Before I could protest, he disappeared behind the curtain and Maureen pulled me into a hug. “Don’t waste another minute thinking about what’s-his-name! I’ll find you a real man.”
Hugging her back took effort. I was never gonna live this down.
After a last, almost vicious, squeeze she pushed me away. “Go on now. I’ll clean this up. And do try to get some sun while we have it! Did you hear about the low forming off the coast? They’re saying it might even become a tropical depression!
I shook my head. Weather forecasts weren’t high on my list right now. “Noon?”
“Two’s fine. Phil will be here.”
Eileen would be excited to hear that. Once I reached a quiet street, I needed to call and let her know I was on the way. The parade was over now, and the crowds had migrated toward the street fair, leaving enough room to walk along Front Street without bumping elbows with strangers. I settled into a long stride, remembering how far away I’d parked this morning.
Aside from eternal embarrassment and a nervous breakdown, how lucky was I to have the afternoon off? At home, I could regroup and center myself. Fix a little lunch for us, and then maybe read on the sunny side of the porch. I passed under a row of awnings and shivered at the drop in temperature. Then again, pajamas sounded good. I’d had enough for one day.
My step faltered, my right leg obeying a fraction too late as I stumbled over that thought. I’d had enough for one day? Pathetic. One childhood memory—albeit a disturbing one—and I was at my limit? When had I become such a useless excuse for a human being? For a friend? When I was younger, this whole crazy scenario would have been fascinating. Exciting even. Key word younger, but still.
I pulled out my cell. It wasn’t even twelve-thirty. As long as Eileen was fine—and I knew she would be—I should find Sal. I wasn’t a little girl, and I needed to stop goddamn acting like one. A blue spark burst into being ahead of me and flickered approval as I strode past. Or maybe it was warning me not to be too cocky.
A few minutes later, I turned onto a quiet street of stately homes and luscious, azalea-filled gardens. The smell of wisteria permeated the air, and the sidewalk was shaded by live oaks draped in Spanish moss and the flowering vines. Eileen answered on the second ring and sounded glad I was coming home to stay—or, more likely, glad I wouldn’t guilt her anymore. She’d already eaten, and when I told her I had to run an errand on the way home, she didn’t ask what it was. In gratitude, I held my own tongue and didn’t ask what she was doing.
My truck was still a couple of blocks away. Luckily, I’d had the presence of mind to wear flats, but I hadn’t expected quite such a long hike. With every step, the woven straps scrubbed across my toes, and by the time I reached Fourth and Ann, I was favoring my right foot and having second thoughts about confronting Sal.
Again? Wimp.
I sighed. Did normal people vacillate this much? Then again, normal people didn’t have to contemplate asking a near stranger about a super power, a dark force, and asexual reproduction.
Don’t forget eternal youth and cloning.
Finally at my Bronco, I popped the handle and climbed in. The vinyl seat was warm from sunshine, and I sank against it, tipping my head up to press my tight shoulders against the heat. I stared at the ugly tan ceiling and wondered whether the sagging lining near the visor would hold a few more years. Then I rummaged in my purse and found my brush, coaxing it through my hair before checking myself in the mirror. Maureen was right, I looked awful. I took fair-skinned to a whole new level of pale. I dug out my lip gloss and dabbed a little on my bottom lip, smooshing it with my top. Another mirror-check. I kicked off my right shoe and wriggled my toes in relief.
Weakling! Get on with it!
I was such a bully.
About a block away from Sal’s, I saw a flock of pigeons erupt into the air, do a swooping figure eight, and disappear behind the skyline. A second later, they repeated their flight. Nothing odd about that.
When I pulled up in front of his house, a nervous snicker escaped. Pigeons outlined the eaves like dingy Christmas lights. Only on his roof, of course.
Get out before you lose your nerve.
Right. I stuffed my phone in my pants pocket. It made an unflattering bulge at my hip, but what did I care? Eileen might call. Or I might need to call someone. I shook my head and started toward the front door. Who could I possibly call? 911? Um, yeah . . . so I stalked a man who wants nothing to do with me, and now he’s giving me the creeps. Can you come help? I was such an idiot. I was more likely to have trouble from a car thief than from Sal.
Shoot! I’d left my purse on the seat. I was about to turn back when my eye was drawn to movement in the solitary upper window. He was home. Shit.
The pigeons eyed me as I continued toward the house. No welcoming coos or bobbing heads. The cracked walkway was flanked by encroaching camellia bushes, and I wondered if the gray tabby cat was crouched beneath them again. With effort, I kept my eyes on the house. Everything about the old bungalow was gray, so it kind of made sense it would have a matching cat—and, apparently, its own flock of birds.
I hadn’t been able to see the house well at night—or during my speedy drive-bys—but in the midday sunshine it reminded me of a rain cloud, sad and sagging, drooping too low to the ground. Mildewed
