Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  And on top of being nosy, Ed was a meddler. An awkward meddler. Every time Alberta came to the store, he’d ply her with recipes. I finally had to ask him to stop when Alberta asked why my boss was so weird.

  Dropping my purse behind the counter, I sighed. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Well, that was convincing.”

  I ignored his sarcasm and scanned the shelves. “Anything come in while I was gone?”

  Ed was hunched over a delicate silver and diamond tennis bracelet, repairing its clasp. “Battery replacement on a Shinola,” he said, again, not looking up from his work, but angling his head to the tray on the far side of the shelving. Replacing a luxury watch battery would take me all of three minutes, but I was grateful for the change of subject and the chance to focus on something other than my thoughts.

  “How’s Mama?” he asked as we worked side by side.

  I fought a smile. Ed knew Mama’s name was Flora, yet he called her Mama — even to her face. She loved it. Even though he was only about five years her junior. But that was Ed. He was a meddler. A spy. A hugger. He could make anyone feel welcome, and within ten minutes he’d know their life story.

  The jewelry store sat in a sprawling strip mall in the middle of town. It wasn’t as flashy as the upscale jewelry boutiques in the newer developments further south. The store had been around for a while, and it showed. But people recognized the name, and from what I saw, Ed was the reason customers kept coming back.

  He also took care of his employees, which, for the most part, was me. Ed’s sister, Fran, would come in two days a week to help him with bookkeeping and inventory, but that was the extent of the staff.

  Ed let me take off when I needed to, and if he couldn’t cover for me, he wasn’t opposed to hanging the Closed sign in the door and locking up. But better than that, and something that first made me love him, was that he tried not to leave me or Fran alone in the store unless it was locked up.

  “Jewelry store smash and grabs are on the rise,” he’d warn. “A scumbag might think twice with two of us here.”

  If two employees were in the store, the chances of someone sounding the alarm and scaring off the burglars were better. I couldn’t argue with that, so I was always grateful Ed took those precautions. He tried to run all of his errands when Fran was here with me, and if he had to go out for longer than an hour or so, he’d usually ask his nephew Rick to come in.

  So, yeah, my boss was a nosy, meddling, hugger in his fifties who fussed over me like an uncle. Unless I wasn’t in the mood to talk, I sort of loved it.

  Today, I wasn’t in the mood. “She’s fine,” I said, hoping my two-word answer gave him the hint that further questions weren’t welcome.

  Ed looked up from the tennis bracelet and studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. I suddenly wished it took a full thirty minutes to replace a watch battery. And it had to be done on the roof. In the dead of night.

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s got you down, buttercup, but cheer up,” he said, lifting his chin in my direction. “Your bracelet prototype looks great. Finish up out here and go make one for real.”

  I froze, afraid I’d misheard him. Afraid to get my hopes up. But then I met his full gaze, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth had me squealing.

  “Oh, Ed. Thank you!” And because I knew I wouldn’t get away without a hug, I met Ed halfway before he set the delicate tennis bracelet aside and caught me in his arms. His chuckle shook me in his embrace.

  “Don’t thank me, dearest. That little trinket is going to earn me a whole lotta cash.” He set me away from him and pointed to the back of the store. “Now get after it.”

  I smacked my hands to my mouth, suppressing a squeal, and Ed’s eyes danced. Behind my fingers, I vowed. “You are the best boss ever!”

  He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Now go make me a bracelet.”

  Once I finished the day’s orders and helped Ed with a few customers, I went to the back and got to work. I spent the rest of the afternoon on my bracelet, first weighing the wax model and then setting up the casting flask, mixing the investment compound, and prepping it in the vacuum chamber. I poured the compound into the casting flask, and then I settled in for the worst part, the waiting. It would take almost an hour and a half for the plaster to harden before I could put the flask into the oven and let it vulcanize overnight. It was twenty after six, and Ed had closed up the shop, effectively locking me in. I had my earbuds in as I listened to Jon Bellion and played around with a sketch of a beaded necklace I’d been thinking about. The mold still had another ten minutes to go, and I was debating walking down to Twins to grab a burger when a text buzzed through my phone.

  Guessing it was Alberta wondering when I’d get home, I glanced at the screen… and frowned.

  Unknown Number: I owe you an apology.

  I read the message first, and then my heart tripped and turned end over end about four times. The area code was 504. New Orleans.

  And then:

  Unknown Number: It’s Cole Whitehurst. Flora gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind.

  I dropped my pencil and reached for the phone. I read the texts again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating or, more likely, my dyslexia wasn’t playing tricks on me. Mama had given him my number? She’d conveniently forgotten to share that little tidbit.

  My hammering heart had climbed to somewhere in my throat, but I could feel my pulse everywhere. Over my entire body. I stared at the screen for probably a whole minute. How could I respond? I added him to my contacts and typed the word Hi. Then I quickly erased it. He hadn’t even said hi. The two-letter word sounded too chipper. Vapid.

