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April, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I walkthrough the grocery store, with Bailey by my side wearing herService Dog in Trainingvest. I draw up short at a display reminding everyone that Mother’s Day is coming next month. In nineteen days, to be exact.
Nineteen days of reminders every time I come into the store of how I am no longer Amelia’s mother. Not that I need a display of cards and chocolates to remind me of that.
Nineteen days of reminders I won’t be celebrating the day yet again. When my husband was alive, he would give me without fail a Mother’s Day card and a gift from Amelia. The last Mother’s Day card had pink-crayon scribble inside. That tradition ended when he died.
Nineteen days of daily reminders to all mothers who have lost a child that their special little human isn’t in their life anymore. The card and chocolate companies hadn’t factored this in when they dreamed up the idea for Mother’s Day.
Nineteen days of endless heartache.
40
TROY
April, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Five daysafter Jess knocked down the wall between her kitchen and living room, my brothers and I are at the Wilderness Warriors cabins. It’s mid-Saturday morning, and we’ve been working on them for the past two hours.
I’m cutting a piece of wood I need for a joint when a pair of sweatpants-clad legs steps into view. Bailey is walking alongside Jess, staring at the noisy table saw as if it’s a fearsome beast.
I turn off the power and remove the protective earmuffs. “Hey, what are you doing here?” My gaze travels up Jess’s body, over the large T-shirt that hides it. Her hair’s in a ponytail, but I swear it looks a little blonder than it did Thursday night. Or maybe the way the sunlight shines on it makes her hair look lighter.
“We came to see how things are going. And I figured since you’re helping me with my renovations and you’re doing them for free, I get to return the favor. Someone told me I’m talented with a hammer, so I’m here to help you build the cabins.” She grins, the curve of her bottom lip wide and groin-tightening, and I have to flick my gaze to her forehead to keep my predicament from worsening.
Don’t even think about it.Things between us are still fairly platonic.
“I don’t believe those were my exact words, but you are great with a hammer. Especially a sledgehammer when it involves knocking down walls.”
She laughs. “I need to add sledgehammer to my list of things that relax me. I didn’t realize how cathartic it is until I knocked down my kitchen wall. You sure I can’t knock down any more walls in my house?”
“Yup. Not unless you want to turn the upstairs bathroom into an en suite for your bedroom.”
“No. I’m good. So, what would you like me to do?” Her gaze goes to the cabin behind me, where Kellan is currently hammering.
“Hey, Jess,” Garrett says, walking over from the cabin he and Lucas are working on. “Did you bring Golden Girl with you?”
Jess turns her head to me, her forehead creased. “Golden Girl? Is that some sort of euphemism I don’t know about?”
A laugh, short and abrupt, bursts from my lungs. For all I know, it really is a euphemism only Garrett knows about. “It’s what he calls Zara. A friend of ours took photos of her in a bikini and with gold paint smeared on her body. Kim won several prestigious awards for the photo, and Garrett’s been calling ZaraGolden Girlever since.”
Amused lines crease at the corners of Jess’s honey-flecked brown eyes. “Nope. Sorry to disappoint, but Zara isn’t with me,” Jess tells him. “I haven’t seen her today.”
Garrett removes a box of nails from a larger box on the ground by my workbench. “Hey, what’s your excuse for not joining us last night?” he asks Jess. “Troy here”—he smacks me on the back—“could’ve used your help. We all whipped his sorry ass.”
I step away from him. “True. But it’s not like we were playing partner games. I would’ve still lost.” I level an amused glance at Garrett, eyebrow lifted. “Unless you’re insinuating Jess would have lost if she’d shown up, sparing me from that dubious distinction.”
“No, I’m pretty sure she’d have also whipped your sorry ass.”
Jess smiles, but there’s an emotion in her eyes that’s far from amusement. It’s the same expression I’ve seen every time I’ve asked her to join us for Game Night since that first one. Fear. Reluctance. Longing. She always comes up with an excuse for why she can’t be there.
“Maybe I’ll come next time.” But the way she says it tells me that’s as likely to happen as a blizzard in the Amazon.
Her gaze roams the area, searching for something. “Soooo, about that hammering?”
