(2) ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ──── ROADTRIPTV

𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙎𝙊𝘿𝙀 𝙏𝙒𝙀𝙇𝙑𝙀 ✔️

A voice spoke as Andy reached for a can on the store shelf.

"Cranberry sauce already?"

Andy looked up. "Hi, Brooklyn. Yes, Aunt Reese likes to do a preview the Sunday before Thanksgiving, remember? If she practices, there's less chance she'll do something terrible."

"Like forgetting to buy the cranberry sauce until fifteen minutes before dinner?"

"Until five minutes before dinner," said Andy, consulting his watch, and Brooklyn laughed. It was a good sound, and one Andy hadn't heard for too long. He moved on toward the check-out stand, but after he'd paid for his purchase he hesitated, looking back. Brooklyn was standing by the magazine rack, apparently absorbed, but there was something about the slope of his shoulders that made him want to go to him.

He poked a finger at his magazine. "What are you doing for dinner?" he said. When he glanced uncertainly toward the front of the store, he added, "Mikey's waiting out in the car; he'll be there. Other than that it's just the family. And Robert, of course; he should be there by now." He meant that Rye wasn't coming. He still wasn't sure how things were between Brooklyn and Rye these days. At least they spoke to each other.

"I'm fending for myself tonight; Mom's not feeling so hot," he said. But then, as if to change the subject, he went on, "Where's Jack?"

"With his family, visiting some relatives or something." Andy was vague because Jack had been vague himself; he seldom talked about his family. "So what do you think? Want to take a chance on Aunt Reese's cooking?"

"For old times' sake?"

"For old friends' sake," said Andy after a moment's hesitation, and smiled at him.

He blinked and looked away. "How can I refuse an invitation like that?" he said in an oddly muted voice. But when he put the magazine back and followed him out he was smiling, too.

Mikey greeted him cheerfully, and when they got home Aunt Reese looked pleased to see him come into the kitchen.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said, taking the grocery bag from Andy. "Robert got here a few minutes ago. Why don't you go straight on back to the dining room? Oh, and get another chair, Andy. Brooklyn makes seven."

"Six, Aunt Reese," said Andy, amused. "You and Robert, me and Sarah, Brooklyn and Mikey."

"Yes, dear, but Robert's brought a guest, too. They're already sitting down."

Andy registered the words just as he stepped through the dining room door, but there was an instant's delay before his mind reacted to them. Even so, he knew; stepping through that door, he somehow knew what was waiting for him.

Robert was standing there, fiddling with a bottle of white wine and looking jovial. And sitting at the table, on the far side of the autumn centerpiece and the tall lighted candles, was Robbie.

Andy realized he'd stopped moving when Mikey ran into him from behind. Then he forced his legs into action. His mind wasn't as obedient; it remained frozen.

"Ah, Andy," Robert said, holding out a hand. "This is Andy, the boy I was telling you about," he said to Robbie. "Andy, this is Robbie ... ah ..."

"Smith," said Robbie.

"Oh, yes. He's from my alma mater, William and Mary, and I just ran into him outside the drugstore. Since he was looking for someplace to eat, I invited him along here for a home-cooked meal. Robbie, these are some friends of Andy's, Brooklyn and Mikey."

"Hi," said Brooklyn. Mikey just stared; then, he swung enormous eyes on Andy.

Andy was trying to get a grip on himself. He didn't know whether to shriek, march out of the room, or throw the glass of wine Robert was pouring into Robbie's face. He was too angry, for the moment, to be frightened.