Something about George’s slow, deliberate movements made Gerrit uneasy. He’d never seen George look so old. So weary. He tapped the nails in unwillingly yet with gentle care. It was almost as if . . .
That was when Gerrit noticed the silence between hammer strikes.
No radio.
George reached for the nail punch on the workbench beside him, revealing the project to which he was so reluctantly dedicated. The buzzing in Gerrit’s head faded away. His fists unclenched. His throat tightened. A box about eighteen inches tall sat on the table, the wood sanded smooth. Two small silver handles lay beside it, waiting to be attached to the sides.
Gerrit flinched as George threw the nail punch to the ground and covered his face with his hands. He kicked at a can of wood stain beneath the table.
A low, guttural groan seeped through his fingers, thick and cold, like fog under a bridge. “Why? Oh, Lord, why?”
The despair in George’s voice turned Gerrit’s blood to hay hooks, ripping him apart from the inside.
“That other car rammed us into the red Jetta,” Rae had said. “The woman was pregnant. The baby died.”
He took a step back. Mallory drove a red Jetta.
Realization poured over him. No. No, God, please.
Another step back.
“I’m going to be a grandpa in June.”
He forced himself to look away.
Staggered out of the shop.
Gulped for air.
“Isn’t it exciting about Mallory’s baby?”
He trudged back to the fence, the sun shining brightly on his head as if nothing had changed. Yet the pain in his chest told him everything had. George’s desolate cry reverberated in his heart as he stared at the hole his ladder, his recklessness, had created.
The fence he’d broken.
The mess he’d made.
His indignation disappeared, leaving him empty. He nudged a splintered board with his boot. One hour, a couple of pressure-treated posts, and three two-by-fours and he could have the fence looking good as new.
He took a deep breath. This? This was something he could fix.
A bush rustled, and Bernard the Terrible appeared, regal with the light shining on his black-and-green feathers.
Gerrit’s voice sounded small to him. “Where have you been?”
The rooster trained a beady eye on Gerrit and bobbed his head. The same low, guttural sound George had made built up from the creature’s throat and let loose, a feral keening all of nature could understand.
“I know.” Gerrit rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the fence. “I know.”
He stepped over the broken pieces, determined. He needed to grab his dog and his keys. The hardware store closed at six. He’d better get a move on.
Maybe he could do one thing right.
And maybe he’d call Evi tonight.
As he passed his truck on his way to the house, something clicked in his heart, like a key turning to release a lock. He thought about Luke and Luisa and Morgan and Rae and his family. He thought about George’s granddaughter, lost, and how much a lifelong grudge had cost compared to the money he’d thought he deserved. He thought about the words he’d spoken at the hospital.
“I’ve wasted a lot of years on the wrong path.”
He thought about Jakob.
And he almost didn’t notice the shiny new tank of propane sitting in the back of his truck.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
Rae winced as she paced in front of the rust-colored house, waiting for Gerrit to meet her. She still couldn’t believe her mom had agreed to drive her here. Even more surprising was that she’d agreed to wait in the car while Rae and Gerrit attempted this important mission.
But a lot of surprising things had been happening lately. When Mom told her dad Rae might lose her number one spot at school because of missing her finals, he hadn’t freaked out. “As long as you’re okay,” he’d said, “and in the top ten.”
Her response? “Top five.”
Just because she was rethinking her priorities didn’t mean she wanted to become a slacker.
She continued to pace, each step echoing through her body and causing a sharp pain where her forehead had smashed into the window of David’s car. A large square bandage covered the stitches, but gunk had been oozing from the wound all day. Mom had told her to “take it easy” about a dozen times on the way over.
A truck door slammed and Gerrit approached, hunched over as if each step caused him pain, as well.
She gave him a small wave. “You made it.”
“I’m having second thoughts.”
“Too late. Come on.”
They started toward the house, and she glanced sidelong at him. “By the way, I’ve got Morgan’s new address.”
He stood up straighter. “He’s okay?”
“He’s living with a friend of his mom.”
Gerrit nodded. “That’s good. Did you say anything to him about . . . ?”
“No.” She bumped his elbow with her shoulder as they walked. “You’re going to do that yourself.”
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
She climbed the front steps. “He knows you didn’t mean what you said.”
A glint of humor sparked in Gerrit’s eyes as he followed her. “Is that so?”
She knocked on the door. “Don’t forget, this was your idea.”
Gerrit grunted and shifted awkwardly beside her. “Does she know we’re coming?”
“Yes.”
Though Rae still hadn’t spoken to her, Kylee had texted when she got home from the hospital to make sure she was okay. Rae had taken that as a good sign. And when she’d asked about the puppies at Gerrit’s request, Kylee had agreed to let them come over.
The door opened.
“Hey.” Kylee’s hair was green now. She leaned against the doorframe and eyed Rae’s forehead. “You look terrible.”
Gerrit snorted.
Kylee raised one eyebrow at him. “You don’t look much better.”
Rae smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“This way to the little monsters.” Kylee stepped aside
