“Who’s Jolene?” William asks while I simply stare.
On Sunday, they were just friends. Now they’re having adinner date? “Do you need a ride?” I ask. “Where does she live?”
“She lives halfway between here and Buckholt, and she’s picking me up.” My dad waves a hand. “You don’t need to do anything. I just wanted you to know.” Then, humming under his breath, he saunters back to his bedroom.
William glances at me, grinning. “Wow. Grandpa’s got a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I reply automatically.
My son’s eyebrows lift. “Are you sure about that?”
No, I am not. And I know I have no right to feel anything but pleased on my dad’s behalf, but… it’shard, having to accept all these changes. Bethany moving out. William moving on. Mydad… doing whatever.
And meanwhile, this little one is getting ready to enter this chaotic world. I place one hand on my bump in reassurance, but right now, the thought of welcoming a baby when my older kids are flying from the nest only makes me feel tired. As I turn back to the fridge, I wish takeout was an option, but where we live, it simply isn’t.
“You tired, Mom?” William asks as he rises from the table. “I can make something for dinner.”
I smile at my son, who really has grown up a lot if he’s offering that. I don’t think he’s made dinner for the family pretty much ever.
And, while my usual MO would be to protest and say that, of course, I can do it, I decide to take him up on it. “Well, actually, if you wouldn’t mind…”
He looks a little surprised—I think he was expecting me to refuse, too—but then he laughs and shrugs. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind spaghetti and sauce?”
“Sounds perfect.” I go into the living room to put my feet up—and look for jobs I can apply for; I haven’t forgotten about that pressing need, no matter what Josh thinks about my measly eight-seventy-five an hour.
I’ve just sat down on the sofa, pulling my laptop toward me, when the doorbell rings.
“That’ll be Jolene,” my dad sings out.
Josh, who is getting ready for a tutoring call, gives me a look.
“They’re going out to dinner,” I inform him, and rise from the sofa to greet the woman who seems intent on stealing my dad’s heart. That’s how it feels, anyway.
“You must be Jolene,” I say as my dad opens the door. The woman standing there isn’t wearing purple satin and fishnets the way she was for the tea dance; in fact, she looks very normal, dressed in jeans and a fleece, her curly hair tucked behind her ears.
“And you must be Abby,” she says with a warm smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Wait,finally? How long has this been going on? My smile slips a notch as we shake hands, and Josh comes over to offer his own introduction.
“So, are you from this area, Jolene?” I ask, and she exchanges a quick, amused glance with my dad; clearly, I’m acting like a parent with a teenager rather than a daughter with a septuagenarian dad.
“I’m from Charleston originally,” she says, which my dad had already told me, “but I moved out here when my husband retired. He died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She glances again at my dad. “It happens, but thank you. I’m sorry for the loss of your mom.”
I know it makes sense for her to know about that, but I still stiffen just a little. “Thank you.”
A jangle of the keys to indicate our conversation is over, and Jolene glances at my dad once more. “Shall we get going?”
“Absolutely,” my dad says.
Josh and I watch, both of us bemused, as my dad and Jolene head off into the evening together.
“When will you be home?” I blurt as they are heading down the walk.
Josh hisses, “Abby.”
