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Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

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My mouth is dry as I look over my shoulder at Mariah. She’s looking at the spot where my phone lays.

What cards do I play now?

“Okay,” I tell the boys. “Get those dishes washed up and let’s make the icing.”

Twenty-Six

Mariah

After drying off my hands from the dishwater, I check on the stir-fry finishing off on the stove. It smells spicy and delicious. I don’t make it often because I hate cutting all the vegetables and chicken, but it seemed simple enough to make before Lance shows up for dinner yet complicated enough to be semi-impressive.

I’m not sure when he’s coming. He said he had a few things to do before he could make his way over here, but I had some time and figured we could re-heat it. He seemed as surprised as I was that I invited him. I think I was so shaken from seeing the app still on his phone and listening to Ollie’s story this afternoon that I just needed some comfort.

I haven’t been able to shake Ollie from my mind all evening. There are kids worse off than him—I know that. I’m not oblivious to it. But to think a kid right under your nose, in the same school that you work in, has no parents. No one to love him. No one to make sure he doesn’t starve to death or have a dry pair of socks once he hits eighteen is just heartbreaking.

There have been a lot of accomplishments I’ve achieved on my own. Applied and got accepted to college. Paid off my car loan. Found a house to rent and got a job at a high school that was my first choice. Those all felt like huge burdens to bear at the time, but not compared to what Ollie faces.

As I flip off the burner, I think back to the discussion Lance and I had as we straightened the Family and Consumer Sciences Room after Ollie and Brandon left. He insisted his brothers would be able to help him find Ollie housing and a job. Apparently, they’re connected around town. I promised to help with the deposit if needed.

Lance’s face as we talked about this caused my heart to swell and sink at the same time. I love that he cares so genuinely about this kid. The way he was so gentle with Betsy this past weekend, yet so firm with Brandon makes him feel so … sturdy. Like a man.

“What do I know about that?” I scoff, setting the spoon down. My phone blares from the living room and I jog that way to answer it. It’s a number I don’t recognize and having just told Ollie to call me if he needed anything, I worry it’s him.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hey, Mariah. It’s Chrissy.”

I wanted to be more prepared in case this call ever happened. My stomach twists so hard it burns. Even though things went decently between us over brunch, I hadn’t yet processed it all the way through.

“I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Just making dinner,” I say. “What’s going on?”

I switch the phone between my hands, my palms sweaty. My sister clears her throat.

“Nothing, actually. I just, um …” She clears her throat again. “I wanted to have a chance to talk to you without people around, you know?”

“I … Chrissy, I really don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just agree to meet me for coffee and I’ll do all the talking.”

Pacing a circle around my sofa, I wish Lance were here. He couldn’t make this decision for me, but he’d make me feel better about whatever decision I’d make. Just feeling his arm around me or seeing his crooked grin makes everything feel better.

“My schedule is pretty full,” I tell her. “Why don’t you just say what you need to say over the phone?”

“I deserve that.”

“This isn’t about who deserves what,” I sigh.

“Mariah … I’m sorry.”

The words I’ve wanted to hear my entire life are there, out in the open. I still, waiting for the relief that I expect to follow but nothing happens. “What are you sorry for?” I ask.

She groans. “I’ve been pretty horrible to you our entire lives. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I agree. I’ve agreed for the last twenty-seven years.” Bowing my head, the muscles in the back of my neck stretch. It seems to pull up a sickness in my stomach, though, as floods of memories cascade around me. “Why now, Chris? Why all of a sudden are you so sorry? Do I have nothing left you want?”

I don’t mean to spill such nastiness over the line, but it feels like a dam is broken. It’s like I’m stepping out of a shell I’ve worn for so very long and now I’m me, the little girl who has been tempered inside who can now come into the sunshine.



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