“You brought a man,” Mrs. Ribinski said, unabashedly eyeballing him up and down as if she could see every flaw he had or bad deed he’d ever committed. His skin suddenly felt too tight.
“I did.” Everly nodded. “This is my neighbor Tyler Jacobson.”
Neighbor? Okay, he could play the part of neighbor.
Mrs. Ribinski shot Everly a yeah-right look before turning back to him. “Are you a nice man?”
Now wasn’t that the one-billion-dollar question. “Most of the time.”
“Honest. I like it.” The older wo
man smiled at him before returning her attention to Everly. That’s when the happy look slid away, replaced by a seriousness that didn’t allow for any doubt about what would come next. “Never trust a man who pretends to be what he isn’t. Now, tell me about the gallery.”
Tyler stood in the doorway holding the pie and watched Everly and her grandma talk, each gesturing with their hands and laughing. Not once but four times in the span of ten minutes, they finished each other’s sentences. It was totally foreign from how he’d ever talked to a blood relative. The bond between the women was more like what he’d seen at the Hartigans’ house than anything he’d ever experienced at home. The easy intimacy of what he was seeing made him realize he was an outsider here, who’d pushed his way into a moment that both women obviously cherished. He needed to go.
He cleared his throat and lifted the pie box. “I’m just going to take this out to the pie table.”
Everly and her grandmother looked up at him and smiled.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Everly said.
“Take your time. It was good to meet you, Mrs. Ribinski.”
The old woman nodded. “You, too, Trevor.”
Not wanting to point out the slip, he just nodded, eased out of the room, and walked down the hall back to where Felicia and Hudson were waiting.
“Did Everly finally brain you with one of her shoes?” Felicia asked, pushing up her glasses that always seemed to slide down on her nose. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was pie.” Yeah, that seemed totally believable. Really. Solid answer. In another dimension, anyway.
Hudson reached over and lifted up a corner of the pie box’s lid. “You do realize you’re carrying a coconut cream?”
“It’s Everly’s,” he said, pulling it away before Hudson could take a swipe of the cream top. “I’m supposed to give it to someone named Mary.”
“Come on,” Felicia said, taking pity on him. “She’s right over here.”
Next thing Tyler knew, the pie was on a table with about ten others and he had a red and a blue bingo marker as well as four bingo sheets in front of him. Hudson and Felicia were across the table with two sheets each. The empty seat next to him with four sheets and three markers was for Everly—the old guy manning the bingo supply table swore that was her usual bingo order. Steps lighter than they’d been before, Everly hustled across the room and slid into her seat just as the woman with the bullhorn called out the first letter and number combination.
He leaned over even as he pressed his marker onto B5. “Good visit?”
“Great visit,” she said, her shit-eating grin back in place. “Now, let’s see if you’re all brag and no bingo.”
…
Whenever Nunni made it through an entire visit without calling Everly by her mother’s name, there was an undeniable lightness that filled Everly’s chest and, for at least a little while, it was like having her nunni back with her again. Of course, the little nugget of knowledge in the pit of her stomach that Nunni wouldn’t stay like that weighed heavy, but she refused to give in to the feeling of dread tonight. She’d take the visit as a win even though she was getting her clock cleaned at bingo.
In fact, Everly had never laughed so much during bingo night in her life, because it turned out that Tyler had no bingo game. None. The man could barely keep up with one bingo card let alone the four he had in front of him, and his attempts to do so were so hilariously inept that they were both laughing. Hudson and Felicia hadn’t fared much better than Tyler, giving up the bingo for the pie table across the room halfway through the night. Tyler was obviously too stubborn for his own good, though, as he muddled through trying to keep up with Mary yelling out numbers at a quick clip. There were only two explanations that accounted for Tyler’s predicament: the male ego and Bernie Henderson.
She leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Bernie shamed you into getting more than one bingo card, didn’t he?”
Tyler nodded, fumbling with the marker. “He said the money raised went to a good charity.”
Money? Oh God, the old coot got Tyler good. She glanced over to her left where Bernie sat on the other side of the empty chair between them, his lips twitching. Oh, he might complain about his hearing aid never working, but he wasn’t having any problems hearing right now. The resident confidence man didn’t bother to look ashamed—in fact, he looked damn proud of himself at the moment. The giggles started up again as she pictured what had happened. Bernie, with his Coke-bottle-thick glasses and Santa beard, had probably given Tyler some sob story about three-legged dogs or homeless sea turtles. So much for the chess master’s ability to read people. “Yeah, that charity is called the Bernie Needs Bus Fare to Go to the Movies Fund. There’s no cost for the cards.”
Tyler’s blue eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”
Mary called out G48.