“She looks like you,” Erin said, awed by the sparkly pink-and-purple getup the little girl wore.
“Except for the red hair.”
“Which she couldn’t possibly have gotten from her dad, since he has brown hair,” Erin said with a straight face.
Michelle laughed. “He tried that on you, huh?”
“I told him I’m a blonde.”
“Instead of a strawberry blonde?” The other woman gave an exaggerated scowl. “Argh, Gracie’s favorite doll is Strawberry Shortcake. I must have cakes on the brain.”
“And what did I do but bring you goodies.” Erin held out the container with the result of her morning’s labor. “At least I didn’t bake cupcakes.”
Michelle giggled. “I’d have eaten those, too. Give me anything sweet. And these look divine.”
Over coffee and cookies—Erin managed to restrict herself to only one more—the two women talked. Michelle had taught sixth grade until her son was born, and she and Ryan decided she’d stay home until their children started school themselves. “It’s been a luxury,” she said, “but I have to admit I’m looking forward to getting back in the classroom. I’ve taught third through sixth grades, but my favorite was the sixth grade. They’re children one minute, budding teenagers the next. Awkward, excited, silly.” She smiled. “Here I am, going on and on. Ryan didn’t say what you do for a living.”
“At the moment, nothing,” Erin admitted, then hesitated. Since coming to West Fork, she had yet to tell a single person other than Cole what had happened. She and Michelle had the potential for real friendship—but not if she lied now. She drew a deep breath. “I was a college professor. I taught history and coached women’s volleyball and softball.”
“You must have a PhD.”
“I do. But...I don’t know if I can ever go back.” She swallowed. “You see, I was driving my volleyball team to a match when...something happened.”
By the time she finished, Erin was crying and apologizing all at once. “I’m so sorry! I thought I could tell you without falling apart.” She started to stand. “I should go.” Apparently, she hadn’t secured last night’s floodgates when she closed them.
“No.” Michelle’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Please don’t.”
Erin slowly sank back onto the kitchen chair. She sniffled and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand until Michelle held out a napkin.
“This will work better.”
“Thank you.” She blew her nose hard, mopped up and finally crushed the paper napkin. “I’m a mess.”
“And no wonder,” Michelle said. “It’s only been—what?—seven months? And look what you’ve accomplished on your grandmother’s house! Has the work been therapeutic?”
“It has. I suppose that’s what I had in mind. Plus—” she grimaced “—I wanted to go home, and this was the closest thing I had. I just wish Nanna was still alive.”
She ended up telling Michelle about losing her parents, too, after which the other woman said thoughtfully, “When you’ve suffered that much loss, being handed more must’ve hit you even harder than it otherwise would have.”
Erin stared at her. That had never occurred to her, but...it sounded right. She’d isolated herself in her grieving when she hadn’t needed to. She’d spent holidays with Nanna, but never let herself understand that Nanna, too, had lost her family. First her only child, then her husband. All she’d had left was Erin, who wished now that they’d talked more. But that hadn’t been Nanna’s way. She...accepted, instead of bewailing. Like I’ve been doing.
“That’s...possible,” she said. She cleared her throat. “Have you ever thought of becoming a school counselor? You seem to have a knack.”
Michelle grinned. “If you’re going to spend all day in the company of preteens, you have to be prepared for a lot of angst and drama.”
Seeing the humor in it, Erin had to laugh. “I’m giving you a reminder of what you’ll face this fall.”
The other woman shrugged. “Assuming anyone hires me. I’ve got a bunch of applications out there, but I’m still waiting.”
Half an hour later, Erin walked home, feeling cleansed. Having a friend again would be good, and instinct said that, despite her having broken down in tears, Michelle wouldn’t fuss over her emotional state the way college friends had. She was refreshingly different.
I hope.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I WOULD’VE BEEN fine with Erin joining us.” Dani studied Cole with eyes as blue as his.
They had ended up at the same pizza parlor where he and Erin had eaten the one night, and from which they’d ordered takeout several other times. There were more upscale restaurants in West Fork, but Dani had readily agreed that pizza sounded good. If she’d guessed he was happier going somewhere he knew so he could feel reasonably comfortable, she didn’t say so.
“It’s been a while since you and I have seen each other,” he said.
“I feel bad we didn’t include Erin. Maybe next time?”
“I probably won’t still be living at her place by the time we get together again.” Saying that casually was hard.
His sister’s surprise didn’t help. “That apartment’s great. Why would you want to move?” She frowned. “Or is your landlady a problem?”
Erin was a problem, all right, but not in the way Dani meant.
He shook his head. “Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“My needing to leave doesn’t have anything to do with Erin. I...like her.” Long practice let him sound unemotional, kept him from any physical tells. “I was lucky to meet up with her. But I don’t like having to feel grateful.”
“She wants you to?”
He smiled a little at his sister’s indignation. She and Erin had a few things in common, it occurred to him. “No. It’s not her. It’s me. I want to know I can make it without charity.”
