Chapter Thirteen

Jack

It must suck to never know if there’d be food at home. My grandmother always made sure our house was stocked with enough food to outlast a blizzard and the zombie apocalypse combined.

“Good thing you’ve got an in with the guy who takes the carry-out orders.” I grabbed the order slip and started jotting down items.

“Are you going to wait for me to tell you what I want, or are you making it up as you go along?”

“I know you. You want a burger with everything but onions, and you want sweet potato fries.”

She laughed, liked I’d surprised her in a good way. “You do know me.”

“I’m going to add the spaghetti family dinner with salad and bread and butter. You can make toast with the bread and butter.”

Her smile widened. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Of course I looked out for her. That’s what you did for people you cared about. Oh, hell. I did care about her…and not in a sisterly manner. Time to retreat before I said something stupid. “It’s the least I can do, since you helped rescue Buddy.”

I dropped the order off in the kitchen and then came back to find a line of people waiting to check out. Everyone must have decided the weather had taken a turn for the worse. People around here mostly drove trucks and safe cars rather than sports cars. Driving would be slow, but barring any idiots, we should all make it home just fine.

After the last person checked out, Betty locked the doors and waited for us all to start our cars before she drove off in her Escalade.

Delia held a giant takeout bag on her lap as I drove out of the parking lot. “What all did you order?” she asked.

“It’s not all for you. I ordered dinner for myself since they had extra spaghetti.”

She inhaled. “It does smell awesome.”

I drove at a slow pace, because visibility was crap even with my high beams on. I found myself leaning forward and clenching the steering wheel.

“It’s getting pretty bad. You can take me to your house instead of making two stops,” Delia said.

“I thought about that,” I said, “but your place is closer. I might be camping on your couch if this doesn’t get any better.”

When I pulled down Delia’s driveway, I hoped to see some lights on in the house or another car in the driveway. The house was dark, and the only vehicle in the driveway was her truck. “No one’s home?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” She acted like it was no big deal, but I think it bothered her.

Should I try to make the drive home when I couldn’t see a foot in front of the windshield, or should I crash here and keep Delia company?

“Want to come in for a while and wait for the weather to clear up?” she asked.

“Sure. I can eat and then check to see what it’s like.”

“If it’s too bad to drive, the couch is all yours.”

We got out of my Accord and trudged up to the front door. I followed Delia inside. Weird that I’d known her forever and had never been in her house before. The table in the foyer was stacked high with mail and newspapers. Were they recycling, or had her parents not had time to go through all the mail? And why were some of the envelopes red? That couldn’t be good.

“This way,” Delia said.

I followed her into the kitchen and stared. The chrome and aqua appliances looked like they were as old as the farm house, which was cool, but would they even work? Coffee cups were stacked in the sink, and more mail sat on the counter by the toaster.

I set the carry-out bag on the table.

Delia grabbed paper plates from one of the cabinets. “Your grandmother would probably be appalled by our kitchen.”

“It’s kind of retro cool.”

“My parents talked about replacing the appliances, but I love these. Plus we mostly use the Crock-Pot and the coffeemaker, so there really isn’t any point.”

“Some decorator would probably pay big bucks for these, since they all match.” I pulled out Delia’s burger and my spaghetti and then put the extra food in the refrigerator, which was empty except for ketchup, mustard, coffee creamer, and string cheese. I almost commented on the lack of food but realized Delia might be self-conscious about it.

I sat at the Formica kitchen table, which had blue stars that matched the appliances, and dug into my container of spaghetti while Delia ate her burger.

“I feel like I need to apologize for my house,” Delia blurted out. “Everything at your house always seems so perfect.”

“Really?” That was weird. “Our cabinets are stocked, but the house isn’t perfect. The steps are warped, and there are cracks in the plaster ceilings upstairs.”

“But your grandmother is so organized.” She pointed at the counter. “I don’t even know what is in those stacks of mail. My dad has a system. Every month, I just hope he pays the power on time so the electricity doesn’t go out.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Yes. And it’s not like we didn’t have the money to pay the bill. It’s just that nothing around here happens on a regular schedule.”

“My grandma likes to be prepared for anything.” I thought about it. “After she moved back in with us, I think she tried to make up for what my mom didn’t do.”

“Your mom is a lot better now. Don’t you think?”

