Today he was right back to being Brent’s flakey best friend.
Whiplash probably wouldn’t have hurt as much.
And he couldn’t even tell anyone about it, because it wasn’t just his secret to tell.
“I have to get back.” Riley said. “But I will be here on Sunday. Tell Biscuit I love her.”
“I will.” Mrs. Jules chuckled. “You should get a dog.”
“Scott’s gotten to you too, huh? I told Brent I knew a dog guy the moment he mentioned one, and it was so automatic.”
“Scott’s very persistent.” Mrs. Jules smiled. “You’ll be here for the wedding, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Riley grinned at the thought. “I wouldnevermiss Charlie’s wedding. But I really have to go before this ice cream melts.”
He’d picked up a tub of raspberry ripple on his way past the grocery store, as promised. He was hoping Emily would have good news when she came home, but he was prepared for anything.
“I’ll see you Sunday,” Mrs. Jules said, backing a few steps away from the RV. “Give Brent and Emily my love.”
“I will,” Riley promised, climbing into the RV. Brent’s house was only a handful of minutes away by car, but it was on the edge of town on one of the bigger blocks that had once been part of a farm.
Riley had fantasized, when he was younger, about growing things there. He’d never decided on a crop, and Hope Springs had a better climate for livestock than anything else, but something would grow there.
It was a nice idea, but not something that ever seemed likely to happen.
Riley parked the RV in the same spot he always did beside the house. The one that was always left clear for him.
That meant a lot. Riley never felt unwelcome.
He still didn’t feel that he could just stay forever. Not unless Brent asked.
Brent had never asked.
As soon as Riley stepped onto the porch, the board he was standing on lifted up in front of him.
He stepped aside and pushed the raised end down with his heel, which only resulted in the nails popping out of the other end.
Riley had never paused to look at Brent’s porch before, but as he scanned it now, he could tell that it had seen better days. It hadn’t been taken care of, and the wear was starting to show in rotted boards, nails sticking out, splinters big enough to be a hazard.
He didn’t blame Brent for that. Brent had been treading water for years with Emily to take care of, and something like sanding and sealing his front porch probably hadn’t seemed all that important.
Riley walked up and down the length of it, testing rotted, squeaking boards as he went and making a mental note of where they all were.
He needed to make a trip to the hardware store.
