sure when they plan to do that, not as yet. Sometime in the next few days, I think. I’ll find out.”
He nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks, Prissy.” He covered her hand with his calloused one.
Despite her pulse fluttering at his touch, she would have to be cautious, not fool herself into thinking they could have something more personal going simply because she still felt attracted to him. After all, she didn’t know if she could trust Sam Larson with more than friendship after the way he’d simply left town right after he’d kissed her and told her he wanted her to be his girl.
No one knew why he’d left. That still bothered her. Not that she was going to ask. She didn’t want to get into an uncomfortable discussion. Anything to avoid that kind of tension. She remembered in high school, Sam was voted the most likely to end up dead by 30. Had he done something terrible? Was that why he’d left? Was whatever he had done somehow reflecting back on him now? If he had some big secret he was hiding, he wasn’t exactly being honest with her.
Again.
She’d gotten over him once—at least she’d convinced herself she had—and she didn’t need to go back there. They’d been just kids, then, really. Still, it had obviously had a lasting influence on her. Could it be that Sam’s disappointing her the way he had was part of the reason she’d never given herself fully to any other man? She’d had a serious boyfriend in Madison and a couple more in Milwaukee, but those relationships had never worked out. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride—that was the running joke she had with her girlfriends.
A joke based on the disappointing truth.
* * *
PRISCILLA TRIED NOT to think about Sam that evening. Mom had invited them for a barbeque, but when they arrived at her parents’ backyard, Mom was fuming.
“Supper will be a little late.” Mom’s eyes were narrowed behind her glasses. “Your father forgot to light the coals.”
He muttered, “I was distracted.”
“And then he fell asleep. You’re always sleeping, Roger.”
Priscilla didn’t say a word. Though her mother had a point, she wasn’t about to get in the middle of their ongoing argument.
“Didn’t you sleep last night, Gramps?” Mia asked.
“Oh, a little.”
Mia furrowed her brows. “Does Grams text, too?”
“Text?” he asked.
Mom laughed. “No, honey, old people like us don’t text all that much, though you’ve explained so much about it, I may take it up.”
“Text?” he repeated.
“You type on a little keyboard,” explained Priscilla, “on a phone.”
Dad merely grunted but Mom told Mia, “Gramps just likes to get some rest in his recliner before he comes to bed. You know, in front of the TV, with his eyes closed. Last night he did about six hours of ‘resting’ before he came to bed.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Dad objected. “I was watching a program.”
“Watching what program?” Mom asked.
“Uh, well...something about history.”
Mom snorted. “Looked like an old basketball game to me, on the classic sports channel. You’d have remembered if you hadn’t been resting so hard.” She gestured toward the grill. “Let’s get those burgers on.”
“Okay, okay.”
Shutting out the bickering, which tended to get on her nerves, Priscilla stared around her at the pretty flowerbeds. Mom was some gardener. Too bad the big patio didn’t look as neat and pretty. Grass and weeds poked out between the irregular stones. One of the legs on the table loaded with platters of uncooked burgers and corn on the cob was held together with duct tape. And the chairs around it could use a new coat of paint. The patio was one of those projects Dad wasn’t doing that Mom kept complaining about.
“Aren’t those coals ready yet?”
“I don’t know, Helen.” Dad sounded down, like he didn’t really care. He looked as if he didn’t care about much. Sweat trickled down his balding head into his face, but he didn’t even bother to wipe it off. His shirttail hung out of his pants and the button holding it together at his waist looked ready to pop. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”
Mom made a sound of frustration and spun on her heel. “I’ll be inside.”
Priscilla followed her. “I’ll come with you.”
First she glanced over at the girls to see if they would come after her. Mia was standing by the grill next to Dad, her arm around his thick waist. His expression brightened a bit, and he gave her a one-armed hug. A tuned-out Alyssa was sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs, texting, as usual.
Sighing, Priscilla entered the kitchen where her mother was digging in the refrigerator. “Let me help you, Mom.”
She took a giant container of potato salad from her mother and then searched for a place to set it down. Every flat surface in the cramped, outdated kitchen seemed to be filled with something. Wow, this was worse than usual. Priscilla swept a bunch of Dad’s sports magazines to one side on the kitchen table and put the bowl down. Mom set a container of coleslaw next to it.
“Bad enough your father couldn’t get to fixing up the patio before the girls came from New York.”
“Right.”
“But not even lighting the coals today?” Mom shook her head, then punched her glasses back up her nose. “He’s not paying attention.”
“Right.”
Mom’s voice went up a notch. “He’s been like this ever since he retired from the Post Office.”
“Right.”
“If you ask me, he needs to see a counselor.”
“Right...” Priscilla started. “Uh, do you think he would?”
Her mother sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t listen to me anymore. Maybe if you talked to him about it.”
The last thing Priscilla wanted to do was get in the middle of this ongoing battle between her parents. Their lifelong bickering had always bothered her, and the only way she could deal with it was to stay out of their fights. But this sounded more serious than usual, and if Dad needed her help...
“Doesn’t Dad have any interests anymore?”
“Just watching television with that remote going, changing channels till he falls asleep.”
Which reminded her of Alyssa texting and Mia playing games on their phones. “Maybe the girls inherited gadget fever from their grandfather.”
Mom looked confused. “Gadget fever?”
“They
