Sultry Sunset by Mary Calmes Page B

felt my chest untighten.
    “Yeah, he looks like a Benny.”
    “Told you.”
    They crawled through the doggy door one after the other, and once they were inside, I heard her scolding him. First there was “Ohmygod, Benny, don’t eat that!” followed quickly by a command for him to get off her bed, and “Put that pillow down!” They were going to be friends, I could tell already.
    I waited, and fifteen minutes later she came back outside in jean capris, a Lionel Messi T-shirt, and white Keds.
    “I like him too,” I mentioned, gesturing at her shirt as she met me on the stairs.
    “Yeah? You watch soccer?”
    “I watched the World Cup,” I told her. “My best friend, Mike, is really into it, and he made me sit there with him day after day and explained the rules.”
    “It’s different when you get it, huh?”
    “Yeah, it really is,” I agreed. “So I find myself turning it on all the time now. Is he your favorite? Messi?”
    She nodded. “Yeah. Most of my friends are all about Ronaldo, but I like Messi better.”
    “Do you play?”
    “I used to, back in Detroit, but I couldn’t get on the team at my new school in Miami and now that we had to move again—I mean, does Mangrove even have a girls’ soccer team?”
    “Of course,” I told her. “What kind of backwater burg do you think this is?”
    She gasped. “That was so patronizing.”
    “Oooh, big word.”
    And she laughed.
    It was a good sound.
     
     
    I WALKED her the fast way to my store, the Green Grocer, and gave her a quick rundown, promising to take her back by Cuppa Joe for an iced latte after we picked up her supplies.
    “Mike always just has coffee in there. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like the people who stand in line at Starbucks just to have regular coffee?”
    “You’re such a snob.”
    “What?”
    “And who’s Mike? You talk about him a lot.”
    I did not. “I do not.”
    “You said you guys watched the World Cup together.”
    “So what?”
    “And you smiled when you were talking about him.”
    “Hardly.”
    “No, not hardly,” she corrected, “like really. You smiled.”
    “Yeah, so what? Talking about your best friend, thinking of them, should make you happy. Don’t you get that way when you talk about yours?”
    She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, okay, I guess that’s sound logic.”
    “Well, I’m so glad my thinking meets with your approval.”
    “Kinda sarcastic, aren’tcha?”
    I ignored the question.
    “And for the record, I’m a girl, and I don’t talk about my best friend as much as you talk about yours. Just so we’re clear.”
    “I’m liking you less and less,” I assured her, but the sound of her scoffing made me chuckle.
    “Doesn’t matter, you’re stuck with me now.”
    The confidence was good.
    I showed her Wick and Wand, the store where she could get special teas, tarot cards, and spells and amulets.
    “I think I might need to cleanse the house of Debbie,” she told me.
    “We’ll pick up some sage to burn,” I promised.
    She was excited over that idea, as evidenced by the way she took hold of my hand and squeezed it. I was surprised when she didn’t let go.
    “So what does your dad do?” I asked, to make conversation.
    “My father’s a fireman,” she explained. “Your chief retired and my dad is taking over.”
    I squinted at her. “Your father was a fireman in Detroit?”
    “He was a lieutenant and he had his own firehouse.”
    I nodded.
    “I know what you’re thinking.”
    I chuckled. “Do you?”
    “You’re thinking, ‘What is her big-time father doing in this tiny town?’”
    “Pretty much.”
    She sighed deeply. “My parents were divorced for three years before my mom died, but when she got sick, he moved back in with us to help take care of her.”
    “That’s really nice,” I murmured. “They must have been very good friends.”
    “They were. Even after she told him he was gay, they were all right.”
    I stumbled, and she turned to look at me,