“We could start a book club,” I suggested.
“No.”
“Buddy read?”
“Maybe.” She checked her phone. Frowned and put it away.
I never saw her texting with her friends, I realized. Orskipping out of work early to hang out at the stables or on the waterfront with other teens. Books were the best companions. But at Hailey’s age, she needed more.
“Reading’s more fun with a friend,” I said.
“How would you know?”
Fair enough. My social life these days was reduced to selling fudge to tourists and living with my mom. Mei-Ling and Daniel had moved to Colorado and only communicated through snaps of grazing elks and selfies standing triumphantly on rocky summits with their arms around each other. Sarah hadn’t emailed. I’d texted her to ask how the end of the school year had gone and got only a brief thumbs-up in reply.
A sudden yearning for my dad…for Chris…squeezed my chest so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Did Chris miss me? Did anybody?
“Well, when I was your age…” I began.
“Dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
“Worse. There was no TikTok.” Hailey snorted. Encouraged, I continued. “Daanis Bartok and I read all the Anne books together. We were going to get matching tattoos as soon as we turned eighteen. ‘True friends are always together in spirit.’ ” I smiled, remembering.
“So, why didn’t you?”
She chickened out.“Oh.” I waved vaguely. “I went away to college.”
Hailey nodded. “Like in the book. Anne leaving Diana behind.”
My mind snapped back. “She didn’t leave her behind. Diana got engaged to Fred.”
“What? When?”
“Fudge. You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t get that far yet. What about Anne and Gilbert?”
Hooked, I thought with a bite of satisfaction. “Nuh-uh. No more spoilers. Although…” I paused dramatically. “I can tell you things get verrry interesting in the next book. But you’ll have to read it yourself.”
“The library doesn’t have it.”
“I can request it for you. Or…” I looked at her round, pleading face. Oh, the agony of waiting for a sequel! “I bet I can find my copy.”
—
Daanis and Zacklived one block over from her parents’ house in a single-story cottage with a toddler playset in the yard and awelcomesign in rustic letters by the door.
She opened to my knock, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Two-year-old Rose peeked from behind her knee. The smell of hamburger and onions wafted onto the porch.
I smiled, holding out a teal box like a peace offering or an apology. “I brought fudge.”
“Chocolate cherry?” she asked hopefully.
I nodded, happy to have gotten something right today. “With walnuts.”
Rose reached up. “Candy!”
