we’re greeted by Aaron. “Hey, boss,” he says. “Hey, Nic.”
Kenna walks over to him, and he lifts a hand. They high-five like they’ve known each other a lot longer than just one shift.
Roman walks into the back holding a tray of empty bottles. He nods at me. “How’d it go?”
“No one cried and no one vomited,” I say. That’s what we consider a successful day in T-ball.
Roman gets Kenna’s attention. “She had gluten-free. I put three of them in the fridge for you.”
“Thank you,” Kenna says. It’s the first hint of excitement I’ve ever seen come from her that had nothing to do with Diem. I have no idea what they’re talking about. I was gone for a few hours last night, and it’s like she developed personal relationships with everyone here.