Page 24 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

Josiah and Noah exchange a look that seems to carry a silent conversation. I just sit back while they finish. I make a show of drumming my fingers on my keyboard.

When Noah finally turns back to me, he says, “You’ve got to understand that just because he’s not talking to you about it, doesn’t mean he’s not struggling. Give him space. You come on real strong, and he might not be ready for that just yet.” Noah finally offers me a smile. It is sweet, small, and it reminds me of how he looked back when we were kids. “Let him come to you when he’s ready. Be patient.”

In my head, I hear Remy say,I have the patience of a fucking saint, and I silently answer,Me too, sweetheart. Me too.

Chapter 12

Remy

Iwould like to saythat the summer reading program is keeping me busy enough not to think about Sam, but it’s not true. The teen volunteers are taking care of most of the work. Making book club selections, planning discussion topics, setting up displays—all I have to do is linger silently nearby, just in case. And then they launch into a conversation in what is basically a foreign language to me, and my mind spirals back to this weekend.

Sam didn’t stop in yesterday, even though it was Monday. No treats, no handsome smiling face. No idle chatter at the front desk when I should be doing something else. And he didn’t come in today either, even though I glance at the door every thirty seconds.

When my phone starts buzzing in my pocket, I welcome the distraction.

Most of the kids do a good job of looking normal, but one kid gets a devilish glint in her eye when she thinks the adult supervision is walking away. I flag down one of our pages to keep an eye on the situation, and then I slip into my office. I close the door behind me.

“Hey, Mom.”

“How are you feeling? Have you been testing more frequently since Sunday?”

I drop into my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m good. And yes. I also have a bottle of apple juice with me, and a box of saltines.” I hold up the box as if she could see it.

She lets out a sigh that crackles across the line, sounding satisfied that I’m following her instructions.

“Good,” she says, “do you think you’re getting sick? You know your numbers go a little haywire any time you get sick.”

I shake my head. “No. I just overdid it on Sunday and forgot to eat extra.”

I forgot to eat at all, except for a cup of coffee and the bagel Sam brought me after shower sex. But I don’t tell her that. She doesn’t need all the details.

“You thought you would impress your friend and convince me that everything was fine. I know you,” she says, her voice a mix of admonition and amusement. “You pushed it too hard. It was too much exertion with the canoeing and hiking and whatever the two of you got up to while your dad and I were gone.”

My face flares hot, and I’m very glad that this is a phone conversation.

“How is Sam, anyway?” she asks with barely any wind-up, just the crack of a bat against the topic I’ve spent the last two days trying to avoid. “Your dad and I both liked him a lot. Not that it’s our choice, of course, but we like him.”

---