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As he strolls toward his truck, I memorize his angles and lines. The easy way his broad shoulders sit back and long arms swing. The lines around his eyes as he smiles and waves from his truck. The casual drop of his arm out the open window, letting it hang as he drives away.

Ford wants to show up, and I believe him. Believe he wants to, and he will. More than that, I want him to. Over and over. Just like I did when we were kids.

Even though I’m scared.

Even though I’m leaving.

Even though I have no clue how to be what he and Wren deserve.

Damn him.

Twenty-Seven

“Idon’tlikethosefrozen cubes of shit you buy.” Glory’s judgmental tone is in full force as I refill her empty freezer with saidcubes of shit.

“Buy your own then,” I tell her, closing the freezer door. “If you ate like an actual adult, I would just buy you ingredients and you could cook.”

Glory takes a drag of her cigarette, glaring at me from where she leans against the kitchen counter. “Don’t belittle my diet. I have allergies.”

I snort. “Since when?”

Her eyebrows raise, annoyed I would ask such a ridiculous thing. She taps her ashes into the sink, watching me as I restock her fridge then pull cleaning supplies out of the cabinet.

She’s out of her usual cutoff uniform and wearing a white dress with blue flowers; her normally stringy hair is combed and pulled back into a tidy bun. The dress swallows her slight frame, hanginglower than it should at most places, but she looks nice, especially for her.

“What?” she snaps.

I roll my eyes, squeezing beside her to fill a bucket at her ashtray of a sink with hot water. “You look nice. You going somewhere?”

Suds fill the bucket.

“No thanks to you.”

I would thoroughly enjoy dunking her head into the water and holding it there. Instead, I smile tightly, remind myself I’m all she has, then play the game she loves so much of making me drag information out of her. “Okay,” I drawl. “Where are you going?”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” She cocks her head, exhaling smoke. “But I have a date.”

I lift the bucket from the sink and set it on the floor, poking the mop head into it before dragging it across the linoleum floor. “With who?”

“Dan Glibbs. I met him at the VFW playing Bingo.”

I push the mop back into the bucket, swirling it around with the soap before lifting it out again. “I didn’t know you went to the VFW.”

“I work there.”

My chin jerks back and the mop stills. “Since when?”

“Since forever. If you’d bother to come around, you’d know these things, Scotty Ann. I can’t just sit here forever. My husband died. My son didn’t care enough to live. My daughter doesn’t care about me.” She gives me a hurt look; I do not remind her I just bought her groceries and am mopping her floor. “Hell, nobodycares if I’m dead or alive. I bet you wish I was in that truck with your daddy—”Some days . . .“God rest his black soul. You know, this is just how my life is. I’m like one of those soldiers nobody knows the name of, dead on a battlefield just the same. Nobody has time for little old Glory Joplin.”

I roll my eyes; her use of her maiden name is a direct indication of how big of a pain in the ass she plans on being.

“What does that have to do with working at the VFW?”

She stubs her cigarette in the sink and leaves it then bats a hand through the air. “I started last month.”

I resume mopping.

“I can see how a month of working would feel like forever to you.” We exchange glares. “A job is good for you. Get you out of the house, get you around new people. Maybe you’ll like this Dan guy. Maybe he’ll even tolerate your cheery-as-a-rotted-corpse personality.”