  Then I typed Mama told me she saw you and Ava today. But I erased that, too. Some protective urge in me didn’t want to share that we’d spoken about him. I was about to respond with a simple Oh? when a new message lit up my screen.

  Cole: Elise, it was so unbelievably good to see you the other night.

  I sucked in a startled breath, and my thumb tapped the damn send button.

  Me: Oh?

  Shit. Fuck. Crap on a cracker. At best, it sounded sarcastic. At worst, he’d think I wanted to hear more.

  Cole: Yes. I know it’s my fault, but it’s been too long.

  I bit my bottom lip. His fault? Was that his way of acknowledging the letter I’d sent him years ago? The one he never answered? Or because he’d broken his word and left without looking back? A bitter impulse spiked in my blood, and I was typing before I could think better of it.

  Me: You always were good at ignoring me.

  Pressing send flooded my veins with adrenaline. The edges of my vision spun a little, like I’d just bungee-jumped. Alberta and I had done that once at Tracks in Destin, Florida, on our senior trip. The moment my feet had left the platform — seven stories above the ground — I’d had a head rush of WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? The sensation was exactly the same now. The feeling of not being able to turn back. The inevitable fall.

  I watched the little dots on my screen bounce as Cole typed. What would he say? What did I even want him to say? Did I want him to say anything?

  The way I was staring at my phone suggested I did.

  Cole: I suppose I deserved that.

  I thought about what Mama had said about Ava just getting out of drug treatment. Of what the last eight years must have been like for him. He probably deserved a lot of things, but grief from me wasn’t one of them.

  Me: I’m sorry. You don’t. Forget I said that.

  My apology was sincere, but it felt like I had a cauldron of emotions bubbling up from my chest, and remorse was only one of them. My bitterness had been just as sincere. As was a startling anger. And a fear so nebulous, I could only taste it on my tongue. Followed by this devastating elation at the reality of talking to him again.

  Well, texting anyway.

  And then there was the muddiness about talking to him. Him, him. The real human being as opposed to the ideal. Ideals didn’t make you feel twelve dif
ferent emotions at once. Ideals stuck with three. Four, tops. Anticipation. Lust. Adoration. Gratitude. That was enough, right?

  But this? I couldn’t keep up.

  Cole: Can I call you?

  I frowned.

  Me: When?

  His response was immediate.

  Cole: Right now?

  I nearly choked on my tongue. Um, that was going to be a hard no. Texting was safe. He couldn’t hear the tremor in my breathing, and I could make as many false starts as I needed.

  Me: Not really a good time right now. Still at work.

  Cole: What time do you get off?

  I scoffed my indignation. I hadn’t heard from him in eight years, and he thought he could just demand my hours? My thumbs flew over the screen, and I jabbed the send button.

  Me: When the job is done.

  Cole: What job is it today? Could you send me a picture?

  This time my jaw fell. This was definitely not ideal.

  Although, I had to admit, it was all Cole. The memory of him in my bedroom, snooping through my jewelry basket lit up my mind like tracer fire. In that moment, I had to consider the possibility that my ideal man — the Cole I thought I’d remembered — might have been a tad… idealized.

  Me: No. It’s not ready. I’m waiting on the casting compound to dry.

  The timer on my phone went off. So much for waiting.

  Cole: Then send me a picture of that.

  I frowned.

  Me: What? The casting flask???

  I felt my frown soften and the corners of my mouth turn up.

  Cole: Yes. Send me a picture.

  A short laugh escaped me. What the hell. I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the flask. It looked like a coffee can full of… well… plaster.

  Me: Here it is. Very exciting.

  I sent the picture along with my sarcastic caption.

  Cole: Darn.

  “Darn?” I said aloud, then realized I was now talking to myself, and felt a little crazy.

  Me: Why darn?

  The little dots bounced on the screen then stopped. A moment passed before they started bouncing again.

  Cole: I thought you’d be in it.

  Oh my God. Was Cole Whitehurst… flirting… with me?

  Cole: I hoped, anyway.

  The rush of heat coursing up my body felt unwelcome and dangerous.

  Me: Why are you teasing me?

  My face flamed, and I wanted to cover it. I actually had to remind myself I was alone. No one could see me.

  But I didn’t feel alone. And that was weird.

  Cole: While you always were my favorite person to tease, I’m not teasing.

  My stomach seized as I read the words, and he just kept typing.

  Cole: I really was hoping to see you tonight.

  I pushed up from my chair, needing air… or space… or something. This was too much. Even after the shock of seeing him Saturday and hearing all about him from Mama, I hadn’t expected this. Not at all.

  Didn’t he hate me?

  Of course, if he didn’t, well, that was good, right? I definitely didn’t want him to hate me.

  But what did it mean?

