“They’re gone.”
He glanced at the paper bag by her feet. “Have some fudge.”
“I can’t. It’s a present for Chris’s parents.”
“Why are you getting them a present? It’s his graduation.”
“I want them to like me.”
Which made no sense.
“Everybody likes you,” Joe said.
Because she liked them. Fifteen years ago, she’d been like the Pied Piper or something, always making up games for the other kids to play. He’d seen her in the shop, handing out smiles like samples of fudge to tourists. She oohed and aahed over pictures of Carol Johnson’s children and grandchildren, asked about Mr.Hubbell’s bursitis, loaned that book to Hailey.
“They don’t, actually. But sometimes presents help.”
“What did you get him? The doctor?”
“I didn’t get him anything.” She looked at him, her wide eyes suddenly full of doubt. “Should I have?”
“No.” She was enough. It bothered him she didn’t see that. “How about some lunch?”
“I don’t want to make us late.”
“You won’t. I have to stop for gas, anyway. We can pick up sandwiches or something.”
At the next exit, he filled the gas tank while Anne dashed in to pee. Parking the truck, he followed her into the convenience store.
No Anne.
He found her eventually, standing in front of a rack of key chains and refrigerator magnets. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a gift. For Chris.”
He glanced at the display. “You think he wants a Michigan pine air freshener shaped like a mitten?”
Her smile bloomed. “Probably not. I thought…They don’t have any graduation cards. What about a travel mug?”
“I think,” he said carefully, “he’ll be happy just to see you.”
“Right. You’re right.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against her thigh, staring at the cheap souvenirs.
He bought a couple of sandwiches, two big drinks (he needed the caffeine), and a tin of Pringles. Giving her time. When he got back, she was still standing there, as if the force of her attention could summon the perfect graduation present to appear magically between the blueberry popcorn and overpriced jerky. “Hey,” he said gently. “You ready to go?”
“Yes! Sorry! Oh, fudge, are we late?”
“We’re fine,” he said. “Plenty of time.”
And for another hundred miles or so, theywerefine. Theyfollowed the highway along Lake Michigan, past tiny towns, through rolling orchards and fields, past the billboards for Cops & Doughnuts and the U-Pick signs.
Anne leaned forward. “Oh look, a farm stand! I used to stop all the time with my dad. Well, not all the time. Once or twice. When he took me to college. We bought apples.”
Something—the wistfulness in her voice or the Rob Gallagher Memorial Soundtrack playing from the radio—got to him. He pulled onto the strip of dirt beside the road.
Anne looked from the green-and-whitebrooks farmsign to Joe. “What are we doing?”
He shrugged. Damned if he knew. “Buying apples, I guess.”
