Labor of Love (7 page)

“I'm going to keep seeing Tank.”

It wasn't like Jenna to be this determined.

“But I want to spend time with you, too,” she said. “I'm just talking about you going to get a doughnut with
us
. So what if Brady
is there? Big deal.”

“I thought it was a beignet.”

“Beignet, doughnut—same thing. We wanted to have fun this summer, didn't we?”

Yeah, we did. We'd wanted to do some good, but we'd also wanted some adventure, some laughs, some memories. It was our first summer away from home. Where was my adventuresome spirit?

“Okay,” I said. “Yeah, I'm in. Totally.”

She didn't take offense that I sounded resigned instead of overjoyed. She just said, “Great.”

Yeah
, I thought, as I rolled back over and closed my eyes.

Great
.

I
'd expected to sleep like a rock, or a log, or something heavy and inanimate. Instead I woke up while it was still dark and couldn't go back to sleep.

I crawled out of bed, grabbed my clothes from the chair where I'd left them the night before, and crept into the bathroom. Once I closed the door, I turned on the light and got dressed as quietly as I could. Today I was going to wear coveralls over a tube top. Coveralls had seemed like a building-house-kinda-thing to wear, but now I was wondering if maybe they'd be too hot. At least my shoulders would be cool.

And bare. Maybe a little sexy.

Oh no, I was thinking about Brady again. I
didn't want to do things to get his attention.

I don't know how long I sat on the edge of the tub and worried about how I could spend time with Jenna, without getting in over my head with Brady. A sudden rap on the door startled me. I nearly fell backward into the tub. Just what I needed—to start the day with a concussion.

“You okay in there?” Jenna asked.

“Oh yeah, I'm fine.” I got up and opened the door. “I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake you.”

She yawned. “Ow. I can barely move this morning. Working with a crowbar was harder work than I thought.”

She stumbled into the bathroom as I walked out.

“Call Ms. Wynder and tell her we're going to breakfast with some friends,” she said before shutting the door.

“You think she's up?” I called through the door.

“Oh yeah.”

I called Ms. Wynder. She was indeed up,
sounding way too bright and cheery for that time of day. She said she was fine with us doing breakfast elsewhere, and she'd see us at the site.

When Jenna came out of the bathroom, we grabbed our backpacks and headed outside.

The dorm was a square, uninteresting brick building, part of a campus that had survived the storm. It was early morning but humidity already hung heavy in the air.

Parked at the front of the drive, in a no-parking zone, was the black Civic. Our two guys were leaning against it—one against the hood, one against the trunk—arms crossed over their chests. Totally sexy pose. Rebels, I thought, and my heart did a little stutter. What was I getting myself into?

“Hey,” Tank said as we got nearer.

“Hey, yourself,” Jenna said, practically skipping to his side.

He grinned at her. No kiss. No hug. But it seemed to be enough for her as she slid into the front passenger seat, and it probably was. After all, he hadn't tattooed her name on his arm yet. I suddenly wondered if he would someday.

Then I wondered if maybe that was where I'd made my mistake. I always wanted things to happen fast. Drew and I were a steady item after that first date. I'd never questioned where the relationship was going; I'd just followed where it had seemed to lead. Now I was trying to question everything.

Brady just grinned at me, tapped the brim of my “Life Is Good” cap. “You ever not wear that thing?” he asked.

I touched the brim of his. “Same goes.”

“Yeah, but I use mine to hide a bald spot. You got a bald spot under there that I need to know about?”

“No. Do you? I mean really? Bald?”

He laughed. “Nah. At least not yet. Someday. If I take after my dad.”

“I think bald men are sexy.”

I don't know what made me say that.

“Really?” he asked, opening the door to the backseat.

“Really.” I climbed inside, scooted across, and he got in.

“Like who?” he asked. “Give me a name.”

“Bruce Willis.”

“Is he shaved or bald?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Oh yeah. Shaved you have a choice. Bald you don't.”

“How bald is your dad?” I asked.

“Pretty bald.”

“Bet he's pretty sexy.”

“Yeah, and what do you base that assumption on?” His grin was cocky, almost a dare.

