Shay gestured to the opposite end of the lot but I shook my head, steering her in the direction of my truck. “We’ll drop you at your car.”
“It’s fine. I can—”
“We’ll drop you at your car and then we’re following you to Twin Tulip. No argument.”
She stared at me as if she didn’t understand the words. As if they truly didn’t compute. Maybe it was that they didn’t compute coming from me.
We reached the truck and Gennie went into her booster seat without much of a fuss. Then I opened the door for Shay.
“I’m parked just down there. I don’t need a ride.”
“Get in the truck.”
After a second of internal debate, she climbed inside and I knew the cab would smell like her tomorrow. Part of me couldn’t wait for it. The other part knew I was setting myself up for regular servings of misery.
Once I was settled in the truck, I said to her, “Thanks for everything. You owed me exactly none of it. You could’ve told me to go to hell and left me to deal with Christiane and it would’ve been deserved.”
“I would not have done that and you know it.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded slowly, glancing around the truck. “You always did like things neat.”
I jerked a shoulder up. “Some things never change.”
She turned to face me. “I hope so.”
Since my options were slim to none with a half-asleep six-year-old in the back seat and it wasn’t like I was prepared to explain to Shay that not a single minute of this evening had been an act for me, I pulled out of the parking space and let her direct me to her vehicle.
“I’m following you,” I said when she opened the door. “But keep an eye out for animals, especially when you turn onto Hog House and then Old Windmill. Loads of deer and turkeys out recently.”
She waved in response. I waited for her to start the car, back out of the space. Mentally kicked myself for not offering to drive her to the game in the first place. I followed Shay out of the high school complex and down the sleepy residential streets of Friendship toward the narrow bridge that led past the white-steepled church where my mother had once preached to the hilly farmland on the other side of the cove.
“Is Shay your girlfriend?”
Gennie’s little voice was thick and raspy with sleep, and she had her face turned toward the window.
“She’s my friend,” I said. “A very good friend.” I glanced at her in the rearview. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? You can tell me if it’s not okay.”
“Shay’s my friend too,” Gennie replied.
“I know.”
“I thought you wanted her to be your girlfriend.”
I waited behind Shay at a stop sign, staring at her, hoping to catch her eye if she glanced back at me. She didn’t. “Because of…things that happened tonight?”
“No. I thought you liked her.”
“I do,” I admitted.
Gennie was quiet for several minutes. I assumed she’d drifted off to sleep. Then, “If she’s your friend, does that mean you’re going to have playdates with her too?”
I turned onto Old Windmill Hill Road, slowing as Shay approached the turn for Twin Tulip. I followed, stopping at the top of the lane to watch her park. We waited as she unlocked the front door to the house, gave us a wave, and stepped inside.