“You did some amazing work on her house.”
After introducing her to Erin, he’d given Dani a tour of the exterior as well as his apartment before they left for lunch.
“Yeah, it looks good, doesn’t it?”
Hearing their number, he went to get the pizza.
He should’ve known that Dani would be in pit bull mode. He’d barely slid into the booth when she demanded, “What was charitable about her hiring you? With everything you’re doing in the apartment, she has to be gaining as much as you are.”
Cole put a slice of pizza on his plate, giving himself an instant to think. He wished the subject hadn’t arisen. The truth was, if he and Erin hadn’t become friends, he might not feel the way he did. Objectively, they’d made an even trade. He’d worked his butt off for her, refusing every time she tried to up his pay.
“It’s the extras,” he tried to explain, without quite telling his sister the truth. “Her helping me get my driver’s license, letting me borrow her SUV.” She baked him goodies. No, he wasn’t going to tell his sister that. “I think she’s waging a campaign in the neighborhood to get me jobs. She’s suddenly visiting everyone up and down the block, taking cookies and scones.”
Dani could read him better than anyone else. Nothing new about that. In this case, it wasn’t a bad thing, because after some serious scrutiny, she stopped pressing him. Instead, as they started eating, she asked if he had any plans, and he told her some of what he’d said to Ramirez.
She suggested he move to Bellingham. “Housing isn’t expensive, especially during the summer when most students go home. And we have both a community college and Western.”
The thought had occurred to him, but if he left West Fork, he knew he’d never see Erin again. Even thinking about that made him feel as if his chest had been split open. But if he stayed in town, seeing her in passing might be painful, too. At least he could be sure she w
as okay, though. Another thing he couldn’t say to his sister.
And it wasn’t as if he’d see that much of Dani, given her husband’s attitude.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, but could tell she knew he didn’t mean it.
She whipped out pictures of her kids to show him, which hurt in a different way. A niece and nephew he’d never met. Might not meet for years, if ever. Cole knew that, if he asked, Dani would bring the kids with her next time, but he didn’t want to be the cause of a blowup with Jerry.
So he said admiring things, and only grinned as she talked about their excellence. Her kids were ahead of most of their peers in every way, from schoolwork to dance and baseball.
“Both brilliant and talented,” he teased. “With you as a mother, how could they help it?”
She sniffed. “They couldn’t.”
They managed some casual conversation until they were driving back to his place. Erin’s place, he corrected himself. Damn.
A few blocks away, Dani said, “I talked to Dad last night.”
He groaned. Of course she had to go there.
She turned her head long enough to narrow her eyes at him. “I’m just telling you.”
“Nagging.”
“I am not!”
“Are, too.”
Her spine straightened as she went into her “I am above your pettiness” mode. “Can we have a little maturity here?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “If you promise not to mention Dad again.”
“Oh, fine.” She pulled into the driveway and braked. “It’s just that—”
He kissed her cheek and opened the door. “Thanks for the visit, Dani.”
She rolled her eyes. “Jerry will come around.”
“Since his wife’s a bulldozer?”
His sister stuck out her tongue. Cole was laughing as he slammed the door.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Cole was putting primer on the ramp railing when he heard someone approaching from behind. He went completely still, making sure he was balanced on his feet to move fast. Even as he prepared to fight, he reminded himself that things were different out here. He straightened and turned fast.
He didn’t know this old guy’s name, but did recognize him. He was a lot bigger than Mr. Zatloka, raw-boned, moving as if every joint hurt.
Tamping down the minispike of adrenaline, Cole nodded. “Came to see the wheelchair ramp?”
The guy said, “I don’t need one of these yet, but I do need a new front porch. Got the same problem Ms. Parrish did.”
“Rotting?”
“The steps, anyway. She suggested you might be almost done here...”
“I am.” He really hated that she was out drumming up business for him, even if her intentions were good. And yes, every small job helped him build a bigger financial cushion, gave him more experience and the possibility of another reference. All of that didn’t seem to prevent the small slap of humiliation.
“I’m Del Wagner,” the guy said. “You helped me with my garbage can a couple of weeks ago.”
“I remember. Tell you what, while this dries, I’ll come down to take a look.” Turning down an opportunity would be stupid.
Wagner thanked him and plodded back around the corner of the house. Every step seemed to be an effort.
It took Cole another half hour to finish applying the primer. He’d give it two or three hours, then put on the first coat of paint. The balusters were to be white, the top rail black, like some of the trim on the house.
He wiped his hands with a rag, grabbed a tape measure and screwdriver and walked down the block. This house looked to be about the same age as Erin’s, although smaller. The detached garage didn’t have a second story. At first glance, Del Wagner had maintained his home decently, but Cole didn’t have to poke at the steps to see that they did need replacing. A few boards on the porch did, too. He could see where the roof above the porch had leaked, soaking some supports.
