Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I should get back to work.” I turned to head to the coffee house doors, but Sam’s hand on my arm stayed me.
“Doesn’t the patio look good?” he asked, pointed gaze calling me out on my rudeness toward Cal.
“It does.” I rubbed my suddenly fiery stomach. “Sorry. Thanks for your help, Cal.”
“It’s okay.” Cal was infuriatingly unflappable. I could see where he’d be good in a crisis. Sam had mentioned he was ex-military, and he had the type of voice that made people stop and listen without ever changing his volume. “You’ve had a busy day.”
“Oh, hey, I think that’s my mom with some furniture for the patio.” A wide smile swept across Sam’s face as a large half-ton truck pulled into the lot.
“Driving a truck?” Cal and I exhibited similar levels of skepticism that Sam’s Sunday School teacher and town peacemaker mother would attempt such a feat.
“It’s the neighbor’s.” Sam shrugged like this was not an uncommon occurrence. “She must have borrowed it.”
And sure enough, Sam’s mom hopped out of the truck cab. Her reddish hair was almost all gray now, a few fine orangey streaks lending a certain impish character to her lined face. Shorter than either Sam or me, she had a few more pounds than the last time I’d seen her, but the same wide smile as Sam. She started signing as soon as she approached us, hands moving excitedly.
I struggled to remember what I’d learned in high school and college, where I’d taken ASL for my foreign language requirement. Luckily, Sam was there to translate for Cal and me.
“She says, ‘Look at all the patio furniture she collected from donations from her friends.’ She’s pretty awesome.” Sam signed as he spoke. “Good work, Mom.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Bookman signed as Sam continued translating. She usually used sign language, lip-reading, notes, and other means of communication, and she was a big reason why Safe Harbor had a robust Deaf community. All of the Bookmans’ church services had translators, and she’d been instrumental in helping me and a few others to get the high school to add ASL as a language option. “Happy to help. And happy to see you, Worth.”
“Hello. Nice to see you.” I used my rusty skills as I spoke, signing far slower than either she or Sam. “And nice to see you driving the big truck.”
“I like new challenges, and driving up high is fun.” Her eyes crinkled exactly how Sam’s always did.
“You always did have the best attitude.” I paused so Sam could translate since I couldn’t remember the sign for attitude. “And cookies.” That sign I remembered, and I smiled fondly. “You always did have amazing cookies too.”
Maybe not as good as my mom’s, but I’d always been happy when Mrs. Bookman had brought the snacks for youth group or some other event.
“Frosted sugar cookies and oatmeal cranberry were your favorites. I remember. I’ll send some more over.” She returned my smile with a toothsome grin, nodding as Sam translated. “Come to lunch Sunday after church, please?”
“I’ll see.” The dull ache behind my sternum grew, and I rubbed my stomach again.
“She’s offering chicken and dumplings,” Sam added with a light laugh, but his solemn eyes urged me to accept the invite.
“Sounds tasty.” I used to love that dish, once upon a time, when it had emerged from my mom’s slow cooker or appeared at church potlucks. Nostalgia aside, though, I wasn’t sure if I was up for the whole church-and-family dinner thing. But I also didn’t want to disappoint Sam with an outright refusal. “Let’s get the furniture unloaded. I can help.”
“Me too,” Cal was fast to add.
“Sam and I can probably handle it.” My voice came out far too stiff.
“Three of us will be faster.” In contrast, Sam was Mr. Congeniality, ushering us toward the truck while his mother trailed behind.
I was careful to not end up sharing an item with Cal until the last wooden lounge chair. Sam was busy signing with his mother, and I had no good excuse not to help Cal with the awkward load.
“Thanks.” He nodded at me as we slow-walked the chair toward the patio. “Holden’s gonna be on me even more to get a dog now that the patio is coming together. I want to level out more of the pavers too. Make the area more mobility-aid accessible.”
“Uh-huh.” I offered up the barest conversational encouragement.
“What’s your deal? Jealous over Holden?” Cal’s mouth twisted. Well, at least the guy didn’t mince words. “Or you just don’t like me personally?”
“Jealous?” I had to laugh at that. “Trust me, I never once thought of Holden like that.”
Too muscled. Too big. Too fuzzy. Too…something. And now, I could add too not Sam, but I wasn’t about to explain any of those things to Cal.
“So it’s personal then?” Cal narrowed his eyes as we set the lounger down on the patio. “Anything I can do to fix the burr in your saddle?”