She spooned a grainy, brown substance in next, then gave everything a quick whisk. “What happened to working out at Turnquist Lumber?”
His chest grew tight. “There was an accident almost two years ago, and I had to go on some medications that weren’t compatible with using heavy machinery.”Just breathe, Johnson.He took a breath. Two.
She measured out some water, weighing it on a scale before adding it to the bowl. “I heard something about that. I think Grandma sent me a link to a newspaper article Ree wrote. You were a hero.”
He wished people would stop saying that. He was no hero. “I just stopped my truck. Nothing heroic there.”
“And you pulled two people out of a car before they could be crushed, and your truck prevented the rest of the traffic from crashing into them. Pretty heroic, I’d say.”
He wiped his brow. She must have turned on the oven, because it was suddenly hot in here. “Anyone would have done that.” Besides, she didn’t know the whole story. And he certainly wasn’t telling her that the whole thing was partly his fault to begin with.
“That might be true, but you were there and you did it.” She stopped measuring ingredients and fixed him with a stare. “Is there more to the story?”
The rest of the story. Right.
She meant the moments after he’d pulled the mother and son out of the crushed Prius. The split second between one life and the next.
The mechanism holding the massive chains around the lumber on the back of his truck had snapped. Something about the cold weather and the age of the steel. Three logs had tumbled off the pile. One had landed on him, crushing his legs beneath. The other end had landed right on top of the Prius where the two people had been sitting minutes before.
He swallowed. A short answer would have to be enough. “My legs were crushed, but Colleen—you remember Colleen Decker?” At her nod, he continued. “She’s a flight nurse now for the local Crisis Response Team. Anyway, she did some procedure to help while we flew to Duluth. At the hospital, they pieced me back together. Then physical therapy did the rest.”
A gross understatement, but she didn’t need to know about the nights staring into the dark, wondering why he hadn’t died on that road. Or the nightmares where he felt that chopper falling out of the sky. Or the pain that he sometimes still felt in his right leg when he turned wrong… The few moments right before the accident. The blackness that had descended…
She leaned against the counter, stuck her hands in her pockets. “That sounds awful.”
He didn’t know how she’d gotten him to open up that much. Usually he wasn’t this chatty. But, come on, this was Robin. She’d always put him at ease in school, and she seemed…he didn’t know…familiar or something now. “I’m past the worst of it.”
Crossing to the working sink, she washed her hands again, then returned to the mixing bowl. With a mighty grunt, she moved the bowl to a Hobart mixer standing in the corner. Her petite frame made the motion seem almost impossible. “So, what’s next? Are you going to stick with being a delivery man?”
An unscratchable itch roiled through his chest again. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I have a few options out there. Nothing feels quite right though.”
The Hobart started mixing the dough, and the rhythmic sound of it thump-thumping soothed his nerves.
“I hear ya.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, enough personal stuff. What’re the updates around here? Anything interesting happening?”
“This is Deep Haven. There’s always drama.”
Her laughter sounded like a wind chime on a summer day. “Well, tell me some of it. The dough has to mix for eight more minutes, and then I’ll need to call the plumber.”
She led them to the dining room. “Mind if I cash out the till while we talk?” He shook his head. The register drawer opened with a ping, and she began shuffling through the cash inside.
He spotted a spray bottle and rag sitting on the counter. He picked them up and raised his eyebrows at her.
“Be my guest,” she said. “The glass on the display case needs a good clean. We had some kids in earlier with sticky fingers. Sooo…” She drew the word out. “You were going to tell me some drama.”
He sprayed the cleaner onto the case. “Right now there’s some jockeying going on at the school.” He rubbed at an extra-sticky spot. “The high school had planned to hold its Snowball Dance at the youth center—some sort of ploy to get kids interested in using the center more. But their HVAC system died, and now the dance is back at the school.”
“That’s too bad. How soon can it be replaced?”
“I’m not sure. There’s never enough money during a good month, so I’m sure there’s no extra for a new furnace.” He took a long look at the case in front of him. The glass shone.
Robin stuck the bills she’d counted into a bank bag. “Sounds like the youth center needs an angel investor. Someone who can just fund the whole thing.”
A spark lit inside him at her words, but she was still speaking. “Remember the Snowball Dance our senior year?”
Boy, did he. Blue and white streamers had crisscrossed the gym, balloons everywhere. Girls dressed in shades of white, and boys sporting their fathers’ ties. Colleen had shown up on the arm of Tucker, her high-school boyfriend, and Sammy had tried not to feel too jealous. He’d always liked Colleen but had remained firmly in the friend zone. She was now with Jack Stewart, and he was happy for her. He really was. He just wasn’t sure why he never got the girl.
Robin was still chuckling. “I thought I was such hot stuff. Had my life all planned out. I was going places. School in Los Angeles and then the sky was the limit.”
