by Jules Barker
Laurel finished stuffing cubbies and lurked at the back table through the rest of the lesson, waiting until the kids were working independently before motioning to Mrs. Graham.
The long-time educator didn’t miss the look in Laurel’s face. “Did you catch something?” she whispered when she approached.
“Yeah. Which one is Donni S.? I haven’t worked with him, or her, before.”
Mrs. Graham nodded. “Donni is new. Donnivan, actually. He was in Ms. Lake’s class but was having trouble so they switched him to me.” She gestured vaguely. “He’s in the third row, on the right. Dark hair. Blue shirt.”
Laurel looked, but the boy’s head was bent over his desk and he looked like he was scribbling on the back of his paper instead of working.
“What did you feel?” Mrs. Graham asked.
“He’s hungry. Afraid and lonely, too,” Laurel said. “It didn’t feel life threatening. But it’s big emotion for a kid, and heavy emotion.”
Mrs. Graham tilted her head and leaned against the back counter. “Due to privacy laws, I can’t tell you any more than what is common knowledge anyway, but his mom died last year. His older siblings are all either very young adults or there’s a high school age sister that moved in with the grandma in Washington. Donni’s the only child at home. I think his dad’s been trying his best––”
She paused to correct a student, “Joseph, put that ruler down now, please.” Then she turned back to Laurel. “––But the dad works a hard job and doesn’t seem to be the most emotionally available father, if you know what I mean. Plus a few other things I can’t talk about. But what you said makes complete sense for his situation. I’ll have the counselors pull him and see if they can get him to open up. And maybe his dad will accept our weekend food pantry services if they’re in need.”
That seemed like a good plan. Laurel trusted Mrs. Graham's judgement, and nothing she’d felt warranted consulting outside authorities right away as long as the school kept an eye on him. She still felt bad for the boy, though. Such a lot to go through at a tender age.
Mrs. Graham had to say a quick goodbye when Joseph had not, as directed, put down the ruler but continued to tap Marlee’s shoulder with it. Laurel packed up her things but turned back to the class just as she reached the door.
Donni, the dark haired boy with the blue shirt, was staring at her. Donni, the boy with the lost eyes and the empty stomach… whom she now recognized as the boy who had tried to steal from her yesterday.
He looked away quickly, scribbling harder at his paper.
Theft, too? There was more going on here than Laurel understood. She only prayed to the powers that be that Mrs. Graham and the counselors could help him. He shouldn’t have to deal with his life alone.
Laurel found herself thinking of her encounter with Donni later that afternoon as she wheeled her bike up the hill, the basket full of take out from Crowthorne’s Catch. She figured she might as well order dinner when she stopped by to deliver Sara’s ring.
Parents, even well-intentioned ones, could so easily mess up their kids. Laurel’s parents had been fantastic. Wonderful, even. That made their death when she was seventeen even harder to survive for the first few months. But she was still grateful for the time she’d had with them, even if their loss was devastating. Donni was so young, and it seemed like he was left with a parent who was also struggling from loss. At least Laurel had Gran––Gran who was solid as an oak even when she dressed in floral muumuus––to help her through the grief.
And Nate… He hadn’t lost a parent, but he sometimes wished he had. Laurel knew because his life imploded right when her own powers exploded. She couldn’t control what she read or filter what she felt from objects, and Nate couldn’t control his rage and defiance and hurt. He buried it as much as a sixteen year old boy could, but to a thirteen-year old girl who felt every emotion absorbed by objects, there wasn’t any hiding it.
Nate’s pain had been so strong in everything he wore or carried that she’d had to hide from him at times. It made being his best friend’s younger sister awkward, especially when Nate practically lived with them to escape his own house and his abusive mother. Noreen never got violent with Nate, just emotionally and verbally abusive. But she’d started to push his dad, Dave. Throw things. Hit.
Nate had to escape as it grew worse. And when escaping to their house was no longer enough after the worst night of them all, he’d had to escape the island completely. Nate finished out his last months of high school online while living with his aunt and uncle in Montana.
