32. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Jake
“Good morning, Jake. I’m so glad you could make it.” Shirley opened up the door all the way and motioned Jake inside.
“Thank you for inviting me over,” he said, stepping across the threshold. The Davis home was warm and smelled of breakfast—biscuits and bacon and sausage. He started unzipping his coat as Shirley shut the door behind him.
“It was Ryan’s idea, actually,” Shirley explained, and she glanced over to the kitchen. Jake followed her gaze. Rye was there, his blond hair pulled back into a low knot, and he was flipping pancakes on a griddle. Shirley lowered her voice and said, “I think he wanted to do something for you.”
A fullness that was becoming all too familiar rose in Jake’s chest, and he took a long, slow breath. What... an amazing man Rye was.
“He, uh, didn’t have to do that.”
“He wanted to. Here, let me take your coat.”
Jake tore his eyes away from where Rye was working and handed his coat to Shirley, who hung it on the hook by the door. Then the two of them moved through the rest of the entryway and toward the kitchen together. Rye paused and looked up as they approached, and Jake’s heart did something funny in his chest as a shiver of warmth ran through him.
Rye’s eyes... god, Rye’s eyes just sparkled with an eagerness that was so, so beautiful to see. Eagerness and maybe even something like confidence.
Jake sucked in another breath, but it caught slightly in his throat when Rye smiled.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Rye said as Jake stopped just on the opposite side of the kitchen’s island.
“Good morning and happy Thanksgiving, Rye,” Jake greeted.
Shirley continued around to the other side of the kitchen and opened up the oven. “Feel free to take a seat there if you want, Jake. We’ve got maybe ten or fifteen minutes until everything’s ready. Just waiting on... yep, these biscuits need a few more minutes, and then the eggs need to be cooked still.”
“Scrambled . . . is okay?” Rye asked quietly, and when Jake nodded, his eyes seemed to light up again. “Good. I . . . um . . .”
“Ryan said you liked your eggs different. Over easy, I think?” Shirley picked up a platter of bacon and sausage and stepped around the island to make her way over to the dining table.
“Ah.” Jake nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I usually eat eggs at home.” When Rye’s expression tightened, Jake quickly added, “But I also love scrambled eggs.”
And that got Jake another smile.
“’Kay, good,” Rye said, and he, too, started to move around the kitchen a bit, grabbing a large mixing bowl with what had to be a dozen eggs already cracked and whisked.
Jake took a seat on one of the stools at the island as Shirley continued setting the table. They chatted a bit, the topic jumping from Jake’s Thanksgiving plans to the weather to work. Rye seemed particularly interested when Jake mentioned he’d just gotten a new assignment for an article on the effects of climate change on seagrass and how loss of seagrass beds was affecting the marine ecosystem.
“How do... you...” Rye trailed off and shook his head as he set the last of the breakfast items—the bowl of scrambled eggs—on the table. Jake waited for him to continue when he found the words he wanted, but Rye just shook his head again and motioned for them to sit.
There was barely enough room on the small table for their plates, and Jake shook his head as he took in the spread. Eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits, pancakes. There was a bowl of fresh strawberries and another bowl of diced potatoes. Shirley had poured herself a cup of coffee, and Jake and Rye had orange juice.
“This looks amazing. Thank you both.” Jake looked from Shirley to Rye and let his eyes linger as Rye smiled again.
“I...” Rye closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them back up, there was a seriousness in them. “I want to thank you... both of you,” he said, and he lowered his gaze to where his hands sat in his lap. “Jake, you... saved me. I... can’t tell you how much that... means.”
A brilliant warmth and some feeling of tenderness spread through Jake’s chest, and he smiled softly. “I’m so grateful for your friendship, Rye.” His voice might have cracked a bit on the last few words, but he did his best to ignore it.
“Me too,” Rye said, and he blinked as though trying to keep his tears from falling. He turned to his mom. “And Mom, I...” A tear did fall then. One and then another and another. And Rye seemed to have run out of words, too. He shook his head and then reached up to wipe his cheeks.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” Shirley said, even though she was clearly struggling with the same thing. She laughed lightly and then brushed the tears from her eyes. “Look at me, all cryin’ now too. Ryan, I—”
“I . . . love you, mama,” Rye cut in.
And Shirley couldn’t stop more tears from falling then, and she didn’t continue to try. She pushed herself up to stand, and a moment later, she and Rye were hugging. She murmured something into Rye’s ear that Jake couldn’t quite hear, but it didn’t matter. Jake’s heart probably couldn’t have been any more full in that moment. Hope mixed with more of that warmth and tenderness again. And it was a beautiful feeling and a beautiful sight.
The drive to his sister’s place in Sacramento was just over five hours, and by the time Jake arrived at about three o’clock, the weather had turned from crisp and sunny to overcast and breezy, with a chance of rain later that day.
