Jenny wasn’t wrong. Anna did indeed like to borrow Buford whenever she visited. She’d asked tonight if we could stop by and give Buford a pet. Unfortunately, Momma and Buford were asleep by the time we drove past their house. And okay, Buford did slobber all over everyone and everything. But Jenny was also wrong. Momma didn’t care one bit if Anna shanghaied the basset hound. She thought it was cute. And she had her cat, Sunshine, to keep her company when Buford was away.
Si shook his head, adamant. “We are letting her spend as much time with that dog as she wants.”
I relaxed a little. “Agreed.” Si wasn’t stressed about Jenny’s list. Why should I?
“Last chance,” he said with a mock-stern expression.
I adjusted in my seat. “Okay.”
He searched the back of the first page and moved on to the next. “I’ve got it. This is going to be it right here.” He sat up tall and cleared his voice. “Please make sure Anna works on her embroidery for at least fifteen minutes each evening. I know youknow how to embroider, Lemon, so this should be an easy one. She’s almost done with a lazy daisy reel. Make sure she finishes, please. We don’t want her to be a quitter.”He pointed to the paper. “She even put a smiley face next to it to make her appear less condescending.” His hands flew out, and he slumped onto the couch. “A lazy daisy reel? What is this? A Jane Austen novel?”
He balled the list back up and hucked it into the open fireplace. Apparently, he didn’t know it never got used. For two years, Billy had been promising to get someone out here to clean the flue. I wouldn’t dare light a match in there for fear we’d burn the house down.
I relaxed into the cushions. “You gave me terrible choices, admit it.”
“It was a terrible list.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Seriously though. Let me worry about my mom.” He stared up at the popcorn ceiling for a few seconds. “We should do the phone thing, though. I do agree with that one.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“And Sophie didn’t get her the phone. I did. So she could text me this past year, if she ever needed anything.”
My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t known that. I assumed Sophie got it for her. What else didn’t I know about Si? Unlocking his mysteries was really satisfying. Like leveling up in a game. He was like one of those houses with twenty-seven different locks on the door. It felt like tonight I’d gotten a couple of them picked. Christy probably had the door completely open. I was a little jealous of her right then.
His brow furrowed and his eyes had glazed over, like he was thinking of her right then.
I nudged his knee with my foot. “Everything okay with you and Christy?”
He gave me a single nod. “Yup.” His tone made it clear that, just kidding, all deadbolts were in place. He quicklychanged the subject. “Should we be worried that Anna is doing so well?”
I’d thought the same thing for the last week. “I don’t know. She seems really good, considering…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Considering Sophie was gone. Considering she’s an orphan. Considering she will live the rest of her life never hugging her mom again.
I would never hug Sophie again.
Silas opened his mouth to say something.
But my stomach beat him to it, growling embarrassingly loud. I folded my arms across my belly, trying to shut it up.
Silas chuckled. “Have you still not eaten?”
“No, I did,” I said sheepishly. When I took Anna for her winning McFlurry, the thought of a Quarter Pounder actually sounded delicious for once. So I let myself get one…along with a medium fry. But that was a couple of hours ago and apparently my body had already burned up every artery-clogging calorie I’d consumed.
“It sounds like you just ingested your spleen.” He hopped up. “Want a quesadilla?”
My mouth parted. “I forgot about those. That actually sounds really good.” He used to make them all the time when we were younger. It drove him crazy that every time he made one, Sophie got a hankering, too. But he’d make her one, anyway. And by default, he’d make one for me as well.
I followed him into the kitchen and opened my fridge to assess the tortilla situation. “Do you want corn or flour?”
“Corn. Of course,” he said, aduhin his voice.
While I was there, I grabbed the butter dish and the cheddar cheese. By the time I turned around, Silas had already figured out the gas burner and had a cast iron pan heating up. I hopped up on the counter with my legs dangling over the side and watched him work.
It felt like high school all over again. His routine hadn’tdeviated in the slightest. He dropped a pat of butter in the center of four tortillas and then sprinkled enough salt to cover the butter. He flipped two of them butter side down into the pan. They sizzled right away, and he turned the heat down a smidge. Then he carefully placed a calculated handful of cheese—not too much, not too little—on the tortillas. Once the last two tortillas were on top, we waited. Silas watched them studiously, as if they would burn the second he looked away. And while he watched them, I watched him.
This wasn’t the Silas I remembered. Sure, he still pulled away from me if I touched him, and sure he was sometimes ridiculously awkward. But tonight, things were good. Almost normal even. Maybe this would be okay.
He handed me a plated quesadilla, cut into eight perfect triangles. Just like I liked it. How did he remember that a decade later? He watched as I blew on one of the slices and then popped it into my mouth.
My eyes closed, and I moaned without even thinking about it. “I’d forgotten how yummy these are,” I said between chews. I got the strangest craving right then. “Oh, you know what would taste so good in these?”
