AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It was a girl-free zone,” Brick informed her.
“Until we realized it was a great place to take girls,” Rory stage whispered.
Elaine sent him a severe look. “Behave or I will reach across this table and slap your head. Or tell Marcus to do it for me.”
“Ruin his soft, manicured hands?” Rory laughed. “Not a chance.”
He ducked his head as Marcus leaned out to swat at him behind Daralyn and Thomas, then grunted as Marcus proved it was a feint and punched him in the side. Marcus’s hands might be manicured, but soft they weren’t.
Breakfast proceeded with more banter, plus anecdotes from the store, Marcus’s gallery, and Elaine’s busy life with neighbors. Les noted none of them asked her about school. Her family was always interested in what was happening with her in Durham, so she knew it was intentional, them letting her decide if she wanted to talk about any of it, even the mundane day-to-day stuff.
Right now, she found she didn’t. She listened to what was happening with all of them, asking questions, drinking in the information as if parched for it. It was frighteningly easy, to imagine never going back to school at all, and letting herself be pulled back into the day-to-day life here. But as what? Doing what?
After helping to clear the table and do dishes, the family went their separate ways. Daralyn needed to work on the vegetable garden at their home, while Rory put the finishing touches on a mantle for their new fireplace. Thomas had a painting in process in his barn studio, and Marcus was going to dedicate himself to clearing his workload. He’d promised Elaine that Easter Sunday would be a work-free zone.
Tomorrow they’d all go to the community, multi-denominational sunrise service. Elaine planned to attend some of the Easter Vigil tonight at the Catholic Church. With the ending of Lent, she and Daralyn already had most things prepared for the Easter Sunday lunch. After that, the family would spend the afternoon on the porch, visiting with one another and any neighbors who stopped by.
As a town made up mostly of farmers and blue-collar workers, a day dedicated to relaxation was rare. “No-work religious holidays are a way to give the working man a break, and remind him who he’s working for.” Her father had told them that, when they’d squirmed about spending Easter with their parents instead of playing with their friends. “Give your poor dad one day of your teenage lives,” he’d told them.
Brick had told her he was going out to the garden shed, but he’d meet her out front when she was ready to visit the tree house.
When Les emerged, she saw the unlikely sight of Brick straddling her father’s old bicycle. It had mountain bike tires and was front load heavy, thanks to a big rectangular grocer’s basket.
“Your mom said I could borrow it,” he told her. He’d filled the basket up, though she couldn’t tell what was in it. A piece of wood hinged to the basket covered it, a cushion on top of that. “She told me it was the only bike that could handle my weight.”
Her father had ridden the modified bike back and forth from the fields. Though it was big for Elaine’s short stature, she liked the stability of the wide tires and used the basket to carry food and other things to neighbors.
Brick gestured at the cushioned piece of wood. His gaze met hers. “Better than last time, right?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
He’d remembered. The memory flapped against the inside of her chest like a freed bird. Though his interest in her was no longer in doubt, it still surprised her that he recalled things that held such significance to her.
She’d been at a middle school basketball game. Afterward, she and her friends Vanessa and Joy had been picked up by Joy’s mother. The elementary, middle and high schools were all centrally located on the same tract of land, to serve the population of the county, and the half dozen small towns within it. Which was why JV and varsity sports teams shared locker room facilities.
She and Vanessa had walked home from Joy’s house, cutting across the fields. They took the path between the Orbison and Williamson’s corn fields, which would come out on the road near Vanessa’s house.
While they’d been talking about the usual things, cute boys at the game and who might be interested in who, Brick and Rory had emerged from a thick stand of trees on their bikes.
Les had expected nothing more than Rory tossing annoying comments at them like rotten eggs before they breezed past. But Brick had come to a full stop. He’d asked if they were headed home, and when she said they were—miraculously without stammering her response to his direct question—he’d told her he’d give her a ride on his handlebars. Rory had given Vanessa a ride on his.
She’d made faces when Vanessa called her later to gush over Rory. But while enduring Vanessa’s brief malady of puppy love, Les was just as affected.
She’d had to lean back against Brick’s chest and shoulder for balance. She’d felt the vibration of his voice, the heat of him, inhaled his scent and dreamed, all while he tossed comments back and forth with Rory. Seemingly oblivious to the girl who could barely breathe for his nearness.
She came down the steps to stand next to the bicycle and tossed him an accusing look. “You acted like you were carting groceries. And Rory would have preferred being dragged through horse manure to spending time with middle school girls. Especially his sister.”
“I couldn’t act like it was a big deal. But it wasn’t too long after the poem. Those serious eyes of yours kept coming back into my head.” Brick twined his fingers in her hair, winding the strands over his knuckles for that distracting little tug. “When you were walking with Vanessa, moonlight was reflecting off your hair, making it look silky and thick. Made me wonder what it would feel like, blowing against my face, where I could smell it.”
She refused to let herself be tongue-tied, even though it took her a second to respond. Because her tongue wasn’t working. “It probably smelled like the gym, a bunch of sweaty hormonal teens watching a basketball game.”
He put his nose to her hair, nuzzling her. “They were serving popcorn. I smelled that. Maybe a trace of manure, since you helped milk the cows that day.”
“I did not have manure smell in my hair,” she said indignantly, pulling away. When he laughed, she thumped his shoulder.
“Jerk.”
“No manure.” His eyes became more intent, his mouth that firm line. “I smelled the flowery shampoo you were using. Gave me an interesting night, once I was home and alone in my room.”
