Page 27 of No Angels

“It’s not that. There’s a good chance she will. And I don’t want to squander any time we have left.”

“You know I won’t judge you. That’s why I came back here. I just didn’t have a Mike Callihan pining after me.”

“Am I crazy for considering the offer? You keep telling me community theater is a thankless job.”

“You’re not crazy. I love it, so I would never call you crazy. But it is thankless.”

“I’ll let you know what I decide. I might need a crash course.”

“You’d better let me know soon – because I need details about your love life since it’s like the Sahara Desert over here. The same seven guys keep popping up on my Tinder and Bumble apps.”

“None you’d consider dating?”

“Are you kidding, me? Hell no. I’m pretty sure one of them is half my age. One is my old science teacher and he wasn’t appealingthen. I can tell from his picture that his ear hair is out of control. The other ones aren’t much better. No thank you. I’ll just live vicariously through you.”

After we hang up I feel better about the possibility of staying in Willow Creek.

Mike knows Mom had her last treatment yesterday and she’ll still be weak, so he left room for us to pull up right in front of his parents’ house. He’s opening the passenger door before I even manage to get out of my seat, and my heart swells when I see him on one side and a little boy on the other side I assume is Brady.

My new boyfriend flashes a wink and a grin over his shoulder as he and his son help my mom up the stairs. I trail behind them, bemused but unsurprised. He knew taking care of her first would mean the most to me.

I’m sitting on the porch with a glass of cranberry punch while Mom watches the parade when Brady comes outside.

“Can I sit beside you? I think the floats are weird and I need somebody to talk to.”

“What about our dad and your uncle?”

“They’re talking about work stuff.”

Brady isn’t what I expected. He’s a smart alecky eight-year-old who has his dad’s dimple and ornery grin.

“You can sit beside me. Hand me your drink so you don’t spill it.” He hands over his plastic cup.

Once he’s settled, he peers up at me. “Are you the girl my dad painted all over the ceiling? You kind of look like her.” He asks with a wrinkled nose.

I hold back my blush because it’ll be a dead giveaway. “I don’t think so. Your dad and I knew each other a long time ago, but I just moved back to Willow Creek.”

Brady looks skeptical. “So the pictures could be of you. My mom calls this place podunk and says she doesn’t understand why anyone wants to live here. My uncle Derek says she’s just bitter because he gave her a speeding ticket.”

“Sometimes people that didn’t grow up in small towns don’t appreciate them.”

“So it’s kind of like some of the gross stuff my nana makes for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Your nana is an excellent cook. I’m sure nothing she makes is gross.”

Brady scoffs and wrinkles his nose again. “You haven’t tried her weird stuffing. My mom makes the cornbread kind that comes in a box. Nana makes hers from scratch and she usesoysters.”

“There are lots of people who make oyster stuffing. But if you really don’t like it, you should tell your nan. I bet she’d make some cornbread stuffing too.”

He sighs. “I don’t wanna hurt her feelings. So I pretend to like it and feed it to Fred when no one’s looking.”

“Who’s Fred?”

“He’s Nana and Pop’s really old bulldog. He’ll eat anything.”

I smile, because Mike’s dad has always had a bulldog for a pet. He always said he was obligated because he was from Georgia. “How do you know he’ll eat anything?”

“He eats everything I give him off my plate.”

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