“Iknow, she sent me a letter.” She looked at him. “Who does that these days, sends letters? I mean, she’s a lawyer, are you telling me she can’t use e-mail.”
“Was a lawyer.”
“Whatever. The point is she hasn’t been retired all that long, I can’t imagine she didn’t use e-mail.”
“She told Macy she was worried about you ending up in a cult,” Newman said.
“What’s with you people always knowing each other’s business? Seriously! People can’t change a light bulb without interference in Howling.”
Newman smiled at her disgust.
“You know what living in a small town is like. If Mrs. Heath burns her raspberry cobbler, we all hear about it. You take the good with the bad.”
“It’s a good cobbler, to be fair. None better that I’ve ever tried, and I’ve tried a few.”
Hope was eating the bacon now. More like devouring, and Newman wondered when she’d last eaten.
“But”—she raised her fork when Newman opened his mouth to continue—“it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy everyone knowing my business.”
“Your mother likes to talk about you. That should make you happy.”
“My mother likes to lecture about me, note the difference?”
Newman conceded that she was probably right, but only silently. He watched as she ate more bacon, and then more toast. He then forked two pancakes onto her plate.
“I don’t need that, or you feeding me.”
“So, I’ve seen a lot of your pictures in magazines, they’re really good. When do you start work again?”
She looked shifty once more, her eyes searching the room, as if to check no one was watching.Odd, Newman thought. Most people liked praise, yet she was clearly uncomfortable with his comments.
“I’m taking a break?”
“Okay, so that explains why you were in that bar with five random men doing an exotic dance.”
She frowned.
“Come clean, Hope. You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”
“This is not like third grade, pretty boy. You can’t bribe me with your mom’s chocolate cake.”
“I miss that cake.” He sighed.
“Where are your parents and why are they not baking for you?” Hope had a fierce frown that drew her brows together, and made her look like her mother. Newman wasn’t telling her that.
“My father had a heart attack and had to change his diet, and Mom thinks chocolate cake, and anything that has sugar, butter, or is fried, is bad for us now. It’s a sad day when you go to your parents’ home to raid the fridge and you can only get a celery stick.”
She snorted. Not a laugh, or a giggle, just a snort.
“I’m sorry about your dad. Is he okay?”
Even as an adult, Newman still tensed when someone mentioned his father. “Sure. He has a list of instructions, which Mom makes him obey. But he comes to my house to eat something bad now and again.”And to remind me how much I owe him.“They’re heading to my aunt’s because she’s had an operation.”
“I wish my mom would travel.”
“What happened to your dad?” Newman had never asked before, and now he thought about it, no one ever mentioned the man.
She shrugged.
