“Really. Do you know what that means?” Jakob asks.
Slowly Gus shakes his head. Jakob leans closer. “That means you and I, all of us, are made of stardust.” He watches Gus digest this information.
Gus looks awestruck at the thought. “I’m really made of stars?” he asks, eyes wide. “Is that true?”
Jakob nods. “You, buddy, are a living part of a star. We all are. Cool, huh?”
Gus stares at Jakob, his mouth slightly open, as though he’s just received some sort of divine, esoteric secret.
“That’s so cool,” he breathes, clearly impressed.
I’m impressed too. Most adults chuckle at Gus’s science facts and think his obsession with space is kind of cute, but few actually engage with him on his level. Jakob isn’t patronizing him, just meeting him where he is. And how does he know such weird facts about space? I guess it’s no surprise. Jakob was always like a lint roller for information, picking up trivia everywhere he went. I look at him, the tattoos and muscles and little baby man bun, and wonder what has happened to him to turn him from the sweet, awkward boy I knew in high school to this sexy, spacetrivia–spouting ex-Marine. I still see him in there, the Jakob who was my friend, but he’s so much more confident now. I wonder what the years have held for him.
Gus is eyeing Jakob’s wrench and the broken plumbing under the sink with an interest usually reserved for outer space.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Fixing a leak so your mom can get your store open again,” Jakob tells him.
“Oh, cool,” Gus says. Then he turns to me. “Mom, can I have a snack?”
“Sure, honey. There are pretzels and a cheese stick and an apple that Grammy packed for you in the front pocket of your backpack. Do you want to go grab it from the car? Remember we parked right in front of the shop.”
“Sure!” Gus trots off toward the entrance, motivated by the promise of a snack. He gets hangry if he doesn’t have protein every few hours. Cheese sticks and those little cups of peanut butter often save us from a meltdown.
I’m aware that Jakob is watching our interaction with interest.
“How old is he?” Jakob asks.
“He was six in November,” I explain, watching Gus as he heads out the door. “He’s six going on sixty.”
“Smart kid,” Jakob says mildly. I sense he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t.
“He’s obsessed with space,” I tell him. “Be forewarned, he’ll pepper you with more odd facts about space than you even knew existed.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Jakob says with a wry smile. He glances back at the sink. I should let him get back to work. Gus grabs his backpack and slams the car door shut.
“His father and I aren’t together,” I blurt out instead, not sure why I feel I need to explain. “His dad lives in Belgium now with his wife and baby.”
Jakob tilts his head and eyes me. Even though I’m wearing wedges, he still towers over me by a foot. “Single parenting and running a business? That’s a lot to handle. And your mom’s health isn’t great either, right?” He’s looking at me intently with those arctic eyes and a little frown. I feel like he’s peeling back the layers of competency and cheerfulness that I try to wear every waking moment, like he is catching a glimpse of the raw exhaustion and grinding worry lurking at the back of my mind all the time. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, I ask, “What are you doing under my sink?”
He chuckles. “Helping Walt. I’m done at the bakery by noon every day, so Walt hires me on projects if he needs another set of hands. Frankly, I like it a lot more than making bread.”
I sense there’s a story behind his comment about the bread, but I don’t ask. I’m too caught off guard by the fact that it seems like Jakob Kristensen is going to be around…a lot.
“I got my snack, Mom!” Gus comes in the front door, holding up his backpack. “I’m gonna eat it in the kitchen and read my space book, okay?”
“Sounds good, bud.” I give him a thumbs-up, then turn back to Jakob as Gus disappears down the hall. When I told Walt he could hire someone, I had no idea he’d hire Jakob. I don’t quite know how I feel about it. Jakob makes me self-conscious and flustered, but there’s no denying he’s fascinating too.
“You’re a man of many talents,” I observe. “Where did you pick up plumbing skills?” The Jakob I knew was a nerd who was on the debate team and president of the robotics club but whosuffered from two left feet and poor hand-eye coordination. When he left town right after graduation to join the Marines, no one was more shocked than me.
“After I got out of the Marines, I bummed around for a while and ended up with a buddy of mine in Alaska. I did some commercial fishing and helped him build houses near Sitka for a few summers.” Jakob leans against the bathroom wall, arms crossed. I try not to stare at his rounded biceps. Shaping loaves of bread. Swinging a hammer. Clearly he must have gotten better at the hand-eye coordination thing. I swallow and look away, feeling a little out of my depth. I can’t ignore the thing that sits between us, what happened the last time I saw him on graduation day. It’s haunted me for years, the unanswered questions and the remorse. I wonder if I should just address the elephant in the room. Maybe it’s time.
“Jakob, I…”
At that moment the bell over the front door jingles wildly.
“Yoo-hoo!” It’s Dani. “Emmie, where are you hiding, girl? I saw your car out front. Are you in here?”
