Fortuity (Transcend 3)

“It’s not your fault,” Gabe mumbles.

Hugh shoots me a tiny smile and a wink. “Thank goodness.”

I ruffle Gabe’s dark hair, and he shoos away my hand as we follow Hugh’s snail’s pace up the stairs.

“The second floor would be yours. The kitchen on the main floor is communal, but I’ve added a fridge in the garage where you can keep your perishables if you’re worried I’ll eat them.” He stops at the top of the stairs, plucking a hanky from his back pocket to wipe his forehead. “It was four bedrooms and two baths. As you can see, I’ve turned two of the bedrooms into a living space with a washer and dryer behind those folding doors. There’s a balcony just off the master bedroom. In another day or so, I’ll be done with the stairs so you’ll have a direct entrance to the second floor if you don’t want to risk seeing me every time you come and go.”

Gabe peeks his head into one bedroom and then the other, showing no reaction.

He shuffles his feet to the window of the smaller bedroom. “Who’s that?”

Hugh and I follow him and glance out the window.

“Oh … yes. That must be the renters next door. They were supposed to arrive today. I haven’t met them yet. Father and daughter. They’re only here for the summer.”

Gabe’s gaze remains on the young girl tossing her flip-flops over her shoulder and running toward the water. She stops abruptly and glances back, maybe talking to someone, but I can’t tell for sure. After a few seconds, she continues toward the water, halting where the waves crash into the beach, covering just her feet.

“She looks about your age.” I nudge Gabe’s arm.

“I feel a summer romance happening,” Hugh adds in a singsong.

Gabe pivots toward Hugh and shoots him a wrinkled-nose look. “What do you mean?”

“He means you might get a crush on the girl next door.” I rest my hands on Gabe’s shoulders.

“Nah-uh.” Gabe shakes his head several times.

Hugh chuckles. “Well, I’ll give you two some time to look around. If you have any questions, I’ll be downstairs.”

“Where do you sleep? Is there a bedroom on the main level?” I ask.

“Fancy recliner. I don’t sleep well. Apparently some sleep apnea thing. If I’m flat when I sleep, I stop breathing. I’ve been told that’s not good. Tried some high-tech machine, but not my cup of tea. My clothes are in the small office.” He disappears around the corner.

“So … what do you think? It won’t be forever. Just until we find something more permanent and see how my new job goes.”

Gabe shrugs. I assume it’s what ten-year-old boys do—shrug all their answers. I’ve received a lot of shrugs over the past two months.

“Is that a yes shrug? An I-don’t-care shrug? Or an I-need-to-think-about-it shrug?”

“It’s not close to Tyler’s house.”

“I know, but I don’t think we should spend your college savings just to stay close to Tyler. What if I make sure you get to see Tyler as much as possible this summer? His mom said they’d be gone for three weeks on vacation. Maybe when they get home Tyler can come stay here for a few days. You guys can play on the beach … make friends with the cute girl next door …”

Gabe sighs. “My friends at school are boys. Girls are …”

“Girls are what?”

He turns and rolls his eyes. “Well, they squeal about stupid stuff and say ‘oh my god’ about everything.”

I chuckle. “Fair enough. No pressure to make friends with the girl next door. But … do you think I should tell Mr. Hans we’ll take this place?”

Another shrug.

“Okay. I’m going to tell him yes, unless you tell me no with more than a shrug in the next five seconds.”

No words.

No more shrugs.

Five seconds pass.

On a sigh, I deflate, easing onto my butt with my back against the wall.

“Throw me a bone, Gabe.” Hugging my knees to my chest, I shoot him a pleading look. How can he not see the desperation pouring out of me?

“Like a dog?” He frowns.

“Yes. Like a dog. And I’ll chase it. I’ll bring it back to you. I’ll sit. Heel. Roll over. I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll just let me into that head of yours. Tell me what you’re thinking. I can only imagine what you’re feeling. I’ve never experienced it. So guessing is all I have if you don’t talk to me.”

He picks at his fingernails, giving them twice the attention that he gives me. “What do you want me to say?”

I restrain from spewing off a mile long list of questions I have for him. “Yes or no. Do you want to live here for now? It’s just temporary. The answer can be no. I won’t ask why, and I won’t ask you anymore questions today. We’ll just keep looking tomorrow.”