CHAPTER EIGHT
Wes was halfway across the worksite with a stack of lumber when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He usually ignored it while working. His hands were full, but the vibration came again almost immediately.
He set the lumber beside the workbench and pulled out his phone. He expected one of his mother’s usual messages about something she needed him to pick up on the way home. The words on the screen made him stop cold.
Mom: Come home immediately after work. We need to talk.
Wes read the message twice. His mother never texted like that. Her messages were direct and practical. A stop on the way home usually came with a list.
He called her before his thoughts could go too far. The phone rang several times before voicemail picked up. Wes waited a few seconds and tried again, only for the second call to go straight to voicemail.
One of the men working nearby noticed his expression. “Everything okay?”
Wes looked down at the message again. “I don’t know. My mom told me to come home after work because we need to talk.”
The man gave him a concerned look. Wes shook his head before either of them could start guessing. Saying the possibilities out loud would only make them harder to ignore.
Wes returned to work and checked his phone whenever he had a spare moment. No explanation came. At lunch, he called again and reached voicemail.
He replayed their morning in his mind while the afternoon dragged on. His mother had made coffee, reminded him to take his lunch, and told him the weather was supposed to change. Nothing about her had seemed unusual.
Even so, Wes watched the clock more than he watched the work in front of him. He measured one board twice because he did not trust his focus. Then he forced himself to slow down before he made a mistake.
When the workday ended, Wes cleaned up quickly and headed for his truck. His mother still had not answered by the time he started the engine. He drove home faster than usual, though he kept his speed under control.
Her car was sitting in its usual place when he pulled into the driveway. Some of the pressure in his chest eased at the sight, and Wes hurried inside.
His mother stood in the kitchen putting groceries away as if the day had been completely ordinary. Wes stopped in the doorway and let out the breath he had been holding.
His mother looked over her shoulder. “You’re home.”
Wes stared at her. “You told me to come home immediately after work because we needed to talk.”
“I know,” his mother replied.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” Wes said.
His mother closed the cabinet. “I was busy.”
Wes pushed the loose strands of hair away from his face. “I thought something happened.”
Her expression softened as she finally understood. “Oh, Wes. Nothing happened.”
Relief settled through him now that he could see she was safe. The whole day loosened its grip at once.
“You scared me,” Wes said.
His mother stepped closer. “I’m sorry. I only needed to make sure you came home.”
Wes looked at her. “You could’ve said that.”
“Would you have come straight home if I had?” his mother asked.
“Yes,” Wes replied.
His mother raised an eyebrow and waited. Wes knew that look.
Wes sighed. “Probably.”
She walked over to the kitchen table and picked up a small piece of paper. “Bee’s grandma called me.”
Wes recognized the address before she handed it to him. “What does she need?”
“One of her porch steps is loose, and she wants a cabinet moved,” his mother explained. “She asked if you could go over after work.”
Wes folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “You made that sound like an emergency.”
His mother returned to the groceries. “I needed you to come home.”
Wes shook his head, though a reluctant smile had already started. “I’m going to change.”
“No, you’re not,” his mother said.
Wes glanced down at his work clothes. “Why not?”
“You’re going to get dirty again,” his mother replied.
He looked toward the small tool bag waiting near the door. “You packed my tools?”
His mother closed another cabinet. “I know what you use.”
Wes picked up the bag and checked inside. “You’re becoming perceptive.”
His mother smiled. “I’ve always noticed things.”
He grabbed his drill from the shelf beside the door. The familiar weight of his tools settled him after the strange day.
His mother called to him before he stepped outside. “Be polite.”
Wes turned back. “I’m always polite.”
“I know,” his mother replied. “That’s why I sent you.”
Wes shook his head and headed for his truck. His mother was still smiling when the door closed behind him.
Bee was stretched across Grandma’s couch in an oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts when someone knocked at the front door. Her hair had been twisted into a loose knot that was barely holding together, and she had not put on any makeup. She had planned to spend the evening exactly as she was.
Grandma looked up from the kitchen. “That’ll be Wes.”
Bee sat upright. “Wes is coming here?”
“I asked his mother if he could help me,” Grandma replied.
Bee looked down at herself. “You didn’t tell me.”
Grandma returned to the counter. “I didn’t think I needed to.”
Bee opened the camera on her phone and stared at her reflection. “Grandma, I’m in pajamas.”
“You’re at home,” Grandma said.
