Page 299 of Mountain Grump

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I nod, and she walks down the gravel path toward the parking lot that’s just out of view.

My colleagues know this is a surprise for my wife, but they don’t know that we haven’t been talking.

No one knows. Except Sandra.

My sister loved my wife so much she called me just a few days after that disastrous night, asking when we’d have dinner again.

When I replied with a choking sound, she started freaking out, asking me if Tilda had died.

And… I started crying.

Big, fat tearskind of crying.

Then Sandra started sobbing.

Then I had to fight through my tears to tell her Tilda was fine.

Then Sandra screamed at me, saying it was just like the time I showed up at her sleepover to tell her our parents had died.

Which just made us both cry even more.

Of course, that’s when Fisher showed up at her apartment, and then I got to listen to him freaking out because he didn’t know why Sandra was crying.

And that’s how I ended up on speaker phone with Sandra and fucking Fisher, telling them everything.

I told them my plan.

Asked for advice.

Ended up including Fisher in the project. Putting him in charge of stocking the pond and sourcing the fountain.

I shake my head as I dig my fork into my noodles.

Friends with Fisher. Who’d have fucking thought?

My phone signals a message, and I chew my food as I set down my fork.

One of the stonework guys lifts his hand as he walks past.

I nod, then look down at my phone.

It’s a text.

A photo.

From Tilda.

I swallow.

It’s a picture of a container, exactly like the one on my lap. Open. With a fork sticking out of it.

And it’s on a lap.

A lap covered in a rainbow skirt.

And in the corner of the image, I can see an armrest.

The pink armrest from the camping chair I left for her yesterday.

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