I rolled spaghetti around my fork. “She is.” I wondered how long it would last. If she was back to normal for good. The jaded voice in the back of my head reminded me that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

…

Delia

Having Jack in my house felt strange. Maybe the reason Zoe and I didn’t hang out here more was because I was very aware that my house wasn’t up to her family’s standards. It’s not like it was dirty, but it was kind of cluttered, and we should probably dust more often than we did.

Jack didn’t seem to be judging me, which was good. Not having to be alone at home was nice. With the way the snow was coming down, camping out here was probably a good plan.

“You should call your mom and let her know where you are.”

“I should’ve thought of that.” He pulled out his cell and dialed. I grabbed my own cell and walked into the foyer. Two texts waited for me, asking if I was home. I answered both. My parents said they weren’t getting off work until eleven, and they’d check the roads before they tried driving home. I walked back into the kitchen as Jack set his cell on the table.

“My mom was on the verge of a freakout when I said I might try driving home, so I told her I’d camp on the couch until it was safe to leave.”

“Good plan.” I shivered. “I’m going to change into something warmer. Do you want a sweatshirt or something?”

“Sure. And I think I’ll make some coffee.”

Something warm to drink sounded good. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I felt bad that Jack was stuck here but happy that I didn’t have to ride out the storm alone. Not that I minded quiet time. I did some of my best artwork when I was alone, but it was nice to have someone to talk to.

After changing into yoga pants and a sweatshirt and swapping out the tiara for a headband, I felt warmer and more comfortable. I rooted through my closet and found a one-size-fits-all sweatshirt—which is always a lie—that was way too big for me. It said, “The Earth without art is just Eh.”

My dad wouldn’t care if I loaned Jack his clothes, so if this didn’t work, we’d try something from his closet. The rich scent of coffee drifted upstairs.

In the kitchen, Jack sat at the table finishing off his spaghetti. I held the sweatshirt out to him. “See if this fits.”

He examined the art-friendly motto and grinned. “That’s pretty good.” He pulled it over his head, messing up his hair. I had the strange desire to reach out and fix it for him, but that could be awkward.

“If I had the right supplies here, this would be the perfect time to color your hair.”

“What a shame,” Jack said. “Fate must be looking out for me.”

“Who cuts your hair?”

He shrugged. “Whoever has an open chair at Crazy Cuts.”

“So you have no plan…you just let them do whatever?”

“As long as it’s not in my eyes, I don’t care.”

“You’re so low maintenance,” I said. “What’s that like?”

“Aren’t you the queen of I-don’t-give-a-crap-about-what-anyone-thinks?”

“Most of the time, yes. But no one messes with my hair.”

…

Delia

After we were done eating, I cleaned up the carry-out containers and paper plates. Now what? Television sounded like the most low-stress answer. I glanced at him.

Would it be so wrong if I leaned against him on the couch while we watched a movie? The coffeemaker hissed out the last puff of steam, signaling its cycle was done. I grabbed the creamer from the fridge and two cups from the cabinet.

“You take cream and sugar, right?” I said.

“Yes.”

Funny that I knew how he liked his coffee. I guess that’s what happened when you worked with someone and went to school with them and practically lived at their house.

I carried the coffee into the living room where the love seat was piled high with clean laundry, which meant we’d both have to sit on the couch. Not that I minded. I sat not quite in the middle, giving him about two thirds of the couch real estate. That way he could scoot closer if he wanted to, but it didn’t look like I was setting him up.

He took the coffee I held out to him and sat in the middle of the area I’d allotted him. What did that mean? Who knew? It was a bad idea to even think about Jack in a non-brotherly way. I grabbed the remote and hit the guide. There were a couple of movies on that I liked, but I didn’t think Jack would go for The Princess Bride. Maybe he’d be okay with the Avengers movie.

“If you choose Princess Bride over the Avengers, we are going to have a problem.”

“I like both of them, but I can understand why you’d be more into Captain America.”

He gave me a look of disbelief. “Iron Man, not Captain America. He’s too goody-goody.”

Not like I minded watching men run around in superhero costumes, so I clicked on the movie.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I set my coffee down and grabbed the afghan off the back of the love seat. Back on the couch, I threw it over my lap and offered part of it to Jack. “You’re welcome to share if you’re cold.”

“I’m good.” He kept his eyes on the screen like he was afraid to look at me. What is that about?