Mason was quiet for a second. Then he said, “I don’t remember you being this chatty back in school.”
“Well, I don’t remember you at all.”
He laughed.
“Seriously,” she said, “were we in school together?” She wasn’t trying to be mean. (She didn’t have to try. It came naturally.) She just recognized him as her grandparents’ neighbor.
“There’s only one high school, Reagan.”
“Yeah, but you’re a lot younger than me, right?”
“I’m two years younger than you.”
“Really?I thought you won the state wrestling thing when I was in college.”
“That was my brother, Brook.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. We were in band together—you and me.”
“I think I blocked that out. I hated band.”
“I could tell,” he said. “You were terrible.”
“I didn’t even play half the time. I just moved the clarinet around.” She reached in her pocket for cigarettes. She didn’t have any. She hadn’t had any for years. “Sorry I don’t really remember you.”
“That’s all right. We were all trying to stay in your blind spot anyhow.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you were mean as shit.”
“I was not.”
“Yes, you were—you called my friend ‘Mr.Toad.’”
Reagan cackled. “You were friends with Mr.Toad?”
“I was.”
“How’s he doing?”
“All right. He manages the nursing home.”
“Oof. What a time to work at a nursing home.”
“Yeah ...”
They were quiet again.
“Your grandpa is careful,” Mason said, like he could hear her worrying. “Your parents come by, and they talk through the storm door.”
“That’s good,” Reagan said.
“I should have salted his driveway.”
“What?”