Looking back, Laurel could understand, at least to a degree, the pain Nate was living with back then. She could understand his confusion at being so angry with his dad also. At wishing his mother wasn’t alive.
But once her Gift manifested when she was thirteen and fourteen and fifteen, when she couldn’t separate what Nate felt from what she had to feel when he was around, it did overwhelm her. It frightened her. And she had stepped away from him instead of stepping up to help him. She’d always felt bad about that. Especially with how they’d left things that last night she saw him. The night of the kiss she wished never happened.
And now Nate was back and Laurel still didn’t know how to feel. She’d grown up and learned a whole lot more about human emotion than she knew when she was a teenager, but drat it if Nate didn’t make her feel like a teenager again anyway. Was that the only way he’d ever see her? And why did it matter to her so much anymore?
He was going to be working on her house. And he was coming for dinner in two days. And he had said at the shop that he wanted to talk. What specifically did he want to talk about? She didn’t know. All she knew was that it felt like some of the happy butterflies in her stomach had gotten seasick and were having a dance party. Good, bad, and everything in between.
6
Dinner with the Mob Boss
“Laurel, have you found the water pitcher yet? Nate is pulling up the drive,” Gran called down from her room, where she was tidying her gray cloud of hair after cooking for the last hour.
Laurel startled from where she was leaning against the bottom post of the stair railing. Her mind had been wandering between the present and the past, flitting between memories with Nate and Simon as children, especially those where Nate convinced Simon to allow the lonely little sister to be a part of their games.
“Sorry, Gran! I got distracted.” She opened the small storage closet and pulled out the water pitcher from the top shelf. Back in the kitchen, she filled it with water and ice and set it on the round dining room table. Three place settings, a low candle, and a divine spread of Gran’s famous meatballs with spaghetti and garlic bread… Everything was ready in time, except perhaps Laurel.
Well, she was ready in terms of dress. It had only taken five outfit changes to settle on something that was feminine and mature—to remind both herself and Nate that she was a full grown woman now, not a starry-eyed, loner girl too young to kiss him. She’d chosen a drapey tea-length floral dress with a v-neck, pleated front and a fitted waist. It flowed loosely over her curves and had the barest swoosh of silky fabric when she walked. She felt casual chic in it, usually. Tonight, she mostly felt nervous and, well, nervous.
Nate’s heavy steps sounded across the porch, pulling her back from yet again another memory. He was already here.
Nate knocked and Laurel rushed to the door, but paused before opening it. You are just a childhood friend. He’s just someone you know who’s returned to the island. He’s just a good friend that you’re happy to see and there’s nothing weird between you because you totally didn’t sort of kiss him the last time you saw him as kids and… oh, stars. Just open the door, Laurel.
“Hi!” Laurel said brightly.
“Hi.” Nate stood on the porch, holding a bouquet of wildflowers--periwinkle cranesbill and pink fireweed. “These are for your grandma. And, um, you, too, I guess.”
“Thanks.” She took them and inhaled the scent. Nice, delicate, not
overpowering.
Nate cast his eyes around the door and inside. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this house.”
“Yeah.” Yeah? Brilliant response. But as she watched Nate shift his weight and eye the house, Laurel realized he might be nervous, too. Or he might simply feel awkward since she’d left him standing on the porch.
“Oh! Come in. Sorry.”
Nate shrugged off the charcoal bomber jacket he wore over a soft, blue shirt and set it on the chair in the entryway. That he knew that’s where they had guests put their coats without even being told reminded Laurel that he knew this house and he knew her and there was nothing to feel weird about. This was just Nate.
“Hello, Dear!” Gran descended the stairs, tossing her silk shawl over one shoulder. She approached Nate and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Don’t stand on ceremony. You’ve been in this house more than anyone else on the island.” She gestured for him to follow her down the short, wide hall and into the dining room. “I guarantee it hasn’t changed as much in the past ten years as you have!”
