Page 67 of The Treasure House

“When I was a kid, we spent nine months of the year in Boston.” His accent became a more refined New England drawl as he went on. “And three months in Oxeye. I liked the Oxeye months better.”

“And the hardware store? How did that happen?” I wrapped my arms around the chains of the swing and lifted my feet from the ground.

“I used to work at the lobster shack down in Rockport for cash during summer, back when Graham Gillis ran the hardware store. He used to daydream about attaching a lobster shack to the place—giving Rockport a run for their money. And, I don’t know…” Jake leaned back to look at the sky, which was a loose sprinkling of stars. “All through college, I just kept thinking about it. About the rhythm of the days, about the ocean out the window, about living a simpler life. I look at my brother-in-law, billing in two-minute increments and always glued to his emails, and I can’t imagine doing that. This, though… It just felt… right.”

There was so much more I wanted to ask him. Did he have any regrets about it? How old had he been when he bought the hardware store? Did he get lonely in a town full of older people? Did he date…?

But we were interrupted by the gymnasium doors slamming open and a stream of kids flooding out, their voices bright in the cool, clear air.

“Lainey!” Jake called across the grass, lifting a hand so he was visible.

“Oh. My. God. She sent you again?” A tall girl with an even taller attitude streaked across the lawn in our direction. “Probably forgot she even has a kid.”

“If she’d forgotten she had a kid, I wouldn’t be here, would I,” Jake observed, his voice mild.

“Where’s Hazel?” The girl skidded to a stop in front of us. She looked a lot like her uncle—the same wild sun-streaked hair and double dimples. She gave me a cursory look, then directed her full attention at Jake. “You can’t leave Hazel all alone, Uncle Jake, it’s mean.”

“I didn’t leave her alone.” He bristled. “She’s in the back of the truck.” He jerked his thumb at the parking lot. “I’ve only left her there a minute.”

I saw Flo approaching, eyeing Lainey. She was dragging her backpack over the lawn, something I was always scolding her not to do.

“Stop it, you monster. You’ll ruin it,” I chided her, scooping it off the ground. It was so heavy I groaned. “What have you got in here, rocks?”

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “I packed a bunch of rocks to bring to school.”

“Hey, Flo.” Jake didn’t exactly smile, but the lines beside his eyes crinkled.

“You know Flo?” Lainey looked back and forth between them, her long hair swinging.

“Sure, I do. She lives on my street.”

Lainey’s eyes widened. “Wait. Flo lives in the junk house?”

“Don’t call it the junk house,” Jake snapped. “It’s just a house.”

“A house full of junk. Mom says—”

“Lainey,” Jake said in warning. “Don’t be rude. You’re talking about their house now.”

It was Lainey’s turn to roll her eyes, the gesture reminding me so powerfully of Flo that it made me wonder if they taught it in school.

“It’s cool you’re both in the school play,” Jake said, changing the topic. He shot me a pleading look, as though begging me to rescue him from the conversation.

“Did you know Flo’s my bitch?” Lainey asked Jake, her face all innocence.

I couldn’t hide my shock. I reached for Flo, but she stepped back.

“Lainey!” Jake was appalled.

“What? She is, she’s playing my dog.”

Flo seemed unfazed by Lainey’s rudeness. I guess she was used to it.

“Get in the car,” Jake growled. “Now.”

Lainey groaned. “Are you going to tell Mom I used the b-word?”

He gave her a stony look and pointed at the car.