Zach scratched his head. “Say, what?”
“Many hands, light work. Come on.”
Noah led the way downstairs to join the others, and Zach grumbled along behind.
After that much needed tea—peppermint, no borage—and a few of Finley’s mum’s pancakes, Noah got busy packing away tables and the temporary dance floor with the other volunteers. By late morning, the backyard looked almost untouched by the two-hundred person festivities and a carload of pizza was arriving to feed the troops. Zach collapsed on one of the living room couches with a slice, and Noah took one last look-see in the garden.
Something poked out from a carpet of pear blossoms, glinting in the sun.
A stray champagne glass. He crouched to pick it up and paused at a loud knocking, followed by Francesca’s voice next door. “He’s not answering.”
Noah peered through a slit-gap in the fence. He’d let Wade crash in the house, last night. Mrs Ferrars and Francesca must have finally gotten his messages.
Mrs Ferrars had aged since he’d last seen her. Grey curls framed her pinched face, and her eyes were even narrower than they’d been when he was a teen. Was she in town to oversee the takeover?
She pointed her cane toward the picnic table on their side of the fence, close to where Noah lurked out of sight. “Let’s sit and wait. He’ll check his phone eventually. Besides, I want your thoughts about him.”
He should have headed right back inside, but . . .
“Your dad wanted to make sure you’re all well looked after. We paid for you and Robby to get your degrees and you’ve both come out with fine, well-paying jobs. But Wade never wanted our help.”
“That was his choice. He refused to go to university.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t want him to be overlooked.”
Francesca shifted in the spiky silence. “What were you thinking?”
“He’s always wanted to own his own garage-workshop-place. I want to help set him up. Maybe twenty-five thousand?”
A hiss. “That’s . . . a rather large sum.”
“You don’t think he’d need so much?”
“No, not by half! Even if he were to start his own mechanic’s business. I’ve never seen that drive in him. Besides, he’s settling in Port Ratapu and there are already two garages in town. There’s no market to open another.”
“Twelve then, to make settling here more comfortable.”
“Absolutely. Twelve thousand would be very helpful, I’m sure. But can you really spare it? With Dad . . . You have plenty now, but you don’t know how long that will need to last. You might come to a point where you regret giving so much away.”
“I can part with a couple thousand, especially if it helps him.”
“You’re very kind to think of Wade, Mum. Only, I’m not convinced giving him money will be helping.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you give him money, he’ll only use it to extend his holiday, put off finding work. But say, if we help Wade get a job, he’ll be set up. You’ll save your money and we all win.”
“But maybe he—”
“There’ll be a lot of upcoming costs as it is, moving you in with me. Better you save for that, and I put in a good word for Wade at the local garage. He’ll be happy working for someone else, trust me. He won’t have the stresses that come from running his own business. Once the clock strikes five, he can forget about work altogether.”
“Taking care of Wade’s health . . . Yes, I think your dad would agree.”
“Of course he would. He probably meant supporting his well-being all along.”
A flash of Wade’s expression as he stepped into a sea of broken glass to shake Noah’s hand—he’d looked so . . . happy. His smile, the unguarded welcome in his eyes. Noah squeezed the champagne glass so hard the stem broke. Robbed by his own sister. She’d been abhorrent to Noah. But toward her own family? He let out a breath and backed quietly away. He said goodbye to the Bertrams and headed down the drive, Zach sighing about having to take the bus.
Impossible that he had ever been friends with Francesca.
That she was the intractable new owner of his beloved childhood home!
A two-door vintage muscle car rolled up to the bus shelter, its window rolled down, music humming. Noah lurched to his feet. “Wade.”
Wade leaned over the passenger seat, a dimpled smile under a dark nest of hair. “Would you and your—”
“Brother!”
“Would you and your brother like a ride? I’m headed to town.”
Zach whispered, “Wade?”
“Francesca’s brother.”
“Francesca’s—I’d rather take the bus.”
Under his breath Noah said, “He’s nice.”
“Okay then!” Zach hoofed toward the car. “We accept.”
Zach squeezed into the back, leaving shotgun free. Noah smiled at Wade and sank into the sheepskin-covered seat, reciting Elliot’s address. Whatever playlist Wade had going on—“Your Body is a Wonderland”, Jesus—provided a helpful buffer, but the air still thickened. This shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking. Just a lift. It was on his way. “Thank you.”
