Page 94 of Shelter
Today, I wasn’t in the mood. “She’s fine,” I said, hoping my two-word answer gave him the hint that further questions weren’t welcome.
Ed looked up from the tennis bracelet and studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. I suddenly wished it took a full thirty minutes to replace a watch battery. And it had to be done on the roof. In the dead of night.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s got you down, buttercup, but cheer up,” he said, lifting his chin in my direction. “Your bracelet prototype looks great. Finish up out here and go make one for real.”
I froze, afraid I’d misheard him. Afraid to get my hopes up. But then I met his full gaze, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth had me squealing.
“Oh, Ed. Thank you!” And because I knew I wouldn’t get away without a hug, I met Ed halfway before he set the delicate tennis bracelet aside and caught me in his arms. His chuckle shook me in his embrace.
“Don’t thank me, dearest. That little trinket is going to earn me a whole lotta cash.” He set me away from him and pointed to the back of the store. “Now get after it.”
I smacked my hands to my mouth, suppressing a squeal, and Ed’s eyes danced. Behind my fingers, I vowed. “You are the best boss ever!”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Now go make me a bracelet.”
* * *
Once I finishedthe day’s orders and helped Ed with a few customers, I went to the back and got to work. I spent the rest of the afternoon on my bracelet, first weighing the wax model and then setting up the casting flask, mixing the investment compound, and prepping it in the vacuum chamber. I poured the compound into the casting flask, and then I settled in for the worst part, the waiting. It would take almost an hour and a half for the plaster to harden before I could put the flask into the oven and let it vulcanize overnight. It was twenty after six, and Ed had closed up the shop, effectively locking me in. I had my earbuds in as I listened to Jon Bellion and played around with a sketch of a beaded necklace I’d been thinking about. The mold still had another ten minutes to go, and I was debating walking down to Twins to grab a burger when a text buzzed through my phone.
Guessing it was Alberta wondering when I’d get home, I glanced at the screen… and frowned.
Unknown Number:I owe you an apology.
I read the message first,and then my heart tripped and turned end over end about four times. The area code was 504. New Orleans.
And then:
Unknown Number:It’s Cole Whitehurst. Flora gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind.
I droppedmy pencil and reached for the phone. I read the texts again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating or, more likely, my dyslexia wasn’t playing tricks on me. Mama had given him my number? She’d conveniently forgotten to share that little tidbit.
My hammering heart had climbed to somewhere in my throat, but I could feel my pulse everywhere. Over my entire body. I stared at the screen for probably a whole minute. How could I respond? I added him to my contacts and typed the wordHi.Then I quickly erased it. He hadn’t even saidhi.The two-letter word sounded too chipper. Vapid.
Then I typedMama told me she saw you and Ava today.But I erased that, too. Some protective urge in me didn’t want to share that we’d spoken about him. I was about to respond with a simpleOh?when a new message lit up my screen.
Cole:Elise, it was so unbelievably good to see you the other night.
I sucked in a startled breath,and my thumb tapped the damn send button.
Me:Oh?
Shit.Fuck. Crap on a cracker. At best, it sounded sarcastic. At worst, he’d think I wanted to hear more.
Cole:Yes. I know it’s my fault, but it’s been too long.
I bit my bottom lip.His fault? Was that his way of acknowledging the letter I’d sent him years ago? The one he never answered? Or because he’d broken his word and left without looking back? A bitter impulse spiked in my blood, and I was typing before I could think better of it.
Me:You always were good at ignoring me.
Pressingsend flooded my veins with adrenaline. The edges of my vision spun a little, like I’d just bungee-jumped. Alberta and I had done that once at Tracks in Destin, Florida, on our senior trip. The moment my feet had left the platform — seven stories above the ground — I’d had a head rush ofWHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?The sensation was exactly the same now. The feeling of not being able to turn back. The inevitable fall.
I watched the little dots on my screen bounce as Cole typed. What would he say? What did I even want him to say? Did I want him to say anything?
The way I was staring at my phone suggested I did.
Cole:I suppose I deserved that.
I thoughtabout what Mama had said about Ava just getting out of drug treatment. Of what the last eight years must have been like for him. He probably deserved a lot of things, but grief from me wasn’t one of them.
