“It sure didn’t look like nothing. Did he try his cheap moves on you?”
“Moves?”
“Yeah. In the eighth grade, he used to pretend to have an itchy pit so he could hook his arm around a girl and make it look like he was just scratching himself.”
Hope laughed. “No itchy pit.”
“I should probably warn you away from Dylan.”
“Why, what’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing. He just has it in his head that he can’t get involved with a woman right now. He says he has to wait until Adam is older, but the way he looks at you… well, I haven’t seen him stare after a woman in a very long time. Not since he used to watch Kimberly Howe run the hundred.” Shelly paused to blow on her nails and carefully offered Hope her injured hand. “You’ve got to admit, he’s better-looking than most of those sissy boys you see pasted up on billboards, and it’s not every man who can look that good in a pair of jeans.”
That was true.
“Paul has a flat butt.”
Hope had noticed that, too. “If Dylan’s so great, why aren’t you married to him?”
Shelly’s nose wrinkled as if something smelly had entered the room. “Sure, looking at Dylan is like looking at a work of art, but just ‘cause you can appreciate the beauty of it doesn’t mean you want it in your living room.” She shook her head, then added, “I knew I wanted Paul Aberdeen the first time I laid eyes on him in the first grade. It took me ten years to hook him, but even if Paul were gone tomorrow, I’d never be interested in Dylan that way. We’ve known each other too long, and the way he does things drives me crazy.”
“Like what?”
“He only does laundry when everything in the house is dirty.”
Since Hope was the same way, she didn’t think there was anything unusual about it.
“He puts his boots on the coffee table, and if he and Adam have a green vegetable for dinner, it’s a miracle. Dylan thinks if you eat a banana or an apple every other week, you don’t need vegetables.”
Hope finished painting Shelly’s nails and sat back and waited for them to dry. “Adam looks healthy and happy.”
“Healthy at least.” Shelly studied her injured hand.
“He’s leaving this Friday to visit his mother. He’s always a little weird when he comes back.”
“Weird how?”
“A little withdrawn and has a real bad case of the poor pitifuls. He thinks if his mama and daddy would just spend some time together, they could all live happily ever after.” Shelly shrugged. “I suppose that’s normal, though.”
“How long is he usually gone?”
“Two weeks; then it takes him an entire month to settle back into his routine. I’ve never met Adam’s mama, but she must be extremely indulgent with him, because when he comes back, he sleeps in too late and just lies around like a slug.”
Hope was dying to ask Shelly to tell her everything she knew about Dylan’s ex, but she didn’t want Shelly to know she was interested. Even if Hope had been able to share her feelings, it was too soon and too new to talk about the confusing tangle of emotions tugging at her whenever Dylan happened to smile her way.
Hope missed sitting around chatting with other women, talking about men and life and sex. She missed the kind of connection it took time to develop. A deep connection with someone who understood the inequalities perpetrated against females and the injustice of running into your high school sweetheart on a bad hair day. She missed discussing burning issues like health care, world peace, the shoe sale at Neiman’s, and whether or not size mattered.
She wanted that again. She wanted to talk about her confusion, her feelings, and her life. She wanted to tell Shelly why it was hard for her to talk about herself, why it was hard for her to trust a friend.
“What story are you working on for your magazine?” Shelly asked through a yawn.
The opportunity to open up passed, and Hope reached for Shelly’s good hand. “Aliens masquerading as humans in a wilderness town,” she said as she applied the second coat of polish. “They play tricks on tourists.”
Shelly’s eyes perked up. “You’re writing about Gospel?”
“A town similar to Gospel.”
“Oh, my God! Can I be an alien?”