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“Uh-huh.”
For some reason, she can’t seem to look me in the eye, which I find a bit strange. I’m about to ask her if she’s alright when she says, “Mel’s on her way over. We’re going back to her house.”
“You know you don’t have to report your whereabouts to me, right?” I say. “I’m not a prison warden.”
“I know. But you’re letting me stay in your house. It’s only good manners that I let you know that it’s going to be empty for a while.”
My gut is still telling me that something isn’t right, and a part of me wants to ask her outright. But for some reason, I stop myself. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m worried I’m going to hear something I don’t want to.
Great. So avoiding the problem is totally the answer.
It isn’t long after that when Mel arrives, and after I wave them off, the weird feeling in my gut only gets worse. Something is off. But I didn’t have the guts to ask her what, so now, I have no idea what it is.
You should have said something.
Yes. I should. Now I’m going to have to go through the afternoon worrying about it.
The afternoon passes like any other. Well, apart from my mind working overtime trying to figure out what’s wrong with Tilly. But there’s never a day when there isn’t something to do, so I work through the heat, trying to distract myself. It doesn’t work too well, though.
Not only do I want to know what’s troubling her, I also spend some time working out what I’m going to say to her. I need to know, once and for all, whether there’s a chance for us.
Maybe her going off to Mel’s is a way to avoid speaking to you about it.
But I’m not convinced. To begin with, she has no idea that I want to sit down and talk to her. And besides, Tilly isn’t the avoiding kind. If she was brave enough to go to the hoedown last night and face the people she had thought were judging her for all these years, I can’t see her trying to avoid me.
The hours pass, and as the sun slowly lowers in the sky, I hear a car pulling up outside. Taking one last glance at Greta, who is making a good recovery, I leave the stables and head outside. I’m just in time to see Mel pulling away and Tilly making her way into the house.
“Hey,” I say as I enter the kitchen.
“Hi,” she says, looking once more a little edgy. “I bought beers.”
She holds up the six pack like a trophy.
Okay. Is this good for me or bad for me?
“Great,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Are they cold?”
“Yep. Got them out of the fridge on the way home.”
“Then crack them open. We can take them outside.”
A little while later, we’re out on the porch, sipping ice-cold beers. Exactly what I need at the end of a long, hot day. But even as we drink them, I get the feeling that Tilly’s stalling. That, or she needs a few more beers in her to tell me what’s really going on.
But she’s only halfway down her second bottle when she says, “I got a phone call from my boss today.”
I look over at her. “You do realize you’ve never actually told me what you do in the city.”
She looks a little surprised, and taking a second to think about it, she nods. “I’m in advertising.”
I look at her with a blank stare. You hear people say that, but is it just me, or does no one actually know what that means?
“You know the commercials you see on TV, or on billboards?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Well, I’m kinda involved in that.”
“Anything you’ve done that I would know?” I press. I am genuinely interested.
