“Ow.” The girl stumbled backward, a cat falling from her arms.
Gerrit shook his head to clear the fog of memories. “Oh. Sorry.”
She rubbed her right shoulder. “You in a hurry?”
“Uh . . . no.”
She frowned and picked up her cat. “You okay, Mister?”
“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“You said I could come back. And I was talking to my cat.”
He stood awkwardly in front of her. He wanted out, but she was blocking the door. Why was she looking at him like that?
“I was checking my mail.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Cool. Have you seen that movie about the mailbox?”
His eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard of it.”
“It looks funny.”
He grunted. “Yes. I was hoping to see it tonight, but my wife . . .”
Well, that was certainly none of this kid’s business. Nothing was ever anyone else’s business actually, as far as he was concerned, so why did he keep opening his big mouth?
“She turned you down, huh?”
“No.” His cheeks grew warm. “She has to work late.”
The girl tilted her head. “My best friend didn’t want to see it, either. She thinks that guy’s annoying.”
He did everything he could to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, but he failed. “I’ve heard that. But I still want to go.”
“Me too.”
She stared at him. He stared back. What was she waiting for?
She leaned a little closer. “I’d go with you.”
He blinked and opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Cleared his throat. Scratched a phantom itch on the top of his head.
“There’s a three o’clock show.” She whipped out her phone and pointed the screen at him. “We could go right now.”
Words finally loosed themselves from his throat. “What about your parents?”
“What about them?”
“I would think—I mean—wouldn’t they—?”
“I’m not a little kid. They trust me.”
“They don’t know you’re here.”
She shrugged. “Here’s what we do. You drive me to my house. I drop off Mr. Whiskers, then we go to the theater. There’s enough time if we leave right away.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll text my mom. I promise.”
It was absurd. But he did want to see the movie. “Wouldn’t you rather hang out with someone your own age?”
“I’ve been volunteering at the nursing home since I was thirteen.”
He huffed. “I’m not that old.”
“Kids my age are too much work. My grandpa used to take me to the movies, and he would say—”
“What?”
She looked away. “Never mind.”
Gerrit narrowed his eyes. This was getting crazier by the minute. “I don’t even know your name.”
She slung the fat cat over one shoulder and stuck out her free hand. “Rae Walters. At your service.”
“Isn’t Ray a boy’s name?”
“Rae with an e.”
“An e makes it for girls?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Okaaay.” He shook her hand. “Gerrit Laninga.”
“As in Laninga Family Farm?”
He cringed. “Not anymore.”
She looked long and hard in his face as if searching for something. He squirmed under the scrutiny. What could she see? Probably nothing. Or maybe everything.
“Well.” She smiled. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Rae’s stomach hurt by the time the movie ended. She hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. Kylee would’ve thought the movie was lame and complained the whole time, but going to the movies with Mr. Laninga was like going with Papa Tom before he died. They both snorted more than laughed, and they both sat stick-straight in their seats as if their enjoyment of the movie depended on their posture. They even ate their popcorn the same way, dumping one small pile at a time onto a napkin on their laps.
Maybe that was why she’d brought up going to the movies on a crazy whim. Because Mr. Laninga reminded her of her papa. Whenever she thanked Papa Tom for taking her, he’d say, “That’s what papas are for.”
Plus, she had been desperate for a reason to stay away from her house.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky had brightened. They’d had to park at the outer edge of the parking lot because it was so crowded, but the long walk back to Mr. Laninga’s truck couldn’t keep a grin from splitting Rae’s face. This was way better than facing her parents.
“Where does your wife work?”
Mr. Laninga startled as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Huh?”
“Your wife. Where does she work?”
“Oh.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “At The Daisy Chain.”
“Cool. Flowers, right? Does she like it there?”
He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.”
“You don’t know?”
“I never asked.”
She studied his face from the corner of her eye. He was rough around the edges, no doubt about that, but he didn’t seem uncaring. Crusty? Yes. Awkward? Definitely. But heartless?
“Maybe you should ask her sometime.”
He looked straight ahead, not altering his course when he reached a puddle but stomping through it as if it had deliberately set itself in his path and needed to be put in its place. His face was grim. Apparently, the subject of his wife was a touchy one.
Rae pictured the tall, slender woman she’d seen at his house, sitting alone at the table. Had they been married a long time? Maybe they’d lost some of their spark and needed to get it back. Or maybe something happened between them. That could explain his response.
She resisted the urge to rub her hands together. This was a project she could get behind. The old man was clearly miserable, and the lady was clearly lonely. Maybe she could help them if she could get some answers. Dad always said the best lawyers ask the best questions.
Mr. Laninga cleared his throat. “How old are you?”
Her growing excitement stalled out. She was supposed to be the one asking questions. She needed to pry, by golly, and show no mercy.
“Fifteen and three quarters.”
“So you don’t have your license yet?”
Her smile disappeared, all thoughts of coaxing information out of him gone. Driver’s Ed. started on Monday. “Permit.”
When they reached his black Dodge truck, Gerrit paused. “You been practicing?”
“Yes.” It was technically true. She “practiced” almost every night.
He held out his keys. “Want to drive back?”
Panic seized her stomach like a menstrual cramp. She wasn’t ready. What