After they settled into their places at the table, Gran reached out her hands for prayer as she always did. Without thinking, Laurel held hers out also and took Nate’s across the table. Their eyes met briefly, and warmth swelled in Laurel’s heart. This was Nate. They’d prayed over family dinners countless times throughout her childhood, before her Gift. They’d laughed. Teased. Even fought. He was her childhood friend too in a way, not just Simon’s.
Nate smiled back and bowed his head. Laurel’s gaze remained on his brown curls.
Gran said the same prayer she always did. “In gratitude and thanks, we honor the bounty we receive of food and family around this table.”
Laurel added her own personal thanks for the reminder that Nate was like family once upon a time. Which meant he was still like family. She let the warmth of the reminder seep into her bones, hoping it would stay with her and squelch lingering nerves over being around him.
As they began passing dishes to serve up family style, Laurel cleared her throat. “So, Nate,” she said, in an effort to be friendlier than she’d been so far, “how was Montana?”
When he looked up at her sharply, she realized that could be taken as sarcastic. “I mean, really, have you been happy there?”
“Yeah. Really happy, actually. My aunt and uncle are great people and I learned a lot working for him.”
“What does he do?” Gran asked.
“He’s a general contractor. The condition of me living there was that I work with him in the beginning until I picked a career. I liked it enough that I decided to keep working for him and eventually start my own crew.”
Gran nodded. “And have you done that yet?”
“No. I was gearing up for it when dad needed surgery.”
“So, you’re going back?” Laurel kept her eyes on her plate as she asked.
“Of course. I’m only here to keep dad’s business alive while he recovers. A few months and I’ll be back in Montana picking up where I left off.”
Laurel ignored the surprising twinge she felt and reached for the large bowl of sauce-covered meatballs at the same time as Nate. He picked it up and passed it to her. “Ladies first.”
Laurel debated if she should take two since he was here, or the three she really wanted. Wait, why did she care? She dug in and scooped up a fourth meatball and dropped it on her plate. She could feel the stubborn set of her brows as she looked up, but Nate only smiled.
“Miss Amelia’s meatballs are one thing Montana could never match.”
Laurel couldn’t help her smile when he scooped five onto his plate, then winked at her.
“How’s your relationship with your father these days?” Gran asked. She didn’t hesitate to ask things directly.
Nate hesitated. “It’s getting better.”
“I always thought your dad was a nice man,” Laurel added. “I’m glad you’re finding a way to patch things up.” She hoped she was encouraging rather than sounding preachy.
“Will you keep in touch with him, with any of us, when you leave this time?” Gran pierced him with her gaze over a plate of garlic toast she offered to him.
Laurel realized it was somehow turning into twenty questions and simultaneously felt bad for the inquisition and grateful for Gran’s direct nature.
Nate took a beat, placing garlic toast on his plate before meeting Gran’s gaze squarely. “Yes, I definitely will, Miss Amelia. I’m not a seventeen year old kid anymore. I did a lot of work on myself while I worked on those hot Montana roofs every summer. Figured out what I was really mad at. Who I was mad at. I forgave my dad a long time ago, but it was hard to mend things when I was gone. Honestly, I’m hoping that while I’m here I’ll be able to bridge the gap a little. Forgiving him doesn’t mean we get along well or even know each other anymore.”
Gran looked him in the eye, studying him. “I believe you’ve grown into a smart young man, Nate Stadler. Good for you. I believe it will all work out.”
Laurel took a drink of water, smiling as Nate blushed at Gran’s compliment.
“Now,” Gran continued. “Are there any young ladies who’ve realized what a good catch you are?”
Laurel choked on her water, coughing a spray all over Nate. She turned, napkin to her mouth, trying to cough it out. Nate half stood, like he would come and thump her back, but Gran only grinned wickedly.
“You ok?” he asked.
“Fine. Fine,” Laurel said, waving her napkin at him.
