“You don’t.”
She turns around like she’s headed back into the school.
And here I go, opening my mouth again. “What’s she in jail for?”
She swings back to face me. “Please,please, for Junie’s sake, forget you heard any of that.”
“Yes, my first order of business in my classroom tomorrow will be announcing that June Spencer’s grandmother is a jailbird. Can’t wait. Ties in so well with geometry and precalc.”
Her eyes go shiny, and she blinks twice quickly before turning her back on me again. “At least it’ll sort out who’s worthy of being Junie’s friend before she gets any more invested in anyone who’s not.”
“Hey.” I snag Maisey by the elbow. “Of course I’m not telling.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She shakes her arm loose.
“Maisey. Nobody here’s gonna judge, and I’d bet you every last donut at the bakery that half of June’s friends already know anyway.”
“Unless you’re about to tell me your deepest, darkest secret, I would very much appreciate if you would leave me alone and let me go on living my life believing this conversation never happened.”
“I hate mushrooms.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Like I’m actually afraid of them.”
“You’re afraid of mushrooms.”
“Ask Opal.” I’m almost thirty-five years old, telling a woman to ask my aunt about my fear of mushrooms. “I don’t talk about it because teenagers are assholes and I’d end up with piles of mushrooms on my desk every year if I did.”
Shit.
I’m thinking about piles of mushrooms on my desk, and I’m sweating.
She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m the type of asshole to make up a dumb fear to mock her gullibility, too, or if I’m serious.
“I got sick off a wild mushroom when I was a kid, didn’t get to the hospital when I should’ve, got way sicker than I should’ve, and I’ve been terrified of all of them ever since. Even when I know they’re safe. Can’t even see the word without getting the shakes.”
Her suspicion doesn’t waver, which is a kick to the gut after I told her more than I usually tell anyone about my childhood.
Probably didn’t register for her what a fucking big deal that was for me to say so much out loud.
She says everything. She doesn’t hold back.
Whywouldshe understand how hard that was for me?
I scrub a hand over my hair, equal parts frustrated that she doesn’t believe me and frustrated that I care.
If you’d told me six months ago that I’d be worried what Tony’s niece thought of me, I’d have laughed you out of town.
But she’s not the villain I thought she was.
Don’t get me wrong. I still think she’s in over her head with managing this much land in Wyoming, and I still think she’ll need more help than she expects come winter, and I still want to find a way to get my troubled kids back out to the ranch to work off their frustrations.
But she’s not the bad guy. She’s done too much good around town to be the bad guy.
If anything, she’s the lost guy.
Girl.
