Riley folded her arms. “I told you.”
“So, you’ve chucked hope.”
She nodded. “Mostly.” The last time she’d allowed herself to freely hope, it had crashed around her like a building demolition.
“So, then what? What’s left?”
“Work,” she answered, sure of it. “Work hard. See your life come together under your sweat, your stipulations. Things go wrong, you know why. It’s not because of some silly desire for miracles.”
His smile was gone.
A sick feeling grew in her stomach as she realized who she was talking to.
His eyes darkened. “How nice to be in charge of what happens to you. Shielded from pain. From disappointment.” He stepped to her, his gaze intense. “But what happens when hurt and pain come after you? What happens when they tear at you and take everything you know and explode it into a thousand pieces?” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “What happens then, if you refuse to hope?”
She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She knew the tearing pain of helplessness. Her heartbeat felt taut, like the plinking of a guitar string held against the fret.
“Nothing,” he said, quietly answering his own question. “You don’t work. You don’t look for tomorrow.” He shook his head, his jaw tight. “You don’t want a tomorrow.”
Warm tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she whispered. Seconds passed.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. He stepped away. “And I’m sorry life has made you think hope is worthless. I’ve been there, too.” He looked away, toward the house. “Sometimes I’m still there, I guess.”
“Not if you come at it like that, you’re not.” She quickly swatted away her tears. “Wow,” she said. “You don’t hold back, do you?” She sniffled and forced a laugh, but her heart still cut that sharp rhythm, and she still couldn’t look at him.
“I should’ve stopped talking eight minutes ago.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I shouldn’t have opened up.” She turned to the car, her emotions all over the place. She fumbled with her key fob, finally getting the door to unlock—as if she needed to lock her doors out here.
“Riley, wait.”
“Call me about using the school,” she managed to get out.
“Riley?”
She waited.
“Be careful driving down.”
She nodded and got in the car. She should have thanked him for dinner. She should have assured him that she was fine. Told him he was a stronger person than she was. He stood there as she drove away, watching even as she turned down the winding slope.
She couldn’t keep her emotions in check, though. She was no good at relationships. Not ones that mattered.
Making friends with people like Mark Rivers was dangerous. People like him drew you in deep, made you feel like you could believe. That you were connected. Part of something that said, “Stay.” The Dalton Gainers of the world allowed freedom.
Be careful with Dalton, Mark had warned her.
Be careful with Mark, she told herself.
Mark put off calling Riley about using the school all day. The way things had been left last night made his stomach turn. He’d hoped he could manage to grab some time to work on the boards while his dad was away. The trouble was, his dad never went away.
They’d spent the morning fixing potholes in the dirt road down to the new outbuilding. His dad had loaded gravel onto the flatbed, and while he drove, Mark sat on the back, waiting for the next stop to fill the hole.
Once they got to the outbuilding, he was put to work installing shelves, moving in equipment, and organizing tools, including moving the band saw from the garage. He tried arguing for leaving the tools where they were, but his dad had looked at him like he’d been hit too many times playing football.
And the whole time, running through the back of his mind was Riley. Riley, Riley, Riley. And the warning his father had given him when he was young. Don’t you make a girl cry unless it’s happy tears.
She always had this strong front. To see her vulnerable like that—he hadn’t known what to do—or what she’d want from him.
By the time afternoon rolled around, Mark’s stomach had tensed with anxiety, and his leg bounced under the lunch table they’d put in the shop’s kitchen area.
“We’re out of bread and eggs,” he said, as if he’d just remembered. “And you were gonna get the oil changed in your pickup, right? Did you want to go do that now, or . . .?”
His dad spoke from behind a cupboard door. “Steph’s dropping by in a while with some groceries, and I was thinking when you’re done here you can change the oil for me for free.”
“I can’t.” Mark grimaced. “I’m meeting some people.”
His dad shut the cupboard quickly. “For what?”
“For meeting some . . . people . . . to meet people.” Brilliant.
His dad stared at him. “Sounds crowded.”
Mark turned away. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
“No, go. We’ll get the oil changed another day. Go meet your people.”
Mark paused. Was it really so predictable that his dad would want Mark to get out of the house? “Thanks.”
He texted Riley.
I’m sorry about the way things were left last night. I’m hoping you still want the job. If so, can I come use the school? There’s no avoiding Dad out here.
He waited for a response, knowing school would just be getting out, nervous that she’d back out. After a few minutes, she replied.
I talked to Tom. Today will work if we’re done by six. Bring everything to the shop as soon as you can so we can finish drawing the characters.
She wasn’t backing out.
He excused himself while his dad was still deep in work and returned to the house. He cleaned up a little then packed everything he and Riley had worked on into the back of his truck, wrapping the boards in an old blanket and securing them with bungee cords. He might be overprotective about keeping the project a secret, but he would feel better once the pieces were cut and inside Riley’s house.
