“It was worth a try,” Sophie tells him.
Pap rattles on with her about pies and Dottie and a myriad of other things I’m not privy to. I just listen to them go back and forth like old friends. There’s really no one in the world I can do that with, and it stirs a sense of nostalgia for something I’ve never had.
I wonder how that feels. What would it be like to be that carefree with someone? To know people whom you don’t have dinner with on a regular basis so deeply?
“You still there, Holden?” Pap’s question pulls me back to the present.
“Yeah. I’m here. Just listening to you two jabber.”
Sophie curls her legs up under her and watches me. She’s so cozy next to me, so casual, that I have half a notion to keep driving forever.
“When are you coming home?” I ask Pap as I pilot the car over a bridge.
“Tomorrow. My flight is early. Eight, I think.”
“You missed me, didn’t you?” Sophie teases.
“Like a pain in my ass,” he says. “Where are you two lovebirds now?”
I glance at Sophie as she rolls her eyes.
“We’re on our way back to Honey Creek. Should be there in a half hour or so,” I say.
“Okay. Drive safe. I’ll see you kids tomorrow. Keep that boy in line, Sophie Girl.”
“I’ll try,” she tells him. “You be careful coming home, old man.”
He snorts. “All right. I’m headed to grab some dinner. Holden, you caught me a little off guard with this marriage thing, but I’m proud of ya, kid. Good choice. Couldn’t have chosen a better wife for you myself.”
Sophie beams beside me while pointing at herself. I ignore her as I say goodbye to my grandfather.
Once the call is ended, the cab grows quiet. Sophie rummages around in the candy again while I mull over Pap’s words.
“Couldn’t have chosen a better wife for you myself.”
No matter how I cut it, I think he’s right. And if this were a real marriage, I’d be damn proud—not just of having a girl like her agree to marry me but also of getting my pap’s blessing like that. That’s the gold stamp right there. I’ve tried to get it on every big decision I’ve ever made. To know that he would give it to a decision like this, even if it’s a not-quite-real one, gives me hope that if I ever do settle down someday, it might work out.
“I always knew I liked Fred,” Sophie says, holding a piece of taffy in the air.
“You just like him because he likes you.”
She shrugs like my point is invalid.
“Why do you clean for him, if I may ask?”
Her head falls to the side as she thinks about my question. It takes her longer than I expect to answer me. Just as I’m about to press on, she speaks.
“I don’t know. I just started doing it when I got back from Florida. Gramma had just died, and I was bored, I guess. Babar got sick, and I took him in—”
“He was a real dog, then?”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Yes. He was a real dog. I told you that.”
“Okay. You also told me he was your current pet.”
“I never said that directly. But that’s not the point. The point is that I had Babar with me and heard Fred mention to Dottie that he had to find someone to clean. So I volunteered.”
She holds her hand up in the air. The diamond on her finger catches the light and shines like it’s some kind of beacon.
“Point well made,” I say, trying not to focus on the sparkler I just gave her. The sight of it on her finger throws me a bit, and I can’t quite nail down why.
Sophie leans forward and flips on the radio. The beat is smooth, the singer’s voice soft and nearly hypnotic. I find myself strumming my fingers against my leg as we glide along the highway.
The sun slips on the horizon as we near Honey Creek. Purples and pinks flood the sky, and it reminds me of Sophie’s flowers earlier today. I glance at her to see if she might be thinking the same thing, but she’s turned toward the window and away from me.
I wonder how much of this adventure will be a mainstay of my life going forward. Will I always think of her when the sky looks like this or I spot a rose? Will a bag full of candy spark memories of this crazy ride today that began with me as a bachelor and ended with a wife? Will I hear a woman’s laugh or a tease in a voice in the middle of a crowd and think of Sophie Bates?
Just like I do my mother.
I regrip the steering wheel as I think about what Mom would say about this. There’s a niggling in my soul that tells me she’d love it. She’d love Sophie, no doubt. But I think she’d like this going-off-script idea, doing something off the wall to see if it works. She was fun like that. Always saw the bigger picture. When she was alive, she balanced Dad. Without her, things shifted the other way.