Page 122 of Sharing Shane

Delia patted her on the head. “Don’t worry. We can go to my house and swim in the pool and order takeout. Then in the morning, Cora will make sour cream pancakes and all will be right with the world.”

“I’m willing to believe it,” Veronica mumbled into the table. “Delia?”

“Yeah?”

“I love him.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“Fuck it.” Veronica picked up her head. “Let’s get high.”

“That’s kind of out of your hands at this point, but I like your enthusiasm,” Delia said. “Don’t worry about bringing a swimming suit. Julian’s on overnight at the hospital, so it’ll just be you and me. We can skinny dip.”

“Fine, but if we drown and end up splashed on the front page with the headline “Nudist Pot Heads Drown in Local Doctor’s Pool” I’ll never forgive you.”

“That’s fair.” Delia pushed off the couch and reached down to haul Veronica to her feet. “What kind of takeout food do you want?”

“All of it,” Veronica decided, and followed her friend out the door.

Seventeen

Shane let himself into his house on Monday morning with a groan. Hippie Fest had been a hoot, and he’d sold enough stock to put him well into the black through the end of the year, but he was beat. All he wanted was a shower, a nap, and a sandwich. And he could probably skip the shower and the sandwich.

He dropped his gear inside the garage, too tired to unroll the tent so it could dry. He needed to, since it had rained off and on during the weekend and a mildewed tent was a headache he didn’t want, but at the moment he just didn’t care. He’d been thinking of buying a camper anyway, a pop-up that he could easily store during the winter. Sleeping in a tent was getting old, especially when it rained, or when his air mattress sprang a leak and he ended up lying directly on the bumpy ground. Both of which had happened this weekend, so he was muddy, sore, and ready to tap into his savings for a camper.

He toed off his boots and left them next to the tent before stepping into the house. He shuffled forward on stocking feet, grateful he’d put down hardwoods last year because it meant he could just glide along without expending the effort to lift his knees.

He made it to the bedroom and glide-walked into the bath. He felt a burst of renewed energy at the thought of a long, hot shower, but by the time he’d emptied his bladder and washed his hands it was gone, and all he wanted was bed.

He shucked his clothes and left them where they fell, barely having the presence of mind to pull his phone and watch from his pocket before his jeans hit the floor. He set the phone on the bedside table to charge, thumbed the switch to turn off the ringer, then climbed into bed with a heavy sigh. His body relaxed into the mattress as he floated toward sleep, but just before his eyes closed, he saw the phone screen light up.

He considered ignoring it, but it was Veronica. He’d talked to her via text over the weekend, but the only time they’d managed to connect by phone had been Saturday night, and she’d been busy with Delia.

He grabbed the phone, thumbed the screen to answer it, and closed his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey, handsome.” Her voice was cheerful, with a lilting quality that made him think she’d been laughing only moments before. “How was your drive?”

“Not bad,” he mumbled. He opened his eyes enough to put the phone on speaker, then laid it on the pillow and closed them again. “I missed rush hour, anyway.”

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“Great. Lots of sales. Rained, though.”

“You sound tired,” she said, her voice softening.

“Didn’t sleep much.” He was fading fast, and the effort to speak felt herculean. “Air mattress leaked.”

“Oh, damn, that sucks. You’re home now, right? You’re not still driving?”

“No, I’m home.”

“Good. You going to get some sleep?”

“In bed already,” he mumbled.

“I’ll let you go, then. Talk to you later?”

“Okay.” He fumbled for the phone, forcing one eye open so he could see the screen to disconnect. “Love you. Bye.”

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