And I almost responded with “you.” But that would have taken the flirting to a whole new level, and I wasn't even sure that I should be flirting.

Instead I looked out the window as Tank drove along the street. “Looks like it's gonna be another scorcher today.”

It was my dad's equivalent of Mom's “I think I left the iron on.” A detour in the conversation.

Brady laughed and leaned back in the corner. I could feel him studying me, and I wondered what he was thinking. The easiest way to find out would be to ask. But I didn't.

 

We couldn't find a parking spot near Café Du Monde, so we parked several streets over and walked. Although it was early, people were queued up on the sidewalk. A very small portion of the restaurant was indoor seating. Most of the seating was outdoors, some beneath a roof, some beneath a large green-and-white striped canopy.

As we waited in line, Jenna was nestled against Tank's side, and they were doing that quiet talking thing they did. I couldn't figure out how two such tall people could talk so quietly. And Tank wasn't only tall, he was broad. He was wearing a tank top today and the muscles of his arms rippled and when they did, so did the dragon on his shoulder that was peering out beneath his shirt.

“Like his ink?” Brady asked.

“Oh, gosh, I was staring, wasn't I? That was rude.”

He shrugged. “It's an unusual piece. He goes to a guy who does original artwork, so nothing he's ever tattooed on anyone has ever
been put on anyone else.”

“That's cool. I've never heard of that. I thought you just looked in a catalogue and picked out the one you wanted.”

“You can do it that way. But Tank—he never follows the crowd.”

“Do you have any tattoos?” Was that question too personal? If he did, they were well hidden because I hadn't noticed any the couple of times I'd seen him without his shirt.

Brady shook his head. “Nah. Been thinking about it, but I don't know if there's anything I'd want forever. I mean, how do I know I won't change my mind? How 'bout you?”

“I did a temporary one once. A peel-on wash-off.”

He grinned. “How did that work for you?”

“Not too bad, except I got it out of a machine, like a bubblegum machine, and so I just had to take what it dispensed. It was a skull with a snake coming out of the eye socket. Gross. But I was fourteen, and for a quarter, it was a great deal.”

“Where'd you put it?”

“On my wrist.”

He looked disappointed, like maybe he'd been fantasizing about it being someplace really personal. And that made me feel very unadventuresome.

“Hey, I had to put it someplace I could reach,” I explained.

“Very unimaginative,” he said. “Next time you want a tat, I'll help you put it someplace you can't reach.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Like where?”

“Your hip, maybe. Someplace so it just peeks out over the waistband of your jeans.”

I got warm just
thinking
about him applying the tattoo. I couldn't imagine what would happen if he was actually putting it on. I really wanted—needed—to talk about something else.

“So where's Sean?”

“He hooked up with Sara.”

I stared at him. “The psychic?”

Brady grinned. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No, I just”—I shivered—“I don't know if I'd want to be involved with someone who could read my mind.”

“Do psychics read minds?” he asked.

“I don't know. They read something. All that paranormal stuff just seems to mesh together. I don't know if there's a line that distinguishes what a person can or can't do.”

“She seems nice anyway.”

“Oh, well, yeah. I mean, she doesn't seem evil or anything.” Then something else occurred to me. I scoffed and muttered, “She didn't have to leave.”

“Huh?”

“Amber—she, well, she didn't have to leave. If she'd known Sean was interested in Sara—”

“I don't think he was interested. He was just bummed out because Amber left, so we hit some bars last night.” He shrugged. “Sara was at one of them.”

“Oh.”

So had he turned to Sara because he'd been heartbroken? That made me sad. Why did love—or even just liking someone—have to be so complicated?

We finally got to the front of the line. It was an unorganized type of organization, and
I wasn't at all sure how the staff remembered who had been waited on and who hadn't.

As soon as people got up from a table, people sat down at it—mess and all. Then the server would come clean up the mess, take the order, and head over to another table and do the same thing.

“Over here,” Tank said and led us to a just-vacated table.

It was covered in plates, cups, and loads of powdered sugar. We dusted off the chairs before sitting down.