Bee turned her head and studied the pieces of hair falling around her face. “My hair looks awful.”
Grandma took her time looking at it. “It does.”
Bee lowered the phone and stared at her. “Thank you.”
Another knock sounded before Bee could decide whether she had time to run down the hallway. She pushed both hands over her hair, which only loosened the knot further.
Grandma opened the door and let Wes inside. He carried a tool bag in one hand and was still dressed for work. Sawdust clung to his hair and one shoulder of his shirt.
His gaze moved toward the living room. He paused when he saw Bee, then looked away quickly enough for her to notice.
Wes shifted the tool bag in his hand. “Hi.”
Heat rose into Bee’s face. “Hi.”
She crossed her arms over the front of her shirt even though it did nothing to improve the situation. Wes looked tired from work, but somehow he still looked completely put together.
Bee glanced at Grandma. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Wes set the tool bag near the door. “My mom said your grandma needed help.”
Grandma moved back toward the kitchen. “The porch step is loose, and I need the cabinet moved.”
Bee kept her attention on Wes. “I would’ve changed if I knew.”
Wes looked at her again. “You look fine.”
Bee touched the knot at the back of her head. “You have to say that.”
“I don’t,” Wes replied.
“You’re just being nice,” Bee said.
Wes held her gaze. “I mean it.”
Bee tucked a loose strand behind her ear and immediately wished she had left it alone. “I still would’ve changed.”
“You don’t have to,” Wes said. “You’re home.”
The simple answer eased some of her embarrassment. Bee lowered her hand and smiled at him.
Grandma pointed toward the back of the house. “Bee can help you.”
Bee looked over. “Me?”
Grandma gave her a flat look. “Yes, you.”
Bee stood from the couch. “I can help?”
Wes picked up his tools. “Okay, cool.”
They headed toward the back porch together. Once Wes crouched beside the loose step and opened his tool bag, Bee forgot to worry about what she was wearing.
Wes pressed one hand against the board to show her where it shifted. He checked the screws and the wood beneath them before choosing a screwdriver from his bag.
Bee crouched beside him. “You really know how to do all this.”
“I’ve had practice,” Wes replied.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Bee admitted.
Wes held the screwdriver out to her. “I can show you.”
Bee looked from the tool to his face. “You would?”
“Sure,” Wes said.
She took the screwdriver while Wes showed her where to place the tip. Bee tried to copy the angle he had demonstrated. The tool slipped against the screw.
Bee adjusted her grip. “Like this?”
Wes leaned closer to check. “A little lower.”
She lowered her hand. “Here?”
Wes nodded. “Yeah. Keep it straight.”
Bee turned the screwdriver until the loose screw caught. The board pulled tight beneath her hand, and she pressed against it to make sure it held.
Bee looked up at him. “I did it.”
“You did,” Wes agreed.
She tried the step again and smiled when it stayed in place. “That was actually kind of satisfying.”
Wes put the screwdriver back in the bag. “I told you.”
Bee looked at him. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I thought you knew,” Wes replied.
Neither of them rushed to fill the quiet that followed. Bee no longer cared about her hair or the fact that Wes had seen her in pajamas. Sitting beside him on the porch felt easy now.
They moved inside to work on the cabinet. Wes checked the floor first and explained how they could shift it without scratching the wood.
Bee reached for one side. “I can help.”
“I know,” Wes said. “You don’t have to take the heavier end.”
She tightened her grip. “Then let me.”
Wes studied her for a second before moving into position. “When I tell you to stop, stop.”
Bee nodded once. “Deal.”
They lifted together and edged the cabinet away from the wall. Bee stepped in the direction she thought Wes had indicated, only to feel the cabinet shift the wrong way.
“Your other left,” Wes said.
Bee stopped. “My other left?”
“You know what I mean,” Wes replied.
Bee looked over her shoulder at him. “I actually don’t.”
Wes lowered his end and walked around the cabinet. He pointed toward the open space beside her before taking his place again.
Bee followed his hand. “You could’ve done that the first time.”
Wes lifted his end. “I thought you knew your left.”
Bee narrowed her eyes at him. “I did until you gave me another one.”
His laugh slipped out before he could hide it. They moved the cabinet the rest of the way and lowered it into place.
Bee stepped back to inspect it. “That was heavier than it looked.”
“I told you,” Wes replied.
She turned toward him. “You said it wasn’t that heavy.”
Wes glanced at the cabinet. “I was wrong.”