Page 29 of Truth Be Told
“Well, don’t. It’s nice when it gets you away from shit like this snow, but going away for such a long time is no way to live. A person needs connections, and you can’t keep those very easily if you don’t stay in one place.”
“So is that why you didn’t go to California?”
“I didn’t go for a lot of reasons. My business needed me here this year. My work could have traveled, but my business can’t. Not this year. My family needed me here.”
“You have a big family, then?”
“I don’t. My sister is what I mean when I say ‘family.’ She’s all the family I have left, and I’m hers.”
“I see.” She lifts her bag onto her shoulder and stands up straight. “So you don’treallywish you’d gone. It sounds like there were more important things keeping you here.”
“You could say that, yeah. I really do wish it could have worked out this year, but it was just wishful thinking.” I pause, not sure how to say what I’m about to. What I’m about to say will make Stella the first person I’ve told, so these words will be a new experience for me. “Olivia’s actually expecting.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. So you’ll be an uncle. How far along is she?”
“She’s not even showing yet. And,” I say as I finally stick the pile of dry plates back into the cupboard, “I guess the guy isn’t in the picture. I don’t know the whole story, but when she broke that little piece of news to me I knew I couldn’t leave her here all by herself.”
Stella’s expression is one of all seriousness. She still hasn’t dropped any hint that last night might still be on her mind, or that she feels there is some kind of unfinished business between us, which is more than I can say for myself. “That was kind of you,” she says.
“It wasn’t so much kind as…”
“Protective?”
“I was going to say brotherly.”
She grins, liking that. “Brotherly is even better.”
I know she’s ready to leave, but she’s given me the curtesy of hearing me out. “Here– at least let me call you a plow. If you insist on leaving, then I insist on clearing the driveway.” I shoot a look out at the snow. “There’s no way you’ll have a chance out there if I don’t.”
She grimaces. “That doesn’t sound encouraging. A plow would sure be great. Necessary, actually. Thanks.”
I dial a number into my phone. “Hello? Yes, this is Cohen Thatcher. Now, if possible. As soon as you can. Yeah, you know the address. Seventy Jefferson Street. Great. Thank you.” I click the phone off and hold it up. “Done.”
She smiles. “As easy at that.”
“It’s as easy as that.”
“They said they know the address?”
“Yeah, they do, and they should. I needed them a lot last year after I let my staff go. Almost every week we had a least a couple inches dumped on us. Remember that?”
She nods.
“I never did get around to buying a truck myself.”
At that, we both stop. It’s one of those moments where there’s nothing more to say.
“Walk me to the door?” she asks.
“Sure.”
The still-falling snow is visible on both sides of the double doored entryway. The flakes are larger now, having started to clump together since I last checked in the early morning hours when Stella was in my room.
“Holy shit,” Stella says, peering out one side of the paneled windows. Her breath fogs the glass. “Wish me luck.” She pulls away. “You are my lucky charm, after all.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Is that right?”
She pretends to evaluate me as she zips her coat all the way to her chin in preparation for the cold. “Mmm. Maybe.”
