Page 67 of In This Moment

“Thanks.” She grinned, eying her progress. “Quite the workout, but I think Gammy would’ve approved the choices. Coneflowers were especially her favorite.” She sighed. “How was dinner?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. I’m so full.”

She laughed. “Pizza My Heart’s put me in a food coma more than once. I can relate.”

Mrs. Roberts nodded, her expression whimsical. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“Thank you. Me, too.”

“Do you have any other family to help you with things?”

Rebecca knew his mama meant well, and judging by the way she eyed the garden, Graham had probably told her about the fibromyalgia. It felt like a get-to-know-her fishing expedition, though, which Rebecca understood. She was dating the woman’s son, who’d up and left home a handful of months ago. Mrs. Roberts probably just wanted to make sure the person he was dating lived up to par.

“I don’t, no. My parents died in a wreck when I was young. Gammy raised me. I’m an only child.”

Any hints of whimsy that had been present dissolved. Mrs. Roberts pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide and beseeching. It was like looking at an older, more feminine version of Graham. “I’m so very sorry. Graham hadn’t mentioned it.”

“That’s okay. Vallantine is like family, and I’ve known my besties since birth. I’ve had nothing but love in my life.” Except when she’d left home. It felt, sometimes, that she’d abandoned all forms of love from her rearview while chasing dreams. Not for the first time, she wondered what had taken her so long to return. Sheer stubbornness, she supposed. It was actually downright pathetic how accustomed to being alone she’d become while in the city. Everybody needed a someone, but she’d had no one. Not close by, anyhow.

“A wonderful way to look at it.” Mrs. Roberts nodded as if Rebecca’s response had been a test she’d answered correctly. “I’d like to meet your friends one day.”

“That can be arranged. Just take Scarlett with a grain of salt.” She laughed at her own joke as a case of nerves rattled her. She wasn’t sure why.

“Graham said as much, that she’s Scarlett O’Hara made over, except with less selfishness.”

Rebecca barked a laugh, wiping her brow with her forearm. “If that ain’t a proper description.”

A hum in her throat, and Mrs. Roberts smiled. “And Dorothy?”

Interesting that she was asking about Rebecca’s friends. Perhaps she was worried about her? “Dorothy has all the courage in Oz, but the patience of a saint. She always does the right thing, even if it’s hard.”

“Ha. You three were aptly named by your parents, it sounds like. With a twist.” She tilted her head. “Tom Sawyer’s Rebecca was beautiful, clever, and resolute. You didn’t pick up her slightly prissy ways, nor are you prone to excessive displays of emotion. It’s as if the three of you chose the prominent parts of the fictional personalities and left out the less endearing traits.”

That was… Heck, that was extremely kind. “Not certain we had a choice, but thank you. I’ve never heard us described quite so eloquently before. Maybe you missed your calling as a writer.”

“Nah.” She waved her hand. “I’ll leave that to you and my son.” She pulled over a patio chair and sat like she was staying awhile.

Um… “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, but thank you. Go ahead and finish what you were doing. We can chat at the same time.”

Relieved, because Rebecca just wanted to get the task accomplished, she hefted the bag she’d cut. “When are y’all heading back to Minnesota?”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

Since there was no malice or barb in the question, she laughed. “No, ma’am. I like you two quite a bit.” A grunt, and she dumped the bag, spreading it around the plants with her feet. Her legs were itchy from the wood shavings, but she’d shower soon. “I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night? I can cook us dinner. I’m not as good as Graham or his daddy, but I haven’t poisoned anyone to my knowledge.”

A quiet chuckle rose from behind her as she grabbed another bag.

“I see why my son is besotted with you. We rather like you, too, Rebecca. We leave the day after tomorrow, and dinner sounds lovely. How about we order in? Not because you might poison us, but since you’ve been out here all afternoon and evening, you might be extra sore tomorrow.”

She straightened abruptly to look at Mrs. Roberts, and nearly lost her balance. Graham had obviously told her about the fibromyalgia, which Rebecca didn’t care about, but most people didn’t know a lot of what the condition entailed. Thus, either Mrs. Roberts was more educated than most, or she was hunting for a reaction.

Resolute sympathy and understanding stared back at Rebecca, and she wasn’t sure how to reply. It had been a severely long time since someone not in her inner circle had shown any kind of grace without suspicion looming on the fringes. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes welled.

Stupid fibro. Flare-ups made her more emotional, and she despised it.

Angry at herself, she turned and dumped another bag, clearing emotion from her throat. “We can order in if that’s what you prefer. I don’t mind cooking, though. I’ll leave it up to y’all. I appreciate you offering, nonetheless.”

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