“You look nice! I made fettuccine Alfredo.” The moment “Alfredo” came out of her mouth, she started to cry a little. It was my dad’s favorite.
I went to her, took the pan out of her hand, and set it down. “Why did you make this?”
Breathing hard, she said, “I’m okay, Penny. Dr. Rush told me to make it.”
“Dr. Rush sounds like a quack.”
She laughed through tears. “Your dad would have said the same thing. Why do you look so pretty? Why do you look so much like him?”
“Do you think Dad was pretty?” I smiled.
Kiki got up and joined our hug. My mom rocked us back and forth. “I’m so lucky to have you girls.”
“Are you going somewhere, Penny?” Kiki asked.
“I’m going to have dinner with Lance. Will you save me some of this, Mom?”
“Of course, darling.”
Lance rang the doorbell at six fifty-two. Always punctual... and sometimes a little too early. I opened the door and kissed him. A full, openmouthed kiss.
“Wow, Penny. I didn’t expect that.”
“Well, you know me, full of surprises. Where are we headed?”
“I know a nice little Italian place I think you’d like. Do you need your brace or your crutches?”
“Nope, I’m on a high dose of Advil and the doc said I should walk around a bit. No dancing yet, though.”
He opened the passenger door like a true gentleman. For once, I appreciated how clean his car was. When we pulled out of the driveway, it was dusk. I turned to look through the window and could just see Gavin, dressed in his typical head-to-toe black, leaning against his car across the street, watching us drive away.
I texted him.
Me: Creeper.
He didn’t respond. That’s when I realized he’d seen the kiss on my doorstep.
“Was that Gavin?” Lance asked as we drove by.
“No,” I lied. “Just my neighbor.”
23.Fourteen Years Ago
GAVIN
Penny: I need you.
Me: Where are you?
Penny: On the bench across the street from the Stop and Shop.
I drove like a bat out of hell. Penny and I hadn’t been good for two months, but she needed me now. We talked daily in some form, but things had been strained. She hadn’t gotten over that day I left her at the PT clinic, and I was furious and jealous that she was dating Douche-face. She was also grieving about her dad still... and grieving about dance, which made her a loose cannon, a raw nerve... all the time. The prognosis on her knee wasn’t great. Her ligaments were healing, but it would be months before she’d be able to walk properly, let alone dance with that effortless grace she once had. It made her depressed. Without dancing, she was also gaining weight, which made her even more depressed.
When I pulled over to the side of the street, she stood from the bus bench and limped to my car. She was wearing jeans, a tank top, a short black leather jacket, and black combat boots. She looked mean.
“Where’s your car?” I asked.
“Broke down over on West Mountain.”
