But there it is. Avi’s parents’ car is halfway through the roundabout down the end of the street and I’m about to start jumping when I remember I’m on the roof.
Right, time to get down.
I sit and scoot to the edge where the ladder is and hesitate. This is my least favorite part, and why I usually listen to my grandparents when they tell me not to come up here, especially when it’s about to rain.
On cue, a clap of thunder sounds and the grey clouds in the distance darken. I flip onto my stomach and shimmy backward overthe ladder, reaching with my toes until I feel the metal rung under them.
My relief is short-lived though, because at about a third of the way down, I meet my grandmother’s disappointed eyes through the kitchen window.
I probably shouldn’t have set the ladder right next to it, but it’s the lowest point on the roof. I was trying to be safe…
Her eyes pin me from behind horn-rimmed glasses and I feel my cheeks heat. I hop down the last two steps, breaking our eye contact, only to be brought up short by Grandad. His arms are crossed over his barrel of a chest, stance wide, but there’s a cheeky grin around his lips.
“Jameson…” He says my full name, like he always does, and drags it out in a warning. He glances behind me to where Gran still stands in the window. They’re doing that thing where they communicate without saying a single word. At the subtle shake of his head, I straighten my spine, ready for whatever he might say.
But he doesn’t speak. Instead, wrapping one of his big arms around my shoulders, he pulls me into his side and steers us away from the ladder and the windowsill. “Next time, son, would you ask me to hold the ladder?”
I spin my whole body to look at him, and the grin from before has become a full-blown smile that makes his cheeks puff up and his eyes squish together at the edges.
“What? I’m not in trouble?” I squeak, not sure I heard him right.
“Not unless you do it again without telling me.” He arches a brow and tries for a stern look, but he’s never been very good atthose. Gran’s is better—though she doesn’t use it with me much either.
“And you won’t tell Mum and Dad?” I swallow. My parents aren’t super strict, but they wouldn’t be happy to hear I was on the roof. Not after they spent last night lecturing me about their expectations for this summer break if I’m going to be allowed to “run free.”
Grandad chuckles and shakes his head again. “Nah. It can be our secret. Well, ours and your gran’s. You better give her an extra hug tonight or she might tell.” He taps the end of his nose and winks.
“Deal,” I say. I can’t believe my luck.
“Watching for Avonlea, were ye?” he asks, a twinkle in his grey eyes.
“Oh aye! She’s here!” I pull out from under his arm and run for the break in the hedgerow between our two properties. I slip through, his laughter following me, and turn in time to catch his small wave.
The hedge is thicker than it was last summer. I’ll offer to trim it for Gran in apology for sneaking onto the roof today—that should make her happy. I pop through right as Avi jumps out of the car and into the light drizzle.
She’s wearing a pair of dark denim shorts and a light blue T-shirt. This time, she’s got her wellies on. I’m pretty sure her parents threw away both the trainers and shorts from that muddy first day last summer.
She yells “Jamie!” when she sees me and splashes through three puddles, leaving her shins streaked with murky water. When she crashes into me for a hug, the clouds finally yawn open, and we fallinto fits of laughter as we get pelted by the rain. But I can barely feel it.
Avi is the only girl I’ve ever hugged. I mean, I hug Gran and Mum, but the girls I’m friends with from school aren’t really interested in hugs. I’m not really interested in hugging them either.
But I like this hug with Avi, and despite the coolness of the rain, I feel warm all over.
CHAPTER TEN
Jamie – Now
The past week has been nothing short of torture.
Watching Avi walk around like she belongs is a new type of agony. Because she did once. We always belonged here—together. That’s a big part of why I never came back: I knew it wouldn’t feel the same without her.
So why did I think it would feel the same now?
I avoid the kitchen at all costs, unless I’m desperate for caffeine or food—which seems to be all the time. But I’mnottrying to see her.
I’m not.
After our tiff on the roof the night she arrived, I’m unsure how to proceed. She has no idea how her choices affected my own, but she’s right; itwasmy choice to stay away from Scotland, to allow thepain of losing her to taint this place for me. I regret that now more than anything, and it’s not fair of me to expect her to understand.
