Chapter 15
REID
The spreadsheet was red in six places.
I changed one number.
It became red in seven.
I leaned back in my office chair and rubbed both hands over my face.
The yard had survived storms, recessions, an electrical fire in the paint shed, and one catastrophic decision to hire a bookkeeper who considered receipts an attack on her creative freedom.
This was different.
Work had not stopped after Noah’s accident, but it had slowed.
Customers rescheduled when I could not guarantee completion dates. Two large refit jobs went elsewhere. Suppliers still expected payment on time. Payroll did not care whether I had spent the previous night holding Noah through a nightmare.
The insurer had acknowledged the claim.
Acknowledgment did not put money in the account.
The workers’ compensation insurer wanted another report.
The transport company’s legal department wanted an independent medical assessment.
Our business-interruption insurer wanted proof that my absence had directly caused each lost contract, as though I could photograph a customer deciding not to wait.
I moved funds from the reserve account to cover wages.
That left less than a week before the mortgage payment.
The new haul-out deposit was due next month.
I could delay the expansion.
I could sell the station wagon.
I could borrow against the building.
I could not let Noah see panic every time he asked whether his job was safe.
His job was safe.
Everything else could burn before I took that from him.
An email arrived from our primary parts supplier.
ACCOUNT ON HOLD PENDING PAYMENT.
I closed it.
Caleb appeared in the doorway.
“You look murderous.”
“I’m considering a career change.”
“To what?”
“Crime.”
“You have the temperament. Not the flexibility.”
I handed him the printed order list.
“We can’t get the relay assemblies until the account is cleared.”
“When?”
“End of the week.”
“We need them tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Caleb studied my face.
“How bad?”
“Manageable.”
“That means bad.”
“It means I’m managing it.”
He came inside and shut the door.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Reid.”
“Noah is upstairs. Owen can hear through the wall. This is not a staff meeting.”
“This is my livelihood too.”
The truth in that stopped me.
Caleb had been with me since the yard operated from one leaking shed and a borrowed trailer. Owen joined two years later. They had carried the place while I lived at the hospital.
They deserved more than reassurance.
I turned the laptop toward him.
Caleb read in silence.
His mouth tightened.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you were already working twelve-hour days.”
“We can delay our pay.”
“No.”
“We can.”
“No.”
“What about the claim?”
“Still pending.”
“Their truck nearly killed Noah while he was driving your service van.”
“I am aware.”
Caleb looked toward the ceiling.
“Does Noah know?”
“No.”
“He asked this morning.”
“I told him the claim is pending.”
“Not this.”
“No.”
Caleb folded his arms.
“You can’t hide it forever.”
“I’m not hiding it forever. I’m waiting until his brain can hold the information without sacrificing something he needs more.”
“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”
“It is.”
“Which means you’ve rehearsed it.”
I shut the laptop.
“I’m taking him to the hospital tomorrow. I’ll ask Dr. Whitcomb how to approach it.”
“Will you listen if she says tell him?”
“Yes.”
Caleb’s skepticism was insulting.
Mostly because it was deserved.
He set the order list on my desk.
“I can call Ben at Harbor Supply. He may let us put the relays on my account.”
“No personal accounts.”
“He owes me.”
“For what?”
“I repaired his daughter’s generator.”
“You charged him.”
“I undercharged him.”
“That was your mistake.”
“It can now become useful.”
Before I could argue, my phone showed the time.
Five twenty.
The date.
Dinner.
Noah.
I stood.
“Lock the north bay when you leave.”
“Where are you going?”
“To collect food.”
“For the date.”
I looked at him.
Caleb smiled.
“Try not to discuss receivables.”
“I will throw you into the harbor.”
“Romantic.”
I had ordered dinner from a small Mediterranean restaurant near the ferry terminal because Noah had loved it before the accident and because the menu offered enough simple flavors that he could decide what he liked now.
The total made me hesitate.
I paid with my personal credit card anyway, then hated myself for doing it.
One meal would not save or destroy the yard.
Tonight mattered.
That thought had become dangerous. Every small pleasure felt urgently precious, which made it easy to justify costs I should not incur.
I collected the food, bought two glass bottles of sparkling pear soda from the grocer, and returned through the side entrance after Caleb and Owen left.
Rain had stopped.
The workshop smelled of wet wood and cooling metal.
I locked the doors, set the alarm, and carried everything upstairs.
The living room was empty.
“Marlowe?”
The dog appeared from the bedroom hallway.
No Noah.
I placed the food on the kitchen counter.
“Noah?”
No answer.
The bathroom door stood open.
The bedroom was empty.
His powered chair sat crooked beside the spare-room entrance.
My body reacted before thought.
My pulse surged.
Every terrible possibility arrived at once.
