Page 35 of Revelry
Still, I knew what it was like to be pushed to talk about something you weren’t ready to, so I let her drop the subject, tossing the last bite of bacon in my mouth with a nod. “Yeah, got everything. It’ll be a brand new cabin by the time the summer ends.”
“Maybe Abdiel will give me some of my cash back then,” she said with a smile.
“So are you really thinking of staying, or did you just tell him that?”
It was a stupid question to ask, especially since she’d laughed in my face when I’d asked a similar question the first day I worked on her cabin. She had no intention of staying, and she’d made that perfectly clear. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me. I wasn’t sure why I was asking again.
Just like the first time, Wren laughed, splitting the last bite of her pancake into two. “I think we both knew when we made our deal that I wouldn’t be staying past the summer.”
My stomach tightened at her response and I shifted, uneasy at the fact that I had any reaction at all.
“I think he knew, you know?” she asked, eyes lifting to mine. “I just need to be here right now.”
I swallowed, holding her eyes for as long as I could because Ididknow, and for some reason it was important to me that she saw that.
The girl in the green dress from the city wasn’t so different from me, after all.
When we were finished, I helped her collect the dishes and we stood at the sink, her washing and me drying. She handed me the first dish and my hand covered hers, our skin sparking at the transfer of energy. Neither of us acknowledged it, though—just worked in silence washing dish after dish, her bobbing her head along as Wu Tang spilled from her portable speaker.
I was lost in my own thoughts, thinking of how quick she was to laugh off the thought of staying in this town any longer than a few months. I used to be the same way, and I wondered where I would be now, if things were different.
“Tell me something about Dani,” she said unexpectedly as she handed me the freshly washed batter bowl.
I froze, gripping it a little too tight before numbly drying it with the towel. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Tell me a funny story about her. Or what was she like? What did she like to do?”
I frowned, but not because I was upset, more because I was surprised. Most people who didn’t know about Dani wanted to know how she died or how old she was or how I was coping. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me abouther—the girl who lived, not the one who had died.
“She was smart,” I started, a little unsure, unable to find the words to express who she was. “So damn smart. I mean, you could just be talking about anything—anything in the world—and she’d have something to say about it. She justknewthings, and she loved to tell stories. Like one time when we went for a hike, we came across this plant that has leaves that curl up into themselves when you touch them, and she went on for the next hour of the hike about the name and origin and legends of the plant. I couldn’t even tell you any of it now, and I used to always tease her for it, but truthfully I liked listening to her talk.”
“She must have been so fun to be around.”
“She was.” My smile was soft, my eyes on the silverware she handed me. “She read a book a day. No shit. Like, for fun.”
Wren chuckled.
“I don’t know, she was just the most unique person I’d ever known. She was rare, especially around here.”
I paused, a little surprised at how willingly the words had spilled out. I’d barely talked about Dani since she passed, not to anyone besides Momma Von, anyway. But I wanted to tell Wren, wanted her to know. Maybe that should have been exciting, but I found myself unsettled, and I wasn’t sure how to process it.
Wren nodded, and as if she knew dark thoughts crept into my heart like shadows, she changed the subject. “And what about you? What got you into doing what you do?”
My throat tightened. It was easier to talk about Dani than myself, as crazy as that was. “I don’t know. I just like to fix things.” I shrugged. “Things are easier to fix than people are.”
Wren cut the water, drying her hands on the towel hanging from the oven before leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms. “Do you love to do it?”
“I’m good at it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I folded the damp towel I’d dried the dishes with and hung it over the rack. “I like it well enough.”
“What would you do if money and circumstances didn’t matter, if you had a fresh start on a new life?”
“Wow, we’re getting heavy now,” I said with a smirk.
“Humor me.”
