Chapter 15 #2
I grabbed a marker and a sheet of parchment paper. “Come on,” I said, leading the way to the back. “If you break down the steps in order, it’s a lot easier to get the job done.”
Hailey followed me into the kitchen. “You sound like my therapist.”
I wondered why she was seeing a therapist. Not that I wanted to pry. Or make her feel self-conscious. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said lightly.
“Yeah, no.” She leaned against the work counter, watching me scrawl the basic tasks I’d been doing since I was fourteen. Sign in. Sweep up. Make sure the drinks case, the condiments station, and the restrooms were stocked and clean. “You know this is really boring, right?”
“But it feels so good to cross things off.”
She rolled her eyes.
I nibbled on the marker cap. Did I have the steps in order? Or was it stock and clean the restrooms and then the dining room? “You can make lists of other things, too. Wish lists. Favorite songs. Stuff Anne Shirley would do.”
“I could dye my hair green. Or paint my nose red. My brother would love that.”
I could imagine. Okay, something else, something that didn’t involve a baking disaster or setting herself afloat in a small boat on a river. “You could start a story club. Or have a tea party.”
“All by myself.” Was that…wistfulness under the snark?
Joe wanted his sister to make friends.
“You wouldn’t have to do it alone. You could make it a challenge,” I suggested. “Like on TikTok. #GreenGablesChallenge, maybe. You could connect with other people. Anne girlies. Kindred spirits!”
“You mean, book nerds.”
“Don’t forget Canadians. Canadians love Anne.”
An actual smile. I managed not to pump my fist in triumph.
“Anne is an underdog,” I said. “Her story is about having hope and finding love and being resilient. You’d be surprised how many Anne fans are out there.”
“Maybe.”
“You could get some other kids involved. Other students? I bet if you talked to Mrs. Powell…”
“Would you do it? Like, the tea party, I mean?”
The vulnerability in her expression tugged at my heart.
“Absolutely.” I smiled and taped the list to the wall above the counter. “I’m gone this weekend, but we can totally do it when I get back.”
—
“Heard you’re going to Chicago,” Joe said the next morning.
I threw a startled glance at Hailey. She gave me a little wave as she disappeared into the kitchen. “I…Yeah. I’m leaving Friday. For the weekend.”
He leaned against the counter. “You and the boyfriend working things out?”
Zoe poured his coffee, shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Erm. Not exactly.” I wasn’t obliged to explain, I reminded myself.
There was no reason he should care. But my mouth kept moving.
“It’s just…It’s Chris’s graduation. I thought I’d surprise him.
After everything he’s been through—we’ve been through—I owe it to him to be there. ” Or maybe I owed it to myself.
“Showing up.” Joe nodded. “I get it.”
“It will probably be a disaster,” I blurted. “Not the graduation. I’m sure that will be lovely. But I’m driving Mom’s car.”
Dithering at intersections, stomping on the brake, adjusting the volume or the rearview mirror at all the wrong moments…I shuddered.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, but he didn’t laugh out loud. “Island girl.”
“Chicago girl,” I corrected, even though I wasn’t sure that was true anymore. I’d sublet my apartment. My boyfriend was leaving town, and my friend and department head had boxed up my books and dumped them in a closet. “We have excellent public transportation.”
Joe rubbed his beard with his knuckles. Soft or scratchy?
Not that it made any difference to me. “A buddy of mine runs a salvage yard in Chicago. I promised to help with a deconstruction in exchange for some lumber. It’s a two-day job.
Figured I’d take off Friday, get home Sunday. You can ride along if you want.”
I could. My knees almost wobbled with relief.
No obnoxious drivers creeping up, cutting me off in traffic, no eighteen-wheelers gusting by, no construction on the Dan Ryan Expressway to contend with at the end of the trip.
Nothing to do for six and a half hours but eat car snacks and point out billboards and watch the sky.
The wind blowing through the open windows, my playlist pouring from the speakers.
The two of us, wrapped in the warm cab of the truck, reminiscing about Dad.
Confessing our respective romantic failures.
It could be nice. And maybe it would be incredibly awkward.
“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Drake Hotel.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Fancy.”
“Just for dinner. I can’t afford to stay there.”
“You’ll be staying with him.”
It wasn’t a question. But I found myself caught by it just the same. My face got hot.
“So, I’ll see you Friday morning at the ferry,” Joe said evenly. “Nine o’clock.”
Dinner was at seven. Even with gas stops, potty stops, and traffic delays, we should get there in plenty of time for me to change in the hotel bathroom. What could go wrong? “Nine o’clock,” I echoed.