Once more, he chastised himself for coming down so hard on her about the hope thing. It wasn’t his right to preach to her or anyone. They’d agreed at dinner: mutual understanding between friends. And then he’d laid into her like a preacher at a pulpit. He promised himself he’d back off and respect her privacy, even though something inside him itched to know more of how she’d given up the one thing in life that had kept him alive.
And this place? He shook his head as he drove into town, the streetlamps adorned with lit garlands and tinsel snowflakes hanging from every traffic light. Santa’s Workshop was already set up in the corner of the IGA parking lot, waiting for Santa to hold court for portraits and hand out candy canes and a coupon for a free ice cream cone at the Grill-n-Go. Christmas carols would blare from the Christmas tree lot between the hardware store and the IGA as soon as it was filled, though the Salvation Army bell ringers were already working their posts in front of the Main Street stores.
For someone who wanted to avoid Christmas, Riley Madigan had picked the wrong place to live.
But it sounded like she’d picked it partly because of his mom.
He parked the truck in the school parking lot.
Maybe if he could show her what this town meant to his mom—what hope meant to his mom—maybe she’d have a change of heart. But he’d have to stop the preaching.
He was hefting the pieces of wood under his arm, deep in thought, when he heard a voice behind him.
“What are you up to, Rivers?”
Mark glanced to see Dalton Gainer closing the trunk of his car.
“Just bringing some stuff in for the shop.” He adjusted the backpack containing all the drawings and photos and nearly lost his grip on the boards.
“Good for you, getting out. Need some help?”
Mark let the patronizing statement drop. “Nope. Got it.” And he did. Gainer shut the tailgate to the truck for him anyway. “Thanks.”
“I saw Ms. Madigan heading for the shop, too,” Gainer said, a question in his tone.
Mark met Dalton’s steely blue gaze. “Ms. Madigan? You mean Riley?”
Gainer smiled. “During the school day, she’s Ms. Madigan.”
“Ah,” Mark replied, gladly turning to go. “Well, I’m not a student. And school’s out.” He headed toward the school, but before he could take three steps, Gainer called to him.
“Rivers.”
Mark paused despite everything in him telling him to keep walking.
“When it comes to Riley, this is one record you won’t beat.” The subtle warning in Gainer’s tone came through loud and clear.
Mark took in a long, deep breath, trying to douse the wave of insecurity and anger flaming up inside him. It’s not like he’d felt any encouragement last night, but that wasn’t the point.
He turned, and Gainer stepped aside to avoid the swing of the boards.
“What do you mean?”
Gainer shrugged. “I mean I’m interested in getting to know her better, and let’s be honest, your game’s a little off.”
“How so?” Mark knew exactly how so, but he was curious to hear Gainer’s answer.
He lifted his hands as if in defense. “I’m only saying that I’ve been working on something here, and maybe you should take your warm-up somewhere else.”
Mark shook his head. “Is everything a sports analogy with you?” He squared himself against the man he’d once idolized. “I’ve got no game plan. No warm-up concerning Ms. Madigan. If you’ve been working on something, I’m sure you have no need to worry about the likes of me.” He almost turned, but stopped. “Oh, and if you’re going around referring to her as one of your goals on the scoreboard, I’d be very careful.”
Gainer chuckled. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”
Mark kept his own voice even, his gaze steady. “I happen to know she sleeps with a baseball bat under her bed.”
Gainer’s self-confident expression faltered slightly. Mark regretted that his words implied he and Riley had something more than a working relationship, but the guy was asking for it, so he made no correction. He turned, making sure the jerk had to duck out of the way of the boards once more, and headed toward the shop.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Gainer called after him. “And challenge accepted.”
“Unbelievable,” Mark muttered under his breath.
Any illusion of self-assurance he’d gained from his exchange with Gainer fizzled when he entered the shop. Tom Staley, who’d been the shop teacher since before Mark was in school, lifted his head and smiled. Riley, however, turned away with a box she was carrying and deposited it at the far end of a long worktable without so much as a “Hey.”
“Mark Rivers, good to see you.” Tom extended his hand, and Mark took it, painting on his smile and giving Tom the better half of his face. He’d left his hoodie at home, but kept a knit cap pulled over his ears.
“Mr. Staley. Thanks for letting us use the shop.”
“Just Tom. And you’re welcome. Riley tells me it’s a secret, but it’s one I’m happy to be in on. You can count on me.”
“Thanks, Tom.” He looked around the large industrial room. The smell of fresh-cut wood, machinery, and wood glue took him right back to freshman shop class. “Hasn’t changed much.”
“No, it hasn’t. I’m a bit dustier, but the shop’s the same. Same rules. Same kids doing what they can to break them.” He gave Mark a wink. “You and Jay nearly gave me a heart attack a couple of times, if I remember.”
Mark smiled, a real one. “Are you kidding? That safety movie you showed at the beginning of every semester scared the crap out of everyone.”