He pulled up into the driveway of his sister’s modest single-story home and had barely just put his car into park when ten-year-old Phil came tumbling out of the house—literally. He did some cartwheel or something across the short walkway that connected the front porch to the driveway and then kicked up into a handstand and walked the rest of the way around the front of Jake’s car on his hands.
Jake grinned as he opened up his door. “Careful there, kiddo!”
“Uncle Jake! You made it!” Phil stepped down out of his handstand easily, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, and grabbed Jake’s hand, tugging him up out of the car. “Come on! Grandpa got here about an hour ago, and Mom’s been cooking all day, and I’m just soooooo bored! Will you play Mario Kart with me? Mom said we could, and it’ll be much more fun to play together in person. Oh, and—”
“Okay, okay, kiddo, slow down! Give me a second here.” Jake laughed and placed his hand on the roof of the car to steady himself. His leg was complaining from the trip—sitting and driving for over five hours with only the one break he’d taken hadn’t been the smartest idea. He took a breath and motioned to the back of his car. “Can you help with my overnight bag? It’s in the trunk.”
“Yes! You’re staying! Mom said you might! Of course I’ll help! ”
Jake laughed to himself and shook his head. Then he leaned over to pop the trunk and let Phil lug in his bag. He followed as the eager boy led him into the house and then took off down the hallway to put Jake’s bag in the guest room. Before Jake could even close the door behind them, Krista barreled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.
“Little brother, I’m so glad you could come.” Her voice broke, and Jake closed his eyes for a moment as he returned her embrace. She smelled like apple pie and lemon, and something about that just felt so comforting. He bent down a bit and buried his face in her auburn hair, and he squeezed her tighter.
“I missed you, Kris.”
His sister held him just as tight, and they were soon joined by Phil.
“Family hug!” Phil declared, wiggling his way in between Jake and Krista. “Grandpa! Uncle Jake is here!”
Jake laughed and pulled back a bit. His sister was looking up at him now, her brown eyes glistening with tears. She smiled at him and then reached up to touch his cheek.
“Gosh, you’re tall.”
Jake laughed. “You say that every time we see each other. Maybe I’m not tall. Maybe you’re just short.”
“ Little brother, you’re at least what, six-foot-four? I’d say that’s tall by anyone’s measure.” Jake just shrugged, and Krista smiled, though it was a tight smile now. “I just... forget. And it’s been so long.”
Phil took off toward the kitchen, yelling “Grandpa!” one more time, and Jake watched him go as he leaned on his cane.
“I’m sorry I—”
“No, all that matters is that you’re here now, and we have a lot to catch up on. Dad’s got a new job, and Phil’s got some news for you too. And you look like you’re doing well after all the stuff that happened the last few weeks.” Krista frowned a bit and shook her head, and Jake could only nod and then pull her back into him for another hug, this one shorter than the last but no less meaningful.
“I am good, Kris,” he assured her finally, when they pulled apart. “Stiff, because I should have stopped on the drive a few more times to stretch. But I left Rye’s kinda late, and I didn’t want to be getting here after you’d already finished cooking.”
His sister’s eyes softened, and at the same time, her smile came back. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the double doors leading into the kitchen opened, and Phil burst out, tugging Jake and Krista’s dad along behind him .
Oren Wright grinned down at his grandson, his brown eyes sparkling, and he shook his head. “This kid never runs out of energy, does he?”
“Nope!” Phil answered, also grinning. “Uncle Jake, Grandpa says he’ll even give Mario Kart a shot. Can we play? Please!”
Jake’s heart felt full as he met his dad’s eyes. After giving his dad a half-smile and a nod in acknowledgement, Jake turned to Phil. “Well, I’d say yes, but then who’s gonna help your mom finish cooking dinner if we’re all playing video games, kiddo?”
Phil frowned. “Mom, do you need help?”
“Well . . .”
“I’ve got an idea,” Jake’s dad said to Phil. “How about you teach this old man how to play your video game while Uncle Jake helps your mom in the kitchen for a bit. Then after dinner, we’ll all play together.”
That seemed to be reasonable enough for Phil, who nodded eagerly. Phil then waited, albeit somewhat impatiently, as Jake greeted and hugged his dad before hauling the older man off toward the living room. And his sister didn’t waste any time either. She moved to Jake’s left side, looped her arm through his free one, and guided him toward the double doors and into the kitchen.
It was then that it finally hit him, something almost overwhelming and yet so completely comforting that he didn’t really feel overwhelmed at all. It was just... Thanksgiving. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of turkey filling the room, the quiet hum of the fan above the stove.
Krista headed over to the oven and peeked in, then straightened back up and motioned for him to join her. “I’m just about to start on the rolls. Can you help me with the potatoes? They finished cooking right before you got here.”
“Of course. What—”
“And while we’re working,” Krista interrupted, “I need to hear all about him.” She grinned as she pushed a steaming pot full of peeled and cooked potatoes in front of Jake.
He raised his eyebrows as he stepped up next to his sister at the counter. “Him?”
