Page 27

MARLOW

Around eight o’clock in the morning, I get a weird text message from Ryan: Heading home soon. Can I stop by later? Need to talk to you about something.

My stomach tilts a bit as I read the last sentence.

Ryan isn’t one to carve out time for special talks.

I consider making a joke – reminding him that he can’t propose because I’ve already promised myself to Gerard Butler.

Then I worry that it’s something serious and decide against it.

Maybe his dad’s having health problems, or maybe Blair’s lips got stuck in a permanent fish face from the way she sucks her teeth all the time.

Instead, I type out a quick reply: Sure, call first though. Helping Abby with some stuff out at the cabin this morning .

I get back a simple ‘ ok ’ a few seconds later.

_____

Abby looks like she just went four rounds with a wild turkey when she swings open the door to the old Forest Service cabin.

The bun on her head has flopped to one side, dangling just over her left ear.

Her overalls barely stretch over the baby bump that’s beginning to show.

Her mascara is smeared below one eye and I’m pretty sure there is a Cheerio stuck to one of her knees.

She greets me by huffing a rogue strand of hair out of her face. Her eyes are laser-focused on the bag in my hand.

“Sandwiches?”

“Tuna and pickles, just like you screeched at me over the phone.”

“Listen, I have no control over what my body wants anymore. It’s all this little one,” Abby says, rubbing a hand over her belly, “and apparently she’s half swamp troll.”

I follow Abby inside the cabin and my jaw drops. It’s been a few weeks since I helped her get this place ready, but things have taken a drastic turn since then.

“What happened here?” I ask, lingering in the doorway to take in the mess all around me.

“Teenagers suck,” she says through a bite of her sandwich. “It wasn’t working out for us to stay overnight at the hiking shelters. Other hikers were complaining…and rightfully so. We’ve been staying overnight here for the past couple of trips and it’s not going so great.”

“Well, I’m here to help you clean this place up.”

Abby slumps down into a plastic lawn chair that looks like it might collapse at any second. She looks around the small cabin. I see the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Pregnant Abby is a crier. I’ve lost track of the number of times that she’s cried in front of me over the past few months. Luckily, she at least knows when she’s being ridiculous and has the uncanny ability to laugh through her tears.

This, however, is not ridiculous.

Something tells me that she has good reason to cry right now. I’ve spent my life around troubled kids – on both sides of the fence. Hell, I was one. And not so long ago, I was working with them in Chicago. I’ve seen every way they can lash out, break down, and give up.

“Hey,” I say softly, “Don’t worry. You’re doing a great thing. This is just a hiccup; it’s nothing we can’t figure out together.”

Her smile is weak. A single tear carves a wet path down her cheek.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Abby says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Tell me about Ryan. What’s going on with that?”

I knew this question was coming. We’ve been texting back and forth about it for a while now, but I’ve been waiting until I could tell her the big news in person.

“Well, we’re…together.”

Abby’s eyebrows shoot up and her smile widens.

“Like, together together?”

I nod.

“It’s about damn time!”

Over the next hour, I tell Abby the story of how Ryan and I went from fake wedding dates to a real couple while we scrub down every inch of the cabin. By the time we’re done, it’s impossible to tell that a teenager has ever stepped foot inside this place.

Of course, that won’t last long. Abby has another group coming through this weekend, and we’ll be right back here scrubbing mystery goo off the ground after they leave.

My phone buzzes repeatedly in my purse as I approach civilization. The chaotic weekend traffic prevents me from fishing it out of my bag to check my messages. But by the time I reach the bakery and see Ryan’s truck parked outside, I already know the missed messages are from him.

He's sitting at the top of the narrow staircase that leads to my front door. Everything about his demeanor is wrong. He’s slumped over but quick to hop up onto his feet when he sees me. And his forced smile makes my stomach drop as I climb the stairs to join him.