He shrugged in reluctant agreement. “If Cameron were here, he’d have us looking at house listings together by now. We’d probably be on our way to buy a dog, too.”
“And you’d be quoting statistics about relationships failing within six months of buying a place together, and I’d be telling you both to hush your mouth,” I said, laughing. “And yet you don’t think we’re complicated, right? Come on, let’s go see my parents.”
I stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked but got no answer. I tried again, harder this time; still nothing.
“Perhaps they’re out shopping?” Hugh suggested, but I shook my head. They would never have gone out with the roads in such a mess. Not unless it was an emergency. My throat tightened with worry, and I pounded harder and harder, even though it was clear the house was empty.
Hugh took a walk around the building, but it all appeared intact—the storm mustn’t have hit this area anywhere near as hard.
“What if they’re stuck somewhere like Agnes was?” My voice trembled.
Hugh wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close enough to breathe in the comforting scent of his skin.
I couldn’t believe I’d spent all weekend dreading seeing my parents, blaming my mom for my reluctance to start a relationship with Hugh and Cameron, when they might be stuck somewhere, injured or worse.
“Hey, do they drive a green station wagon, by any chance?” Hugh asked, looking over my shoulder. I spun my head around to see my dad’s car, probably the oldest, most beat-up car in Georgia, driving down the road toward us.
“That’s them,” I said with relief and ran down to greet them.
As my mom stepped out of the car, I gave her a big squeeze. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
Dad joined us on the sidewalk. “That’s what we should be asking you, Missy. Your mom’s had us out looking for you since you didn’t send her a photo of the dinner venue last night like you promised.”
Damn, I forgot. Not that I could have got a text through anyway, but maybe Cameron could have passed on a message for me.
“I’m so sorry, but we’ve been trapped. A tree collapsed in front of my bungalow in the storm, and we were stuck in there all day.”
“We? We who?” Mom asked. Looking back at the house with a raised eyebrow, she added, “Is that Hugh Davis?”
I gulped.
Hugh was standing on the porch, and he raised a hand to wave at my parents when he noticed they were looking over.
“Yeah, he was... dropping me off after Chrissy’s rehearsal dinner when the storm erupted. He had to sleep on the couch. It wasn’t comfortable, but better than nothing, I think.” I knew I was over-explaining; I always did when I was lying or felt guilty, but Mom just smiled.
“Let’s get you both inside. It sounds like you’ve had quite a night.”
We headed up to the house.
When we reached Hugh, my dad gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
Hugh shook his head with a smile. “Believe me, she doesn’t need any taking care of.”
“Ah, she might act tough, but she’d have been glad you were with her.”
“Dad, shut up.” My cheeks flushed, and I felt like an embarrassed teenager again. That sense of regression only worsened when we entered, and the smell of my parents’ home filled my nostrils. It was like freshly baked sugar cookies and plastic toys, and it made me want to head up to my old room, sit on my bed and write in my diary about Cameron and Hugh again.
What would teenage Muriel, that conscientious, guilty, ‘good’ Southern girl, think about what her older self did with her two friends last night? Her head would probably explode, I figured. Back then, I didn’t even know it was possible—or legal—to do half the things we did together.
“Muriel, are you okay?” My focus had wandered far away, and I suddenly found myself sitting at the kitchen counter, with Hugh next to me and my slightly concerned mother on the other side.
I gave my head a shake. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m just happy to be home, is all.”
“Well, we do miss you,” Dad said as he grabbed us some cookies and Cokes and joined us. “But we’re proud of what you’re doing over there in California.”
Mom nodded. “Oh yes, sweetie. You remember Beth Ramsey, who lived down the road when you were young? Brown hair, dressed kinda like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” In truth I had no idea who she was talking about and I wasn’t sure I’d seen the movie, but I’d learned that it’s always best to go along with moms when they started gossiping about random people.