Krista swatted at Jake’s arm, then reached into a drawer, pulled out a potato masher, and handed it to him. “Yeah, him . Rye. You’ve been really quiet about everything for the last few weeks. I heard more on the news than from you.”
Jake set his cane up against the edge of the counter and started mashing the potatoes with a noncommittal hum. Moments from the last few weeks replayed in his head, moments that, without him realizing it, had come to mean so much to him. A tightness in his chest had him almost holding his breath for a few seconds, and he glanced back up at his sister, who was grinning at him with an annoyingly knowing smile that he swore only she could pull off.
He shook his head. “No, no. I know what you’re thinking, Kris, and it’s not like that.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” Krista said, still smiling.
Jake groaned. “Really, Kris, it’s not like that. Rye... he’s just a friend. He’s just...”
“Jake, if you say ‘he’s just special to me,’ you realize that wouldn’t be an argument in your favor, right?” Krista laughed as she turned away from him to pull a tub of butter from the fridge. “And what’s wrong with it, if you—”
“He’s just a friend, Kris.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jake felt heat in his cheeks, which he knew meant something he really, really wasn’t ready to admit, but he tried to ignore it, and he shook his head again. “He is just a friend. A good friend, yeah, and he deserves to have just that for now. Nothing more than that, and certainly not... certainly no expectations of anything more. He needs a friend . Remember, you told me that yourself weeks ago.”
“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Krista said, plopping a huge scoop of butter into the pot as Jake continued mashing. The butter began to melt and quickly started to mix in with the broken-up potatoes. Krista stuffed the tub of butter back in the fridge as she continued, though her words were a bit reluctant. “It’s just, um, you’ve sounded... different on the phone the last few days.”
“Different, how?” Jake paused, one eyebrow raised, and stared at his sister.
She chuckled and then shot him a silly grin. “Well, less of a lunkhead, for sure. But also...” Her grin softened as she trailed off, and for a moment, she just looked at him with so much love. The tightness in his chest ached a little bit more.
“What, Kris?” he asked quietly.
“Happier, okay?” Krista answered, ducking her head as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve sounded happier. And not just because your leg is getting better, I mean. It’s more than that.” Jake started to respond, to tell her that he’d been plenty happy, even before Rye had stumbled into his life, but she kept talking, her voice now low and soft. “So maybe it’s just that... you really needed a friend, too.”
He blinked and looked down at the partially mashed potatoes. Chunks of butter were still melting into the mixture, and he started up with the mashing again, unsure of how to respond.
Had he? Had he been happier these last few weeks? And... was that because he had needed a friend, just as Rye had ?
His sister’s hand came to rest lightly on his upper arm, and he paused again and glanced down and sideways at her, frowning slightly. “Kris, I’ve... been happy. Really. I love my life. It’s not, you know, where I thought I’d be if you’d asked me before the accident, but... that’s okay. I’ve been happy, really.”
He wasn’t lying. But something else tugged at him, at his heart, and he swallowed hard as his sister squeezed his arm.
“I know that, Jake,” she said gently. “It’s just...” She laughed lightly and then wrapped one arm around his waist and hugged him. “You’ve had a different note to your voice the last few weeks, especially when you mention him. And I love that. So much. I love that for you.”
He closed his eyes again and nodded slowly. Then she squeezed him tighter.
“So, if you’re happier because you have him, just as a friend, of course”—she let him go, but then bumped him playfully with her hip, and he shook his head with a laugh—“that’s wonderful.”
Krista moved back over to the fridge and took a moment to pull out a carton of whole milk and a jar of minced garlic. “It needs about a cup of milk and maybe two or three teaspoons of garlic. Think you can handle that?” she asked, glancing up at Jake with a wink as she set the ingredients on the counter.
He rolled his eyes at her, and she laughed. Then, while he shuffled through her kitchen to find the appropriate measuring cup and spoon, she returned to her side of the counter and began working with a mound of dough, forming the dough into balls to make the dinner rolls.
Just after he’d added the milk and garlic to the potatoes, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. One short buzz, like a text message notification. He pulled it out and tapped on the notification. And his heart—his stupid, stupid heart that apparently had been listening much too intently to his sister’s teasing—fluttered just a little as a picture popped onto his screen.
It was a selfie from Shirley—a picture of Rye and his mom, captioned “Happy Thanksgiving!,” the small dining table behind them loaded up with all the Thanksgiving goodies. But the best part was Rye’s smile. That, and the way his eyes were shining.
“What is it?” Krista asked.
Jake faked a cough. “Ah, nothing. Just, uh...” He trailed off as he typed a quick message back.
Jake (3:28 p.m.): Happy Thanksgiving! What a wonderful photo. Thank you for sharing your day with me. :)
He hit send and then stuffed the phone back in his pocket. When he looked up, Krista was smirking at him in that annoyingly knowing way of hers.
He rolled his eyes again. “Don’t you have more cooking to do?”
“Yep. Yep, I do,” she said, and she got back to work, still grinning.
Jake sighed and continued mashing the potatoes.