Nate used his own napkin to blot the water from his face.
Gran didn’t let the topic go. “See? She’s fine. Back to you, Nate. I can imagine any number of girls realizing what a kind and hard-working and sensible man you’ve become, let alone how many have noticed your appealing physique. Surely the Montana ladies have been swarming over you? Delivering so many casseroles that your fridge is bulging open? Offering their help to hold your hammer?”
Gran leaned her elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand and staring at Nate too innocently as she said that. Laurel’s embarrassment from choking combined with mirth and she had to hold her napkin over her mouth to hide her smiles.
Nate looked back and forth between them, then hid a smile in the hand he wiped across his face. “Sadly, Miss Amelia, the ladies of Montana don’t have as good of taste as you seem to.” He laughed. “No, I’m dating plenty but I’m not dating anyone in particular, if that’s what you’re after. Not many casseroles in my fridge, either.”
Gran sighed. “Such a shame.” She sipped her water and slid her gaze to Laurel and quirked a highly arched eyebrow. “Now. No more third degree. Let’s tell you all about us, shall we? What do you want to know?”
As it turned out, Nate already knew the basics of their comings and goings over the last ten years. Apparently Simon had kept him filled in on how the old fam’ was doing. Laurel getting a business degree from an online college, taking over the store, Gran’s bid for town councilwoman eight years ago in a fit of what she called “Hallmark movie delusion”. Nate apologized for not making it back for her mom and dad’s funeral. He’d loved them, too, but it was so soon after he’d left… Gran and Laurel waved away his apology. They knew things were complicated.
It wasn’t until near the end of the razzleberry pie that Gran finally brought up business. “Time for brass tacks, young man.” She grabbed a folded piece of paper from the side table and slid it across the table to Nate, still closed. “This is the amount I have to spend on remodeling the cottage.”
As Nate opened the paper, Laurel blushed. She was grateful to Gran, but also uncomfortable. She was a capable woman and she didn’t want Nate to think she relied on Gran’s charity to take care of herself. Also, wasn’t sliding a folded paper with an amount written on it too much of a mafia boss move? She fidgeted in her seat and slouched, trying to catch the paper at an angle to get the light behind it.
Gran rapped her knuckle by Laurel’s plate. “Now, now, dear
.”
Startled, Laurel sat up straight. She couldn’t read Nate’s face… was it a lot? Ridiculously little? Did he think this whole thing was weird and he’d turn them down? And why did that thought make her shoulders slump?
Gran rested her arms on the table, the portrait of a calm businesswoman. “That will cover a decent amount of work, I assume? Enough to be worth your time?”
Nate, bless him, took Gran very seriously. “Yes, Miss Amelia. It will buy you more than brass tacks, that’s for sure.”
Laurel threw her napkin at the table.
“Are both of you really going to sit there like mob bosses discussing a number you won’t even let me see? Really, Gran?”
“Dearest. I know you don’t want to take any money from me, but I already told you where I got it. And notice, I didn’t say Laurel’s cottage, I said the cottage. It’s part of my property. Investing to keep it in good condition is a smart money move, dear. If the current tenant happens to be my granddaughter whom I love more than life itself and she can enjoy a few upgrades in the meantime, then why not?”
“But--”
“And I’m not telling you the amount and neither will Nate--,” she cast a glance at him, “because you’d put that brain of yours to work with the money instead of enjoying thinking about what you want. Let me do this for you, Chickadee. You don’t always have to do everything alone.”
Laurel chewed her lower lip. Gran was right about the property. And it’s not like Laurel had a problem accepting help from people, she just rarely ever needed to.
“Fine.” She held out a hand to Nate. “Tear off a corner of that paper for me, would you?”
Nate did, a quizzical look on his face.
Laurel took the charred end of the matchstick she’d used to light the candles from the base and wrote a number on her slip of paper before sliding it back to Nate, grinning. “There. That’s how much I can contribute to our project. Now you have your whole budget.”
