For all my concerns and suspicions about Anna, I know something is really wrong when she and Taylor step out of the ice cream parlor with a treat for each of them and nothing for me.
I had thought it odd when she hadn’t asked if I wanted anything, but I figured she was just going to get my usual.
“Nothing for me?” I ask as I walk up to them.
“I didn’t know how long you’d be on the phone,” Anna says.
“Really?” I ask.
I give her a quizzical look, but she is already scanning the small town square.
The Sandcastle town square is a rectangular green with an amphitheater and recreational areas that include beach volleyball pits and a playground for kids, surrounded by the small shops, boutiques, and eateries that form the heart of the quaint seaside village. Like all the places along 30A, this planned community is unique and yet uniform, the architecture, color schemes, and overall aesthetic of every building—the businesses on the square no less than the residences beyond them—all conforming to and complimenting one another.
“I’ll share with you, Daddy,” Taylor says.
My eyes sting as her little hand shoots up, lifting her melting cone toward me.
“That’s so sweet and generous of you,” I say, “but I’m good. You eat it.”
“Have some, Daddy,” she says. “It’s gooo-oood.”
“He can go in and get his own,” Anna says to her, then to me, “We’re right here. Just go in and get what you want. We’ll see you back at the house.”
“You wouldn’t even wait for me?” I ask. My voice is filled with surprise, but I can also hear the underlying hurt at its edges.
“Daa-ddy,” Taylor said. “Have some of mine.”
I squat down in front of Taylor and take a single lick from her cone. It’s a disgusting mixture of bubblegum, mint chocolate chip, and peach with sprinkles on top. It’s the best ice cream has ever tasted to me.
“Good, isn’t it?” Taylor says.
“The best,” I say. “Thank you so much for sharing.”
“Have some more, Daddy.”
“I’m good,” I say. “You eat the rest. After you finish your ice cream, you want to go to the bookstore and pick out a book for tonight?”
“Yes, sir, please.”
I turn to Anna. “I thought we could look around the town square while y’all finish your ice cream and then take her to the bookstore, but if you want to go back to the room and shower and rest, Taylor and I can meet you back there later.”
“Are you going to the bookstore to get her a book or to interview someone?”
I frown at her and shake my head. “To get her a book and—”
“And what?” she says. “To—”
“I had thought we might get one too.”
“Oh, well, I brought a few with me.”
I nod. “So did I. Doesn’t mean we can’t add one . . . or two . . . or a few to our piles.”
“We spend too much on books as it is,” she says.
I shake my head emphatically. “No such thing.”
“Our bank account begs to differ . . . and since you quit the prison . . . But you’ve already mentioned it to her now . . . so . . . I’m tired. I’m going back to the room. I’ll see y’all there.”
“We can walk you back to the room, get cleaned up, and then come back,” I say.
Everything in the compact community of Sandcastle is within walking distance of everything else. The houses surround the seaside square on three sides, have no front yards and very little side and back yards, so are extremely close together.
She shakes her head. “That’d be silly when you’re already here,” she says. “Besides, I’ll enjoy the walk back by myself and some time alone in the room.”
“Then we’ll look around at the town and give you some extra time.”
“No need for that,” she says. “Just do whatever y’all want to and have a good time. She’ll need the ice cream cleaned off her before she goes into the bookstore.”
I refrain from saying something sarcastic or snarky about the obvious nature of her comment and how well I take care of our girls in particular and books in general. Things are strained enough between us without me slinging some kerosene on the dumpster fire that is our relationship right now.