His smile grows and he breaks the handshake, clapping me on the shoulder. “Damn straight, son. Damn freaking straight.”
He moves by me, walking down the hall, pausing by Joey and pulling her into a hug.
It doesn’t last much longer than me closing and locking thedoor, and by the time I reach them, he’s drawing back. “Good to see ya, sweet pea.”
“You too, John,” she murmurs. “You?—”
“Oh look!” I hear Beth cry. “Chinese! You don’t mind if we join you guys, do you? I’m starved.”
Joey glances at me, worry creeping into her eyes.
It’s all empty.
My lungs go tight.
How are you going to make it better for her?
They go tighter.
Then all of that tightness just…relaxes.
Because there’s yearning in Joey’s eyes. She wants them her. She wantsmehere.
And…this is part of how I’m going to make it better, part of how I’m going to fill in that emptiness.
Simple as that.
I move into the kitchen, head straight for the cabinet with the dishes and pull out a couple more plates and bowls. “It might need a reheat,” I tell Beth as I hand over one of the plates.
“That’s okay, honey. It’s been ages since I’ve had a meal I haven’t had to cook in an RV kitchen. Just popping this plate into the microwave is a treat.”
“Woman,” John grumbles as he takes the other plate I hold out, “we just ate at that little Italian place you were begging me to stop at.”
I set the bowls next to the container of soup and pause to take in the show.
Because Beth has dropped the spoon back into the rice and turned, plunking her hands on her hips. “That wastwoweeks ago!”
John starts scooping up rice, adding more to Beth’s plate before heaping some onto his own. “Two weeks is an age?”
I glance up, see that Joey is having the same reaction I am.
The corners of her mouth are turned up.
I wink at her, watch as that tempting mouth curves up further.
Then I turn back to the show of John and Beth.
“When you’re the one cooking breakfast, lunch,anddinner in a tiny RV kitchen then you’ll know exactly how long two weeks is, dear.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s fourteen days, honey bun.”
“Okay”—she takes the fork I hold out without breaking stride—“then I’m off cooking duty. You fend for yourself.”
A shrug. “So long as you empty the septic.”
There’s a blip of quiet. Then she lifts her chin, takes her plate to the counter, and turns to Joey. “We watched the game last night.” She reaches out, snags Joey’s hand. “Great job, honey.”
“Notice she doesn’t commit to emptying the tanks,” John says in a stage-whisper.