“Still, I recall someone not paying attention and nearly sending a block of mahogany through my office window.”
Mark grimaced. “Oh yeah. The table saw.” He chuckled and glanced toward Riley, who was closely examining a handful of pencils. “Sorry about that.”
Tom shook his head. “Job hazard. Still, I’ll miss it.”
“Miss it? Are you leaving?”
“Retiring. After next year.”
“Wow. Congratulations. I can’t believe that.”
“Me neither. But it’s time.” He rested his hand on Mark’s arm. “Good to see you here. Go on, and set your load down.” He nodded toward Riley. “You know where everything is.”
“Thanks.” Mark watched Tom retreat to his office, then turned to the worktable.
He noted a change in the air as he approached Riley. It was stiff and distant, and he didn’t like it. Not with her. He dropped the boards heavily onto the worktable, and she jumped.
“Ms. Madigan?”
She cast her green eyes his way, questioning his address like he knew she would.
He’d considered his next words over and over, but she hadn’t been staring at him when he’d practiced. “I need to apologize. To you.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her arms.
“I think it’s twice now I’ve left you feeling like I’ve let you down in some way. Or maybe I’ve come across as a self-righteous blowhard.”
She bit her lip.
“I give you this song and dance about wanting to be treated just like everybody else, and then when you open up like I am anybody else, I use what I’ve been through to put you in your place. My dad would call me a fool. I’m sure you have better names.”
Her mouth pursed. Yeah. She had them, all right.
He shifted his weight and pushed on. “I was only trying to help. And I screwed up. Can you forgive me?” His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack like he was a high school kid asking out his crush.
She studied him, her eyes round and her lips parted, and he allowed himself to consider how soft those lips might be.
Thoughts like that are trouble, Rivers. He quickly drew his gaze back to her eyes.
She blinked and looked away again, organizing the pencils on the table into an orderly row. “Thank you, Mr. Rivers.” She glanced at him sideways. “I wasn’t entirely undeserving of your . . . opinion,” she said quietly. “I was insensitive. At least, I didn’t consider—” She took a nervous breath. “Some of the things you said were hard to hear. But it wasn’t because of you.” She touched the last pencil on the table and faced him. He saw what he’d hoped to see.
A light behind her reserve. Acceptance of his lame apology. A willingness to make things right—or at least bearable—while they worked together.
“Friends?” he asked.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “Friends.”
He nodded, feeling a weight lifted, and slung his backpack onto the table while she unwrapped the boards. He hung up his coat on the peg next to hers and grabbed two work aprons. With a nod of thanks, she took one and tied it on.
They worked in silence for a time, sorting boards and sketches. Just as he was reaching to gather up the boards ready for the big cuts, she reached in the same direction and their hands met. He pulled away before she did.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long were you in recovery? For the burns, I mean?”
He paused at the unexpected question, unsure how to answer.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“Almost a year,” he found himself saying. “At first, I mean, with the physical therapy and everything. Then more skin grafts. More physical therapy. I’m still—” He paused again, hesitant to say more, or not knowing what to say. “I’m still recovering, I guess.” He picked up the boards and began to walk to the band saw. Then he stopped and turned back to Riley. “I don’t mind if you ask
me about it.” He was pretty sure he meant it. At least he wasn’t spiraling into a dark place with his back pressed against a wall.
She nodded. When it didn’t look like she was going to say anything, he turned.
“My grandma died on Christmas Eve,” she said.
He stopped.
“I was thirteen. I was alone with her.”
He turned slowly.
She stood looking at the floor, turning a pencil in her hands. She straightened up taller. “My parents had been having these horrible fights and decided to go away together to try to work it out. My grandma and I shared some milk and cookies, and then . . . she had a heart attack. I tried everything, but . . .” She shrugged, looking everywhere but at him. He was used to that from other people, but not from her. “I lost the one place that felt like home to me, and I lost it on Christmas. That was when I stopped believing. I couldn’t wish for anything more after that. I just thought you should know. So you’d understand why I said what I did last night.”
He took a step and set the boards back down. He put his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Why didn’t you say something then?”
She swallowed. “I’m saying it now.”
He took another step to her, but she took a step back.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I mean, I’m a grown-up. But Christmas—It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to find meaning in it. I’d go through the motions to please my parents when I still lived with them. I thought I’d grow out of it after I left home. You know, leave stuff behind. But some things are still . . .”
“Hard,” he said.
She let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“So, you’re still healing.”
A small smile touched her mouth as she met his gaze. “Yeah.”
He nodded. He looked over their work, trying to focus his thoughts on what to say or do next. Her grandma died on Christmas Eve? And Riley had been alone, without anyone to help? Holy crap. He gestured toward the drawings. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to. For your family.”
He nodded again. He fought the urge to gather her up in a big hug, which he was sure she didn’t want.
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