  I shook my head, not even ready to try to fathom that. I paced the length of the work room three times, reading his words and reeling with every trip.

  “Nope,” I said to the empty room. “Nope. I’m not equipped for that.” And before I could change my mind, I fired off six words.

  Chapter 22

  COLE

  Elise: I have to go. Goodnight, Cole.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  We’d only been texting for a few minutes, but it already felt like we might be finding our rhythm. Maybe not our old rhythm, but one not too far off. A starting point.

  I deflated against the couch cushions just as Ava walked in through the front door. She froze just beyond the threshold.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I wiped the disappointment from my face and stood. “Nothing. How was your meeting?”

  Ava gave me the side-eye as she shut the door behind her. “It was fine,” she said evenly. “And you’re lying.”

  Her observation gave me a check. Sober Ava paid a hell of a lot more attention than High Ava ever had. This discovery was like a surprise birthday party. Exciting. Heartwarming. But disorienting. Ava hadn’t paid attention to me in years. Not really.

  Now she was staring at me with sharp, all-seeing eyes. They zeroed in on the phone in my hands before going wide.

  “You called Elise,” she declared.

  I looked down at my phone and back at her. How the hell…?

  “What did she say?” Ava said, dropping her purse on the floor, springing to the couch, and landing on her knees. She sat back on her heels and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. Tell me everything.”

  “I…” I shook my head. “…I didn’t call her.”

  She peered closer at me. “Were you about to call her?” Ava straightened up. “Because I could go to my room if you need privacy.”

  Her excitement would have been funny if it hadn’t been so misplaced. I let myself crash on the couch beside her. “I texted her.”

  Ava’s brow rose, and she acknowledged this information with a slow nod of her head. “I see.” Her eyes went to my phone. “And did she text back?”

  I nodded and then rubbed my thumb over my bottom lip, lost in a memory. “I think she’s upset with me.”

  Ava blinked, her chin notching back. “Upset with you? Why?”

  I brought my gaze to hers. “Because I ignored her.”

  She let out a gust of breath. “I feel like I’m pulling teeth here.” Ava leaned back and nudged my knee with the toe of her shoe. “Spit it out.”

  I was so used to being invisible to her. And now she was staring at me. No, glaring. Waiting for a response. I brought a hand to the back of my head and rubbed my neck. Scrutiny was the last thing I’d expected from her sobriety.

  “A while back, Elise sent me a letter, asking to reconnect,” I admitted, hearing the regret in my own voice. “I didn’t answer her.”

  Ava blinked. “You never told me that.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t told Ava so many things over the years, there was no way to keep count. But Elise was different. She’d always been different.

  “Why didn’t you write her back?” Ava’s voice softened. “I know you missed her.”

  She’d known. Even though we’d never talked about it. Maybe because we’d never talked about it.

  I met her eyes and gave her as vague an answer as I could. “When I got her letter, things were crazy.” I remembered the day with a clarity that was almost cruel. Ava would remember it, too, and the memory would hurt her. “I put her letter away and told myself to forget about it.”

  Something flashed in Ava’s eyes. “Did you forget about it?”

  Frustration squeezed my throat, pushing my exhale through my nostrils. “I just said I forgot about it.”

  Ava squinted at me and watched me silently for what felt like a whole minute. “You know, at Hazelden, we did group therapy for three hours a day.” She crossed her arms over her chest and studied at me like I was a fascinating jigsaw puzzle. “Agnes, one of our counselors, said the words people choose tell you everything. You just said you told yourself to forget about the letter.”

  I drew my brows together and gave Ava my “I’m worried about you” look. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  A patient, patronizing smile broke over my sister’s face. I’d never seen the likes of it before. What the hell?

  “Telling yourself to forget about it and forgetting about it are two completely different things, Cole.”

  She said this as though it were news to me. As though I hadn’t lived with that truth my whole life. Under her unfamiliar gaze, my heart knocked against my ribs.

  “So, are you going to tell me?” Her voice and face softened again.

  I fl
attened out my expression. “About what?”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Did you forget about her letter?”

  “No.” The word tore from my throat. I had no say in its release.

  For some reason, Ava looked pleased.

  I, on the other hand, felt like I’d taken a punch to the stomach.

  “So, you just didn’t allow yourself to do anything about it. Is that right?” she asked, settling her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her head in her hands.

  I stared at her, ready to change the subject.

  Ava shook her head. “Never mind. I know you well enough to know that’s exactly what you did.”

  My back molars ground together. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

  Ava cocked her head to the right. “Oh, I think we do. Because I’m willing to bet the reason you didn’t write her back had to do with me.”

  The air in my lungs decided to get the hell out of Dodge. “Ava.” She was the only family I had left, and I had failed her in so many ways.

  “Tell me what happened.” Her voice was steady, almost soothing. “Why didn’t you write her?”