Page 275 of What We Brave
David Mitchell just laughed.
I've been pulling out my best material around the guy and I've gotten exactly one almost-smile from the man. Blake gets a laugh by talking about wood. They have their own little manly wood club going. And maybe I'm a little butthurt. But only a little because Blake looks more settled than he did yesterday. More like himself.
Laine's nearby, sitting on an overturned bucket, watching them. She's got that look again — the one that's half joy, half pain. She's watching Blake earn her father's respect in real time and she can't even tell her father why it matters so much.
Two days. She said two days.
We're at the end of day two. Yeah, yesterday was a travel day, but in my book, that counts.
I set the kid down gently, wipe his nose with the bottom of my shirt — not my finest moment, but we're improvising — and walk over to Laine.
"Hey."
She looks up. "Hey."
I sit on the ground next to her bucket. Close enough that our arms touch. "They're getting along."
"Yeah."
"Your dad laughed."
"I heard."
"I've been making a fool of myself since we got here and got nothing. Blake talks about rot and your dad loses it."
She almost smiles. Almost. "Dad respects people who know things. Who work with their hands."
"I work with my hands."
"You tangled Rosa's loom and made a four-year-old cry."
"Rude! He was already crying. Istoppedthe crying. That's my whole skill set."
She leans into me. Just slightly. Her shoulder against mine. "You're good at it."
"I know." I'm never going to be a fix it guy the way Blake is, but people, I get.
We sit there for a minute. Watching Blake and David work. Blake's got a hand plane now — one of David's, old and beat up — and he's showing David something about the angle. David's watching his hands the way people watch Blake's hands when he works. Like they're seeing something they didn't expect.
"He's going to be okay," I say. Quiet. Just for her.
Laine doesn't answer right away. Then, "I need to tell them tonight."
"Yeah."
"I keep waiting for the right moment and there isn't one, is there? There's never going to be a right moment."
"Probably not."
"So I just... say it."
"Yeah." I put my hand on her knee. "And we're right there. Both of us."
She nods. Presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. Takes a breath.
"Okay," she says. "Okay."
The bonfire starts at dusk.
