Page 12 of Mr. B

“Really?”

“Yes. Creative, generous, and selfless.”

She looked at him for a moment. “She said you didn’t like her very much.”

“I don’t.” He held up a hand. “We have a complicated past. But I can still appreciate the type of person she is. I am surprised that she told you about our past relationship, though.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. She told me if it got out, she’d know where it came from and I’d be grounded until I graduate.”

“Ah…okay.”

“Seriously, I won’t say anything. It’s way too embarrassing, anyway.”

“Right.”

She looked at him. “Not that it’s you. It’s just…”

“I get it. When I was younger, I told myself my brothers and I were dropped on my parents’ doorstep.”

She smiled. “By the stork?”

“No. Fairies, actually.”

“Fairies?”

He shrugged. “It seemed more believable than a stork.”

Bailey laughed. “You’re quite cool for an adult, Mr. B.”

“Um…thank you.”

“I’ll go now. I’m sorry I came to your house.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever need to talk…”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “At school, of course.”

“Yeah. That would be best.”

Bailey gave him a little wave as she backed away. Then she turned, walked across the grass, and got into an older model Honda. She gave him another wave before driving away.

“What the hell?” He went back inside and returned to the kitchen. After pouring out the coffee in his cup, he refilled it and sat back down at the table. “It’s safe to come out now, Frank.”

Frank crept out of the laundry room a few minutes later, checked his bowl, then returned to the rug in front of the sink. It was his spot, and once he was there, he would not budge, even when Wes was doing the dishes. Unless, of course, someone knocked on the door, the phone rang, or the refrigerator's compressor kicked on. He was afraid of that, too.

Wes managed to stall all day and avoid mowing the lawn. He did get some work done on the wooden boat he was building in the garage. He’d been working on it for two years now, using only hand tools. It started as a hobby he never expected to finish. But he fell in love with working with the wood and making every board perfect. That need for perfection was why, two years in, he had just finished the hull. Now he was working on the deck.

Working on the boat had kept his mind off his morning visitor. But twice he took out his phone to call Cassandra, before deciding against it. He’d talk to her tomorrow at work.

On Monday morning, after he’d had his second cup of coffee, Wes went to Cassandra’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He opened it. “Do you have a minute?”