Page 68 of Wish I Didn't Want You Back

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “We are working on it, okay? And when we settle on something. You’ll be the first to know.”

“Make sure you do. I’ve had some of the ladies in the cafeteria asking me when the wedding is. They are all fighting over who I’ll take as my date. Unless you can give me a plus two or three?”

Guess we knew where Hayes got his rep from. I shook my head as he and Harlow got caught up.

While they talked, I took a few minutes to study him. His sense of humor was still intact, but his energy level wasn’t there today. He’s always been a tough old man who insisted on doing everything himself, especially when he shouldn’t.

I watched him sink into his chair and noticed he seemed more tired than usual. His skin was pale, and the lines on his weathered face were more pronounced. I also noticed his hands were shaking more than the last time. It was hard to believe this was the same man who taught me how to build a shed in the backyard, work with my hands, and be a man.

He looked up when he caught me staring. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “You seem tired.”

“And you look like a man who doesn’t know how to use a damn razor.”

Instead of coming up with a snappy retort, I changed the subject, sensing he wasn’t in the mood to talk about his illness. Harlow, being Harlow, picked up on it. I could see the question and curiosity in her eyes. I gave her a subtle shake of my head, telling her I would explain later.

My grandfather didn’t like talking about anything too serious. He didn’t want people fussing over him. I let him guide the conversation away from what was really going on with him. Even when he tried his best to act like everything was okay, I could tell he was fighting like hell to keep his energy up.

We sat and talked for the next thirty minutes. A handful of customers stopped by Marty’s stand, so Harlow and I excused ourselves to browse the market.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with him?” she asked, picking up a scented candle and bringing it to her nose.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked up at the gray sky. It looked like the rain would start back up again soon. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

After grabbing a coffee and a box of cinnamon rolls, we stepped up to Betty Sherman’s table. She and my grandfather went at it on a daily basis. The rumor going around was that she used to be a con artist, swindling old men out of their money. Marty never trusted her.

Harlow picked up a knitted scarf. “This is so pretty. How much is this?”

Betty beamed. “Well, you're in luck, sweetheart. That piece is on sale for twenty-five dollars.”

I scoffed. “Betty, I’ve seen you sell those for ten.”

Hell, she even tried to give me one for free one time.

She shrugged. “Supply and demand, kid. Your girl here has good taste.”

Harlow reached into her purse, but I beat her to it. I handed Betty thirty bucks. “Keep the change.”

“You are such a sweet boy.” She stuffed the money into her fanny pouch with a satisfied grin.

Marty came over and sidled up next to Harlow. “You’re not over here scamming my future granddaughter, now are you, Betty?”

“Oh, Marty, don’t be ridiculous. I only had to charge a little bit extra because of inflation. My yarn costs me almost a whole dollar more.”

Marty pulled on his suspenders. “Inflation, my foot. You’ve been swindling people since Gerald Ford was president.”

Betty gave him a smile that didn’t even come close to looking sweet. Then she pulled out a wad of bills and started fanning her face with them. “That scarf took me hours to make. You don’t expect me to give my stuff away for free, do you?”

“Your stuff is garbage. I wouldn’t pay more than five bucks.”

She huffed. “You have horrible taste. Don’t you ever wonder why no one wants the ugly crap you try to sell?”

“All right, you two.” I settled my hand on Marty’s shoulder and started steering him away from Betty’s table. “I think we should start moving on down the line. There is an apple pie calling my name.”

Marty wagged his wrinkled finger at Betty one last time. “I’m watching you.”

As we walked away, Harlow dropped her scarf around her neck. “That was entertaining.”

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