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chapter eleven
kendall
Sarah—
Mason Reed is working on a design for the fall festival t-shirts. He’ll have a mock-up for us at the meeting Thursday night. By the way, he mentioned he’s Owen’s cousin. Small world, huh?
-Kendall
P.S. I think you’re right about the hayride.
Kendall—
Oh my gosh, perfect! Owen and I are so fond of Mason, and he’s an excellent artist. We visited his parents for Easter, and there’s this enormous, breathtakingly beautiful painting of Finley above their fireplace. She’s his little muse!
Can’t wait to see his shirt design.
-Sarah
“Goddamn it,” I muttered out loud, dropping my phone on the couch beside me. I knew better than to check my email at home, but I was waiting on a reply from Jerry Hagan, a local farmer I’d reached out to about buying some of his pumpkins at a discount. I should have known there’d be an email from Sarah waiting for me.
And of course. Of course Mason had a painting of Finley in his parents’ house. Of course she was his muse.
Of course everything I learned about him just made me crush on him even harder.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked. She was at the other end of the couch. Like me, her laptop was resting on her lap. She had her reading glasses on, and she’d been working on some homework while I was deep into fall festival planning.
I sighed. “He’s too fucking cute, and it kills me.”
“Who, Tamlin?”
I turned to her with furrowed brows. “What?”
“Never mind, you wouldn’t get it. Mason. Are you talking about Mason again?”
I had already brought up his name three or four times that evening. I couldn’t help it—thoughts of him flooded my mind all day long. His first volunteer session with me had gone better than I could have imagined, and he was easily the best Room Parent I’d ever had. He had the kids engaged. He didn’t ask a bunch of questions. He knew exactly what my expectations were, and he followed through. And the kids loved him.
“You ever find out what’s going on with the mom in that situation?”
I looked up from my laptop at my sister’s face, watching her concentrate as she typed away. While my students’ situations were confidential, I tended to share things with Jamie from time to time. But only because my students’ problems often became my problems, too, and sometimes I just needed someone to vent to. Jamie could be trusted with any private information I chose to disclose. “She gave up custody and moved to Florida a few months ago.”
Jamie looked up from her homework. “Seriously? Wow, that poor kid.”
“Yeah. But Mason says she’s really resilient.” As I spoke the last word, I nearly cringed—because I knew the most “resilient” kids were often just putting on a good show for the adults around them who kept pointing out how strong they were.
Jamie stared across the couch at me, giving me a knowing look. People used to tell us how “strong” and “resilient” and “brave” we were after our parents divorced and Dad took off to start a new family. Jamie had to grow up faster than most other kids her age. Mom was the manager of a grocery store at the time, often getting home after dark, and Jamie took care of making sure I ate supper and completed my homework. It wasn’t until years later that I grasped the enormity of what Jamie went through—she was essentially a kid herself while taking on all of those responsibilities.
So resilient.
As if Jamie could read my thoughts, she said, “At least Dad didn’t run away to Florida.”
“I almost wish he had,” I blurted. I almost added, instead of getting our hopes up with his false promises, but it didn’t need to be said. Jamie understood. Grabbing my notebook from the arm of the couch, I decided to change the subject. “So, you’re heading to Indianapolis tomorrow?”
Jamie took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. It’s an afternoon class, so I’ll head out around noon.”
I thought about everything Daya said that morning, wondering how things were going between the two of them now. Daya was in their bedroom taking a nap, which wasn’t entirely unusual for her on the days she had to go in early for an emergency, but the two of them did appear to be avoiding each other.
“Is Daya warming up to the idea?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
