Now I’m the one hesitating.
“It’s a ten-mile walk,” she says.
“I was planning to grab the heavier groceries from Tom’s store. I was mostly running to town for library books.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll be driving you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I should go into town, too. Pick up a few things.” She glances at her watch. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes.”
Celeste
“Miss Celeste,” the pharmacist says as I walk to the counter. “Don’t you look pretty today.”
Before he goes to get my prescription, he beams at me, as he always does. I suspect it’s because I’m the only customer under sixty. Sun City Center is one massive retirement community. The moment you enter town, signs warn you of its greatest driving hazard: golf carts. They’re everywhere, and while they really are a safety hazard, I would happily abandon my car at the city’s edge and walk if they passed a law against all motor vehicles except golf carts... because that’d mean I wouldn’t need to worry about the seniors who still drive cars. After three parking-lot dings, I learned to park as far from any store as possible and get my exercise walking.
I know I’m being ageist. But there’s a certain type of person who retires to a place like this, and sometimes I’m seized by the dread of becoming one. Of becoming a person whose golden-years dream is to live in a place where there is, as the name advertises, a lot of sun... and not much else. No beach, no salt breeze, no waving palms. Every strip mall has an optometrist and a hearing specialist, but there isn’t a single Starbucks, much less a funky local café. If you want coffee, there are donut shops for that. A meal? Expect either a chain restaurant or a cheap buffet.
I fear someday I’ll get tired of running and hustling, find a decent guy, settle down and have kids and just... breathe. Breathe and relax in a way I can’t right now, and I’ll be so happy for the security and the stability that I’ll just drift along until I wind up someplace like this, waking one morning in horror at what my life has become, all because I got tired.
Tired and scared.
“Miss Celeste?” the pharmacist says.
I flick on my brightest smile as I reach for the prescription bag. He’s not holding it out, though. He glances over my shoulder to where a line is forming. He lifts one finger, asking them to wait, and then waves me to the side counter.
My heart starts thumping. Something’s wrong.
Of course something’s wrong. He’s called the doctor who wrote out my other prescriptions. It’s begun to nag at him. I have the pills prescribed by Dr. Hoover, Maeve’s former physician, but I’ve added something different this time. A prescription from an out-of-state doctor.
There was a time in my life when I said this was one good thing that came out of my years with Aaron. At least I know how to pull off a stunt like this. If the pharmacist calls that number, he’ll get an answering service, apparently for the doctor on the script. These days, though, I no longer pretend those skills are a valuable relic of my past. I accept the harsh truth—if I didn’t have that past, I wouldn’t need these skills.
“Is everything okay?” I ask the pharmacist once we’re at the side counter.
“Oh, yes,” he says, reaching a clammy hand to pat mine. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I wanted to give you the warnings for this new medication you’re taking.”
I exhale and listen to his warnings. Then I take the bag and hurry out.
I makemy way through the small library and spot Daisy at the computers. I frown, thinking, You said you were coming for books. Still, there’s a stack of books at her elbow, and I’ve been gone long enough for her to have found what she needed.
She’s running searches, skimming the results without opening any links. I’m walking up behind her when she flips to a different tab, and I stop short, recognizing the face on the screen.
Liam.
She’s on his law firm’s site. Looking at his webpage.
She’s moving the cursor to close the browser when she stops, and I notice my reflection in the screen. I expect a deft flick of the mouse, hitting the Close button, and then she’ll start in fake surprise at seeing me there.
Instead, she releases the mouse and leaves Liam’s smiling face on the screen.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” My gaze shifts pointedly to the browser window. “May I ask why you’re looking up my boyfriend?”
“I’m not. I mean, I’m not looking him up as your boyfriend. I’m looking him up as a lawyer.”
My brows knit as I try to untangle that.