Page 24

MR. CARVER GAVE me a call when I was on my way back from Mapleview, a load of white ash tied down in the tray of the truck, and I listened to him and agreed he could meet me back at the cabin.

When I got there about twenty minutes later, he was already waiting, and so was a heavyset kid wearing oversized jeans, a baggy shirt, and a suspicious expression.

“Ryan,” Mr. Carver said. “This is Elena. Thanks for letting us come have a look around.”

“No problem,” I said, even though I was worried it might be. “I could use a hand to unload.”

Between the three of us, we made short work of unloading the wood out of the truck and stacking it in the shed. Then I nodded at the workshop. “Come on in.”

Elena’s unhappy expression morphed the second we got inside, and the recognition of that transformation hit me like a gut punch, because I knew that feeling.

I’d been miserable in all my high school classes except one.

The moment I stepped into Mr. Carver’s class, I hadn’t been stupid or a waste of space.

I’d been useful and smart and excited to be there.

I could see the same light in Elena’s dark eyes.

“Touch whatever you want,” I told her. “Just be careful.”

She nodded and darted forward to inspect the chairs I was working on.

“What are you gonna use the ash for?” Mr. Carver asked me. “You got an order?”

“Nah,” I said. “I got the chance to grab it cheap. I thought maybe I’d make some Adirondack chairs for the porch.”

“Ryan renovated his cabin on his own,” Mr. Carver said. “The carpentry in the kitchen is beautiful work.”

I warmed in exactly the same way I had when I was fourteen and he’d asked me who taught me to do dovetails so well.

I told him I’d learned it from a video online, and he’d made a huge show of lamenting that YouTube would put him out of a job, right before he said that if I was interested I could come back after school ended and he’d show me a couple more techniques.

It didn’t take long for those after-school lessons to transfer into spending hours every weekend in his garage workshop.

“She’s good,” he said in an undertone. “She’s got real natural talent. Reminds me of you at that age.”

I gave a noncommittal hum and walked through the workshop to unlock the roller door and pull it up, letting the breeze in.

“Oh, wow,” Elena said, coming to stand beside me. “Lake’s right there.” She darted a look at me. “You ever made a boat?”

“I haven’t,” I said.

“Huh.” She turned away and headed for the lathe.

Mr. Carver’s hand on my shoulder took me back half a lifetime in a heartbeat. “Let’s go for a walk.”

We headed down to the shore of the lake, out of Elena’s hearing.

“You know what I’m going to ask you,” he said at last, squinting into the sunlight that glittered off the surface of the lake.

“I’m not a teacher, though.”

“Neither was I,” he said. “I was just some carpenter who messed his back up working in construction, and Harry Baines, the high school principal at the time, was in the Rotary Club with my father and threw me a bone with some substitute classes. Before I knew it, I was at community college every night, studying for that teaching degree.”

“I can’t have some kid work for me,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair to her. I’m not qualified, so I could teach her everything I know, and she still wouldn’t be either.”

“Has that held you back?” He nodded in the direction of the cabin. “Ryan, you’re charging as much as a master because people see the quality in your work.”

Haider had said much the same thing the other night.

Old shame curled in my gut. “I still use story sticks for measuring.”

“Well, why the hell wouldn’t you? They work, don’t they?

” Mr. Carver’s forehead creased with concern.

“She’s not gonna give a shit about the dyslexia and dyscalculia, son.

She’s playing it cool right now because she’s a teenager, but I showed her some of your pieces online, and she was hooked.

And she’s a good worker and fast learner. ”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do wages and a 401K and all the shit you have to do for an employee.” Even the thought of it was churning my guts like the surface of the lake in a summer’s storm.

He squeezed my shoulder. “I reckon we can figure that part out between us. But before we even get to that bridge, how about you give her a trial until school starts up again? A couple of hours a week, that’s all, just to see if she’s a good fit. Do you think you can do that?”

No, this will be a disaster.

But I nodded, because Mr. Carver had saved my life when I was in high school. Not only were his classes a safe space for me, but he’d steered me onto a career path that had provided me with a real future. If there was a chance I could do that for Elena…

Except I’d had Mr. Carver as a teacher, and Elena would only have me, and that seemed like putting her at a disadvantage to start with.

