He gave it a cautious tug, lying stone still as the hammock gently rocked from side to side.
“How is it?” she asked.
He felt himself beginning to relax. “Not bad.”
“Now all you need is a drink and a good romance novel.” She giggled. “At least that’s what I usually go for.”
“Maybe I should practice getting out,” George said. “Just in case.”
“Good idea.”
George played the steps in his head, reversed from how he’d gotten in, and hoping he wasn’t about to splat on the ground, he went for it. To his pleased astonishment, he wound up on his feet. “I think your suggestion for lowering the hammock was most helpful,” he told her. “Thank you very much for the lesson.”
“You are very welcome, Mr. Emerson.”
“Why don’t you call me George,” he said a bit sheepishly. “After all, we’re neighbors. No reason we can’t be friends.”
“Well, thank you, George.” Lorna smiled. “And I feel I should apologize. I realize that I can be overly enthusiastic at times. My girlfriend Karen reminded me of this a few days ago. So if I’ve overwhelmed you with my enthusiasm, I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“Thank you.” He nodded. “I must admit to liking a quiet life. When someone comes on too strong, I tend to retreat the other direction.”
“And I’ve noticed that you’re involved with your artist friend, Willow West. She seems quite nice.”
George didn’t know how to respond. On one hand, it would be a convenient way to discourage unwanted advances from his “overly enthusiastic” neighbor, but on the other hand, it was disingenuous. “Willow is a good friend,” he said honestly. “But sometimes she can be overly enthusiastic too.”
Lorna grinned. “Well, then I’m in good company.” She waved. “Now I’ll leave you to your hammock and your peaceand quiet. But if you ever need anything, George, you know where I live.”
On Sunday, instead of raging at everyone about everything, all Josie did was sob and wail. Willow honestly didn’t understand how a person could cry that much. But Josie wasn’t faking it. Her tears were real. By that afternoon, Willow felt seriously concerned that her daughter could be dehydrated from shedding so many tears.
“I made you a pitcher of iced green tea,” Willow said after Josie opened the apartment door. Her nose was red and swollen and her eyes were so puffy they looked like slits. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m not okay,” Josie declared. “I miss Garth. I feel like someone chopped off my leg. I don’t know how I can go on without him.”
“I’m sorry.” Willow handed her the pitcher. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Get Garth back.” Josie peered at her hopefully, as if she really thought Willow could perform such a magic trick.
“Have you tried to call him?”
“I think he’s blocked me.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe you could call him, Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
“He wouldn’t have your phone blocked.”
“I wouldn’t know what to say, honey. And I honestly don’t think I should get in the middle of your—”
“Then let me use your phone,” Josie begged.
Against her better judgment, Willow gave in. “You haveto use it in my apartment,” she insisted. “And keep the call short. If he really wants to talk to you, ask him to call you on your own phone.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
But, back in Willow’s apartment, the call to Garth was very brief—and then Josie was crying all over again.
