Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

Laughing, I feel my shoulders relax. “Are you staying for the potluck?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s the best Sunday in the month. These ladies know how to cook.”

The piano starts playing, alerting us to take our seats. Dane moves toward me. He hesitates, biting his lip before blowing out a breath. “Do you want to sit with us?”

My heart leaps in my chest as a clear indication I do. I want to sit with them. I want to sit with them so badly it actually hurts.

I want to hear them sing. Pass Mia a stick of gum when her daddy isn’t looking. Gaze around the church with Dane at my side and feel the peace this place gives me all at the same time.

But if I do, it will be one more memory I’ll have to deal with when I get back to New York.

“I better sit with Mom,” I say. “Thanks, though.”

His nod is subtle. So is the way his face falls.

The way my heart pulls isn’t so easy.

“See you after,” he says, turning toward his seat.

I watch him go and almost follow. As the pianist hits the second chorus, I get my bearings and head across the room toward my mom and Mr. Rambis.

“I can’t eat another bite.” I wave Lorene and her scoop of cobbler away. “It was amazing, but I’m going to pop if I eat any more.”

“You sure?” The ninety-year-old pianist’s hand shakes as she holds out another piece of dessert. “It’s the last one.”

“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it.” Mr. Rambis comes up beside me. Lorene dumps the cobbler on his plate with a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.” She teeters off toward a picnic table with a giant umbrella overhead.

The air is filled with scents of food and children’s laughter. The kids play a game of kickball in the field a few feet away. Amazingly, only one ball has intruded on the eating area, and I think Matt had something to do with that.

A woman walks by and asks to take my empty plate. I give it to her before turning back to my mother’s friend. “How’s the cobbler?” I ask before taking a sip of my sweet tea.

“Not as good as your mother’s pie.”

Choking so hard tea comes out of my nose, I cough in an attempt to clear my airways. Mr. Rambis pats me on the back.

“Are you all right?” he asks as I settle down.

“Yeah,” I say weakly. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes sting from the dramatics, and I blot them with the back of my hand. “Just got a little choked.”

“I was hoping we could have dinner one night before you leave,” he says. “I remember you as a child, but I’d like the chance to get to know you as an adult.”

I take another drink. This time, it goes down without any complications. “Are you serious about Mom?”

He considers this for a long time. By the fourth shifting of his weight from foot to foot, I start to worry. Finally, he speaks. “I’ve known your mother for years. It wasn’t until one day last fall, right before Thanksgiving, when I ran into her at the post office. She was mailing you a box of things because you couldn’t come home for the holiday, and I was sending the same kind of thing to my boy out in Idaho. We struck up a conversation, and I realized I never really knew her.”

“I remember that box. She sent me one of my grandmother’s quilts,” I tell him. A touch of guilt strikes through me. I spent that Thanksgiving alone in my apartment, eating takeout and working on a holiday piece for the magazine. It all made sense then, and I get why I did it even now. But for the first time, there’s a ball of pain in my soul that I wasn’t here. That I can never redo those things with my mom, with my friends, and I missed them for what?

“Getting back to your question,” he says, clearing his throat. “I am serious when I tell you I really enjoy spending time with her. I think she’s wonderful. And I really, really like her pie.”

All I can do is nod.

Someone motions for him across the lawn and he holds up a finger. Turning back to me, he places a hand on my shoulder. “If we can have dinner, the three of us, before you go, I’d love that.”

“I’ll try,” I say.

“That’s good enough for me.” With a final smile, he weaves through the tables to a group of men.

My hand glistens with the melted ice from my plastic cup. I have half a notion to rub it across my forehead to cool myself down but manage to remember my manners. I’m searching for my mom to see if she’s ready when I spy Mia running through the tables toward me.