If the guys were here, they’d kick my ass for even thinking it.

And if Adam—well, Adam didn’t know, did he?

He loved my work, but maybe he’d agree with me that Elena would be better off with a teacher who could read a measuring tape without fucking it up.

But I still wanted to try, because Mr. Carver thought I could do it, and I owed everything I had today to him and the chance he’d taken on an unhappy kid fifteen years ago.

“I can do that,” I found myself saying before I could second-guess myself. Or third or fourth-guess myself. “For a trial, just to see if it works.”

Mr. Carver smiled like I’d made the right choice.

I hoped for both our sakes, and Elena’s, that I wouldn’t prove him wrong.

AFTER MR. CARVER and Elena left, I fished the note that Adam had left me out of the pocket of my work apron and sent a picture of it to Sam.

Then I studied the scrawl for a moment, like an archaeologist staring at some ancient, unknowable language carved in stone, wishing it would give up all its secrets.

Then I went to the cabin and heated up the leftover pasta bake for lunch.

I ate in the kitchen with the cat parading around my ankles, trying to convince me she was starving even though she’d already had one of the pouches of food Adam had bought for her.

I appreciated Mr. Carver’s offer to help out with the stuff I’d need to figure out to pay Elena, but my dyslexia and dyscalculia weren’t things I liked to have front and center.

Haider was the only person so far I’d felt comfortable enough to check over my accounts, and Rebecca helped when it came to ordering supplies, because I didn’t like feeling useless.

And it was really hard not to feel useless when someone else had to correct all your mistakes in front of you.

The crunch of tires on gravel made me smile, but when I looked outside it wasn’t Adam’s hire car pulling up, it was Rebecca’s little red hatchback.

“Shit.”

I dumped the rest of my lunch in the sink, but I wasn’t quick enough to escape without being seen.

“Ryan,” she asked, stepping up onto the porch. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

“Just using the kitchen,” I said because the best lies were the ones closest to the truth. “He’s not here, and he said I could.”

“You’re not meant to be bothering him!” She clutched a Tupperware container to her chest. “Shit, I hope this doesn’t lose us a star on our review. Oh God, is there a cat in there with you too? Is it that mangy stray?”

“Hey,” I said. “She’s not mangy.” I held the door open for her. “And she’s not very stray anymore either.”

“Ryan! What if he’s allergic?”

“He’s the one who let it in,” I said. I eyed the Tupperware. “Are those cookies?”

“Oh, you’ve tracked dirt in,” she said. “Let me get the broom and—”

“Becca,” I said, because if she made it as far as the cleaning products in the laundry room, she’d pass way too many clues that I wasn’t living in the workshop like she thought. “It’s fine, okay? I can clean up. Also, Adam found out I was sleeping in the workshop and said I could stay.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Really? He’s okay with that?”

More than okay with it, by the sounds he made when he came. But I fought that thought off and did my best not to blush. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

She looked at me narrowly, like she was right on the verge of figuring it out.

“Mr. Carver was here earlier,” I said to distract her. “He wants me to take this kid on. Sort of an apprenticeship, though it wouldn’t be official. He said he’d help with the paperwork, but—” I shrugged.

Rebecca set the Tupperware down. “Well, of course I can help with that! After all the insurance for the cottage, Chris and I are experts at dealing with official bullshit.” She leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “I can’t imagine you with an apprentice.”

“Well, me neither. It probably won’t work out.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m not a teacher .”

“You taught me how to lay flooring.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You remember how I had to pull it up and redo it, right?”

“Well, yes, but presumably mini-Ryan actually wants to learn how to do things properly, and not half-ass it and have his big brother fix it for him.”

“Her,” I said. “Mini-Ryan is called Elena. I think she wants to make a boat.”

“Could you do that?”

I hummed. “Only one way to find out.”

“And this is why you’ll be an excellent teacher,” she said and punched me gently in the shoulder. “You love figuring this stuff out.”

“Maybe.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean, it probably won’t work out.”