Once Mr. Wagner had come out, Cole also checked the back porch and the siding.
He learned that the house had last been painted two years ago. He gave Wagner the bad news about the porches, and agreed that he could do this job next. Like the Zatlokas, Wagner offered fifteen dollars an hour, still cut-rate from what Cole had learned, but more than satisfactory.
He’d resolved to report his income. Nothing under the table for him. Everything he did would be scrutinized in a way most people didn’t have to worry about.
With a notebook page listing the measurements jammed in his pocket, he decided to take his lunch break and walked back to Erin’s. The awkwardness between them since she woke up and discovered he’d spent the night, uninvited, in her bed tempted Cole to eat in his apartment, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her feelings if she came out and he wasn’t there. It was a nice day, too; he’d just as soon sit outside with the sun on his face.
The truth was, he didn’t want to miss a minute he could spend with her, either.
* * *
WHEN COLE SAW the slices of pumpkin bread that Erin had brought out on a plate, his eyebrows rose. “Trying to fatten me up?”
“Actually—” she inspected him, head to toe “—there is a little more substance to you than there used to be. I remember thinking you looked too lean the first time I saw you.”
“Prison food is lousy.” He settled in his usual spot at the top of the steps, on the right side. “If you can afford it, you can buy snack food at what we called ‘the store.’” He unwrapped his sandwich, as much to give himself a minute as anything, Erin thought. “After I got out, I had to conserve money. I’d probably lost some weight by the time we met.”
Conserve money, she suspected, was an understatement of monumental proportions.
“Truthfully, I’ve been in this baking frenzy. I don’t know why.”
“Mr. Wagner told me you’d taken him some of those cookies.”
Her face brightened. “Oh, did he talk to you? I was hoping he would. His porch steps are squishy, and all I could think was how risky a fall would be for a man that age.”
He gave her an indecipherable look, but only nodded. “I’m going to replace both porches for him.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “He’s not having any of those gaudy colors, though. His Emmie always said a white house is dignified, and he won’t insult her memory by getting fancy.”
Erin laughed. “I can just hear him. Oh, dear. Have I shocked all the neighbors?”
“Mrs. Zatloka likes the colors you painted the house. Even the pink.” He grinned. “Mister is dubious.”
“Ryan’s wife loves the colors. She’s thinking about shades of teal when they paint their house next year.”
“The old folks won’t recognize their neighborhood.”
Nanna wouldn’t have minded. Erin was sure of that. She sneaked a look at Cole, who picked up a slice of the bread. “I hope you like raisins. And walnuts.”
“There’s not much I don’t like. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to do all this for me.”
She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She shouldn’t feel prickly, but she did. “If you want a loaf, you’re welcome to it. If not, I won’t be insulted. I’m planning to give away a couple more. I’ve resolved to get to know the neighbors. I was ashamed when I met Ryan and realized how I’ve been hibernating.”
“A few of them can use fattening up,” he said with a sidelong smirk.
She laughed, as he’d no doubt intended, then let the silence ride for a few minutes. The fact that he’d readily mentioned prison food encouraged her to ask questions.
“In prison. Was it violent, the way the news makes it sound?”
The look he sent her wasn’t encouraging. But after a minute, he said, “It can be.” Pause.
“Except when tensions between gangs are especially high, the worst is when you’re new. You have to...establish yourself as someone it’s not worth messing with.” He looked out over the yard. “I was lucky, being a big guy. I was also young, stupid and stunned, but I took up weight lifting right away, bulked up.”
“Were you in fights?”
Another quick glance. “Yeah.”
Erin rested her chin on her knees. “Did you ever see anything really awful?” Lord. Was this what she’d been working her way around to? Did she need to know whether he could understand what she’d seen, experienced?
This time the silence went on so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But he did, his voice rough. “Hard not to. Once I saw a guy get knifed in the shower.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth.
“I knew dead when I saw it. I kept walking, got dressed and was out of there before his body was reported.” His tone was unemotional, yet tinged with darkness. “When they asked, I said I’d left a couple minutes earlier than I really did. Didn’t see a thing.”
“Because if you’d identified the killer—” She could hardly whisper.
“I’d have been dead, too,” he said flatly. Not giving her a chance to say anything else, he surged to his feet, walked down the steps and went up to his apartment.
Erin didn’t move for at least five minutes, but he didn’t reappear. She carried the wrapped loaf of pumpkin bread back into the house.
* * *
RAMIREZ CALLED TWO days later.
Despite Cole’s mixed feelings about how he’d gotten his latest job, he was glad to be able to say, “Yeah, I’m still working.” In fact, he’d been on his knees pulling up rotten boards when the phone rang. “Another neighbor.”
Yes, he’d gotten a driver’s license. No to a car. He wasn’t about to buy anything that wasn’t halfway reliable. He had to explain that he couldn’t even apply for a job with a contractor until he had the ability to get to job sites.
“You’re good at working on cars, though,” Ramirez countered.
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