Wood Worked

“How was it?” Mason asked.

“She just started filling me in,” Kylie told him.

I told them both about the on-site gym, the “thinking room,” the snacks, the napping pods, and all the other cool things the firm provided employees.

“Is there any actual engineering going on at your engineering startup?” Mason asked. Only my brother could sound amused and judgmental at the same time, but I didn’t mind. For years, we hadn’t had much of a relationship at all. But once he met Kylie, things changed.

“We’re going to be assigned to our teams tomorrow.” As I spoke, I saw something orange out of the corner of my eye. Some kids were flying a kite in the park on the other side of the street. “How are your classes going?” Both Mason and Kylie were in graduate school. Mason was an engineer, like me.

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that I was an engineer like him, since he’d finished his undergraduate degree a few years ago.

“They’re already piling on the work and it’s the first week,” Kylie complained. I could empathize—I’d had a really rough time of it last semester.

While we talked, I watched the kids playing. There were two of them, a boy and a girl. The kite slammed into the ground, and the boy handed the spool of string to his sister and then ran to pick up the brightly colored kite.

At least I thought they were siblings, perhaps even twins. I couldn’t see them clearly from here, but their hair was a similar shade of light brown.

“Did you hear what I said?” Kylie asked.

“Yes. Wait, no, sorry. Got distracted by my new surroundings. Did you say something about Jude?” Jude and Parker were the other members of Kylie and Mason’s rather untraditional relationship. My brother and his roommates had been best friends for years, and when Kylie came along, she somehow fell for all three of them, and vice versa. But it worked for them, and I’d never seen my brother happier.

Speaking of happy, the kids had gotten the kite in the air again, this time with the help of a tall, dark-haired man who was probably their father. Though I couldn’t hear his exact words, he was shouting instructions, and the two kids were huddled together as they unwound more string. It looked like such an idyllic, small-town scene. Sure, kids flew kites everywhere, but something about the quiet park, the happy little family, and the majestic trees covered in Spanish moss was quite picturesque.

After my call ended, I stayed right where I was, reflecting on the conversation and thinking about my life in this new place. I didn’t know anyone here. My third-floor apartment was not much of a home yet, but somehow, I felt like this could work. Lake Boise was a nice town full of friendly people—or at least that was my initial impression. Kylie had thought that too. She’d helped me drive down, my little car nearly overflowing with my things, and I’d taken her to the airport yesterday.

A shout caught my attention. The kite had made a grand escape, the reel of thread bouncing across the grass, heading toward the street where I was parked. The boy chased after it, and the girl did too. She was about ten feet behind him.

A jolt of alarm shot through me before my mind caught up. The kids looked to be seven or eight—old enough to know not to run into the street. Still, as they kept coming, I looked for the cute dad I’d seen earlier.

He was looking the opposite way, his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear as he spoke and gestured wildly.

Look up! I silently urged him, but he was engrossed in his call.

My hand went to the handle of the car door as my eyes scanned the small street. Very few cars had passed since I pulled over, but one was coming now. I could see it driving past the smattering of cars parked on the opposite side of the street from me.

The kite reel skipped across the street, perhaps fifteen feet ahead of me, and the boy was still running after it. Without conscious thought, I opened my door and stepped into the street. My heart pounded, but my brain was still rationalizing. The boy wouldn’t run into the street. He knew better than that. But the line of cars parked there worried me. The driver of the oncoming car likely couldn’t see him behind the cars.

Relief filled me as the boy slowed. As his sneakers touched the sidewalk that lined the border of the park, I could see he was going to stop.

Then the girl fell. She faceplanted on the grass and cried out.

The boy swung around in alarm—but momentum still carried him in the direction he’d been going. He stepped backwards off the curb of the sidewalk and stumbled.