A fall.
A seizure.
Confusion.
The stairs.
I crossed the hall and pushed open the spare-room door.
Noah lay asleep on the foldout couch.
One of my sweaters was gathered beneath his cheek.
Relief nearly dropped me to my knees.
I stood in the doorway and let my heartbeat slow enough to be useful.
His right hand rested near his face. The brace supported his left arm across his body. One foot had slipped partly from the mattress.
He looked uncomfortable.
He also looked peaceful.
Why here?
The room contained nothing worth finding. Old paperwork. A broken printer. Clothes I had moved out of our bedroom so he would not feel watched.
Had he been searching for me?
The thought warmed and frightened me in equal measure.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress springs groaned.
Noah stirred.
His eye opened slowly, unfocused at first.
Then he saw me.
“Hey.”
“Hello.”
He looked around.
Confusion moved through his face.
I waited.
“Spare room,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I fell asleep.”
“I noticed.”
“What time?”
“Almost six.”
He tried to sit.
I put out a hand without touching him.
“Slow.”
Noah pushed upright and leaned against the wall.
The sweater remained in his lap.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Dizzy?”
“Little.”
“Headache?”
“Same.”
I breathed again.
“What were you doing in here?”
His cheeks colored.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“You.”
The answer struck directly.
I sat more carefully.
“I’m usually downstairs.”
“I know.”
He touched the sweater.
“I wanted to know what your room looked like.”
“This is barely a room.”
“I noticed.”
His gaze moved over the desk, the narrow floor, the unfolded bed.
“You sleep here.”
“Sometimes.”
“The mattress hates people.”
“It has strong opinions.”
“You moved out of the bedroom for me.”
“I gave you space.”
“You exiled yourself to a broken couch.”
“Exile suggests punishment.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
Noah studied me.
“You don’t have to protect me from every honest answer.”
I looked down at my hands.
The knuckles carried small cuts from work. Resin remained beneath one thumbnail despite washing.
“Sleeping here made me sad,” I said.
His expression softened.
“But waking up in the same building as you made me grateful. Both can be true.”
“You could have asked whether I wanted you gone.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“I know you now.”
“You know me differently.”
“Yes.”
He ran his fingers over the sweater collar.
“Does that make it less real?”
“No.”
The word came immediately.
“No.”
I reached for his hand.
He gave it.
“You do not have to become the man you were for anything between us to count.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
His thumb moved over mine.
“I came in here because I thought your things might help.”
“Did they?”
“I found the photograph from the yard’s first day.”
I looked toward the desk.
The frame stood faceup.
“Caleb had hair.”
“Barely.”
“You looked happy.”
“I was terrified.”
“Why?”
“I had borrowed more money than I believed I could repay. The roof leaked. We had two customers and one of them was Caleb’s uncle.”
“You still did it.”
“Yes.”
“Were you always brave?”
“No.”
“You seem brave.”
“That is because you met me after most of my mistakes became anecdotes.”
Noah smiled faintly.
He looked tired.
Too tired for this room, this mattress, or the conversation I wanted to continue.
“Dinner is here.”
His expression brightened.
“The date.”
“The date.”
“What are we calling it?”
“I thought you had a name.”
“The first one I get to keep.”
My chest tightened.
“That works.”
I stood and offered my hand.
“Where’s your chair?”
“In the hall. It wouldn’t fit.”
“How did you get onto the bed?”
“Carefully.”
“Meaning?”
“I walked three steps.”
“Alone?”
He looked away.
“Noah.”
“I held the desk.”
“You could have fallen.”
“I didn’t.”
“That is not the standard.”
His face closed.
I stopped.
The therapist’s warning returned.
Support without control.
Ask what he needed.
Do not convert fear into authority.
“I’m frightened,” I said.
His gaze came back.
“That is why I sound angry.”
“I know.”
“I need you to tell me before you walk without support.”
“I need to know whether I can.”
“Then call me. I’ll stand nearby and keep my hands off unless you ask.”
He considered.
“All right.”
I squeezed his fingers.
“Can I help now?”
“Yes.”
I braced his right side.
Noah placed both feet on the floor and stood. His weight shifted carefully through the injured hip.
He leaned into me for balance.
“How does it feel?”
“Stiff.”
“Pain?”
“Two.”
“No spinning?”
“No.”
We crossed the few steps to the hall.
He lowered into the chair with control.
I tried not to smile.
He caught me.
“You can say it.”
“You did well.”
“I know.”
That answer pleased me more than modesty would have.
Noah drove toward the bathroom.
“I need a minute.”
“I’ll set up dinner.”
“Do not light emergency flares.”
“I had planned three.”
He disappeared into the bathroom.
I carried the food to the living room.