Seeking Carolina. Terri-Lynne Defino

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СКАЧАТЬ Cemetery,” the man answered, “doing your best impression of a snowman…woman.”

      Oh. Right. Farts. She pushed feebly out of his arms. Her knees buckled, and she was grateful he hadn’t let go. “I can walk on my own.”

      “I’m sure you can. Normally. Come on. I’ve got the heat blasting in the truck. Get warm, and I’ll take you home.”

      Johanna let him help her. Bitterly, Connecticut was way too nice a town to allow miscreants. Everyone knew everyone and had most of their lives. This was no one to fear, even if he did frequent cemeteries after hours rescuing would-be popsicles from certain frostbite.

      Her head began to clear. Memory edged around her trembling, the cold, her grief. The man scooted her into the truck, closed the door and came around the driver’s side. “There’s coffee in the thermos next to you.”

      “No, thanks.”

      His cell blipped and he turned a shoulder to answer it. Charlotte someone. She apparently wanted pizza.

      Johanna tuned out, instead warming her hands in the hot air blasting from the heating vent. She thawed. Her trembling eased. Two days trying to get there in time, and she’d failed. Again. Was there no end to the ways she would fail her grandmother? Her sisters? She fought the tears rising up like rebels and failed at that too.

      He handed her a crumpled tissue.

      She snatched it from his hand, relieved it was only crumpled. “Thanks.”

      “No problem.”

      “I wasn’t trying to freeze to death or anything. I was just paying my respects. I missed the funeral.”

      “I know.”

      “I’m sure the whole town knows.” Johanna yanked off her hat, tried to smooth down static curls. “Well, the snow isn’t my fault. The whole Northeast is covered. My car wouldn’t make it and I couldn’t rent an SUV and I’m damn sure not going to attempt these roads in anything else, so I had to take a train and then no one answered their cell phones. I had to walk from—”

      “Jo.”

      She startled silent. Squinted. He pulled off his snowcap and a flop of auburn hair tumbled out. His beard lit a brighter copper than his hair. Eyelashes and brows arched over hazel eyes. A face she knew, despite the years. Johanna’s heart stuttered. “Charlie McCallan? For real?”

      “Took you long enough.”

      “You…you don’t look…” She pulled at his beard. “You’ve grown up.”

      “It happens to boys when they turn into men.” He laughed. “They get hairy.”

      He wore thick workman’s overalls and a down jacket, but he was obviously and most certainly no longer the bony kid she’d once shoved into the lake.

      She flexed thawing fingers. “It has been way too long, Charlie.”

      “I thought maybe you’d show up for the twentieth reunion.”

      “Twentieth?” Johanna slumped. “Really?”

      “Last Thanksgiving. You should have come. Fifty-eight of the…what was our class? Ninety-something?” He shrugged. “Whatever it was, we had a good turn out.”

      “I don’t remember getting the invite.”

      An eyebrow lifted, but Charlie only shifted into gear.

      Tires crunched in the snow. The packing sound reminded Johanna of riding with Poppy in his ancient plow, making safe the streets of Bitterly through the long, snowy winters. Outside the warm cab, in this new winter, flurries drifted.

      Charlie-freaking-McCallan. Of all people.

      She had known him as unavoidably as she did everyone else in Bitterly—the ghost-white kid whose parents were caretakers of the town cemetery. They’d grown up together, largely circled in and out of friendship, until the summer they were seventeen.

      The heat in the truck was becoming oppressive. Johanna unzipped her coat. “Working the graveyard shift? Pun very much intended.”

      “I don’t really work the cemetery anymore. Mom and Dad retired, turned it over to the town. I fill in once in a while, doing maintenance.”

      “No one knows this place better than you.” Johanna blew her nose. “And Gina? How’s she?”

      “In Florida with the yoga instructor she left me for.”

      Again her heart stuttered. Johanna loosened her scarf. Gina had been nice enough, pretty enough, and got pregnant senior year and ruined everything.

      “And your…daughter, wasn’t it? You had a few more, too.”

      “Charlotte,” he answered. “She’s good. I’ve got five kids. Two daughters and three sons.”

      “That’s a lot of kids.”

      He chuckled, his eyes straying from the road to look her way. “It is. They also require a lot of pizza. Mind if I stop on our way past?”

      “Oh, sure. No problem. Thanks, by the way, for…”

      “No worries.”

      They drove in silence, the ineffectual wipers slapping a rhythm to go with the crunching tires. He pulled into town following the same trek Johanna had made from the train station. She hadn’t earlier noticed the faux-gaslights wrapped in pine and holly, the trees lining the Green, the candles in every window. Neither had she absorbed the olive oil boutique or the wine bar on either side of the pizza place that had once been the only restaurant in town. She’d been too furious that none of her sisters picked up her call. Her numerous calls.

      Johanna sighed. The window fogged. Charlie was nice enough not to ask what was wrong. He could guess, and he’d probably be right. He pulled up in front of D’Angelo’s Pizzeria, and left the truck running.

      “I’ll be right back.”

      She waved him away. The waft of cold air he let in made her shiver, but it felt good. Bracing. Clarifying. She opened the window and let the falling snow hit her face. Remembering. Johanna hated to remember. It was her number one reason for staying far away from Bitterly. The door opened and reason number two slipped into the truck, stretching nearly across her to set the pizzas down on the back seat. His jacket fell open. He was definitely not the skinny kid she’d pushed into the lake. He smelled good. Pizza and something musky.

      “Sorry. They’re hot.”

      She closed the window. “Does your father-in-law still make the pizza?”

      “No. Gina’s parents sold the place and moved to Florida about six years ago. But the pizza’s still good.”

      “Smells it.”

      “You want to—”

      “No, no. Thanks. I have to get home. My sisters СКАЧАТЬ