In the few days that followed, Reagan and my conversations about McGammon and Aaron were sparse, the familiar names of those around us only coming up when the trip to Sweden was mentioned. The tables were turned as I rarely let Reagan out of my sight.
My head was filled with our booth conversation at the diner. I stored every thought and emotion up in a compartment of my mind that I had never used before. The brain really is an amazing organ.
On Sunday afternoon, a day when the sky couldn’t be a more perfect blue, the phone in our room rang and Reagan squealed into the receiver.
"Where the hell have you been? We haven't seen you in, like, forever!"
After a few moments, Reagan grabbed my hand. "Let's go to the lobby. We have a visitor."
As we walked down the stairway, I saw Grant standing side by side with Vicki. She made eye contact with me then averted her eyes to Reagan.
"Good golly, Miss Molly," Grant said, seeing the both of them bounding toward him. "How are you, ladies?"
Grant hugged the both of us and kissed my left cheek near my lips.
"What, no box trick this time?" I kissed him back. "We’re good, Grant. How are you?"
Reagan and I both pulled back to take him in. He was wearing khaki pants with a striped button down shirt tucked in. A braided belt encircled his fit waist and a thin tie hung down to touch the top of the buckle.
"I am excellent," he said, turning to give us a better look.
"What is up with this?" Reagan said, gesturing to his clothes. "Who are you trying to impress?"
"Everyone," Grant said. "I am now ... " he paused for dramatic effect. "a model for Sears."
"No!" Reagan screamed, slapping her legs and laughing uncontrollably.
"How did you get that gig?" I asked, also laughing.
"Baby, it's all about who you know."
"Yeah, and all about who you ..." Reagan started.
"Anyway,” Grant continued, pinching her arm. “I’m glad Foster called me. She was not wrong in saying that it would do you good to see me, Reagan. You’ve totally started glowing since you came down those stairs.”
“You called him?” Reagan asked, looking at me.
“I did. I thought another girls night would do you good.”
“Are we all going out?” she asked, glancing at Vicki.
“Oh, no,” Vicki said. “I’ve got some stuff to do on campus. I just bummed a ride off of Grant.”
“And I have to spend some quality time in my practice room,” I said, trying very hard not to look in Vicki’s direction.
“It’s just us, sweetcheeks,” said Grant and took Reagan’s hand. “I’ve got the whole afternoon and evening planned.”
As they moved toward the door, Reagan looked back at me and, for a moment, a flicker of alarm played on her features.
"Foster ... " she began but Grant slapped her rear end and told a dirty joke and they were gone.
Vicki stood in front of me for a moment, silent, then looked up. “7:00.”
“7:00,” I said.
As Vicki walked out the front door, she looked over her shoulder and, in another uncharacteristic move, winked at me. Then she was gone.