Page 108 of Your Soul to Keep

“July 25th.”

“That’s,” I counted off the days in my head. “Gabe, that’s next Saturday! That doesn’t give me much time to plan.”

I stood up and paced the length of the coffee table, excitement dancing in my veins.

“Okay,” I held my hands out, palms down. “She’s puppy mad right now. We’ll do a puppy theme.” I looked up at the ceiling, then to the front door. “I’ll make a cardboard cutout of a doghouse over the front door. We’ll have cupcakes, no, pupcakes!” I clapped my hands together, all my dreams coming to fruition in the shape of one tiny confectionary. “Cupcakes with puppy faces! Weiner dogs—”

Gabe cut me off, his face pained. “Shae-baby,” he murmured. “I never thought to run it by you. My ma has always just done it. She’s got it all planned already.”

I deflated, the wind sucked from my sails. My smile dropped like a rock. I nodded jerkily and pasted it back on. “Of course, yes, of course.”

“Next year?” he murmured.

“Yes, yes,” I nodded quickly, tears stinging my eyes. I spun toward the kitchen, intent on getting away. “Of course.”

“Shae—” he began, but I didn’t answer.

And he didn’t follow up.

Throughout dinner and Dylan’s bedtime routine, which he insisted on doing on his own, he was uncharacteristically silent.

I waited for him on pins and needles in the family room. Why did he suddenly want to put her to bed by himself? Was he having second thoughts?

Outside, the birds sang, and the distant sound of a lawn mower purred. The setting sun pouring through the window burnished the wood floors to gold and cast its golden light over the room.

Summer nights, was there anything sweeter? And yet, wrapped up as I was in anxiety, I struggled to enjoy it.

I settled back into Gabe’s chair and opened my book, determined not to jump to conclusions.

After fifteen minutes of reading the same sentence, Dylan’s bedroom door snicked shut. I followed the sound of Gabe’s steps as he walked down the stairs and through the kitchen. The fridge door opened and shut, a twist cap clanged into the sink, and his slow, heavy steps returned to me.

He plopped down on the couch and took a deep swallow of his beer.

I’d never seen him like this. Not since he failed his final exam in English. Half of me prayed there was nothing wrong, the other half prayed it was anything but my presence that was wrong. “You had a rough day.”

He picked at the corner of the label on the bottle resting on his lap. “Dad wants me to take over the shop.”

Relief slammed into me so hard it knocked the words out of my mouth before I could consider if they were the right ones. “That’s great!”

His face fell. His hands stilled. His shoulders slumped.

“You don’t want that,” I stated.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling between his fingers. He shook his head, his eyes on the floor. “The paperwork is a nightmare. And I’d have to give up my job at the fire station.”

I curled my legs under me and settled back. “Fire fighting is your dream job.”

He glanced up at me, his brow furrowed, then looked away. “It doesn’t pay, Shae. Not enough and not the way I’m doing it right now.”

“Maybe it could,” I ventured.

His head snapped up as his narrowed gaze found mine.

I should have taken it for the warning it was, but I surged ahead, carried by the wave of excitement elicited by my earlier decision.

My feet hit the floor, and I leaned forward, clapping my hands together. “Gabe, hear me out. If I’m going to face the sun, maybe you could as well.”

“Shae—”

---