“This is something that just has to be experienced to be believed,” Tank said.

The server came over and began clearing the table. “Order?”

“Two orders of beignets and four café au laits,” Tank said. Then looked around at us. “Any objections?”

“Sounds good,” I said.

Jenna just smiled.

“We're going to be sticky after this, aren't we?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” Tank said. “But it's worth it.”

I couldn't believe how crowded it was. And how fast the servers were taking care of people. Apparently Café Du Monde was a tradition for tourists and locals alike.

The waiter brought over our two plates of the little fried squares of dough smothered in confectioners' sugar. He also set down our mugs of café au lait—half coffee, half milk. It all smelled really good.

I picked up a beignet. It was still hot, very hot, just out of the fryer, and the powdered sugar floated around me. There was a jar of more sugar on the table. Not that I could imagine anyone ever needing to add any to the beignets. I bit into the fried dough. Was it ever good!

We made an absolute mess as we ate, leaving powdered sugar all over our faces, our hands, our clothes, but no one seemed to mind.

I kept sneaking peeks at Brady, only to discover him looking at me. It was starting to get awkward. I was afraid I was sending a message I didn't want to send, like that I was obsessed with him or something—when I wasn't. I wasn't going to let myself be.

Even though it seemed like he might be interested in me. Sean had tried to hook up with Amber, and then he'd hooked up with Sara. While Brady, as far as I know, hadn't tried to get together with anyone except me.

So was he interested?

I was pretty sure he was, but he was keeping it cool. Casual. I thought maybe I could handle that.

Maybe.

“I
'
m sorry your friend left,” Saraphina—oops, she was Sara when she wasn't at the shop—said.

I was in the backyard, sawing off the dead branches of an uprooted tree. The tree itself was dead as well, rotting, and nothing more than an eyesore. But it was also huge. I could imagine the wondrous shade that it had provided for the nearby house. I could certainly use some shade now. It was late morning, and we were waiting for the truck with the lumber and supplies to arrive, filling in the time with odd jobs.

“She just got a little freaked,” I explained.

“Sometimes people do that,” Sara said, picking up scattered smaller branches and tossing them into the wheelbarrow.

I stopped sawing for a moment and took the red bandanna Brady had given me earlier and wiped my brow. When he'd given it to me, it had been wet and cold and he'd wrapped it around my neck to help cool me down. It had felt so good that I hadn't even been bothered that it was such a boyfriend kind of thing to do. Now all the water had evaporated, and I was using it as a towel to mop my face.

“How long have you been able to see things?” I asked.

“As long as I can remember.”

“Do you see your own future?” I thought that would be pretty weird. Would you know what days not to get out of bed?

Hmm. That might be advantageous.

“I see things, but I don't always know who they apply to. Sometimes the visions are stronger when I'm touching someone, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's for that person. It's hard to explain.”

“But the things you predicted, they've all sort of happened.”

“Sometimes I get them right.”

“Do you like being psychic?”

“It has its moments.”

“Have you ever helped the police?”

She laughed. “At least you don't think it's a parlor trick. I tried to help them once, but they're as skeptical as your friend was.”

I placed the saw on the branch and started moving it back and forth. “I think she's an actual believer now.”

“She'll be back here before the end of summer,” Sara said quietly.

I stilled the saw and looked over my shoulder at Sara.

She shrugged. “I see her here, but all this looks less messy.”

“I didn't think you gave free readings.”

“This isn't really a reading. It's just conversation.”

But that didn't make it any less spooky.

“Is she just visiting or coming to help?” I asked.

“That I can't say.”

“You can't or you won't?”

She smiled. “I don't know why she's here. I only know that she's here. And I see someone
else…a guy with black hair. I see things getting broken.”

Chad had black hair, but how could things get broken if he was here with her? That meant everything was fixed. Didn't it?

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

Again, she shook her head.

“I know, I know. You can tell me only what you see, not what it means. You must have been wildly popular at sleepovers.”

She laughed. She had a light, lyrical laugh. It seemed to suit her.

Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around mine. “Don't be afraid to rebuild.”

I started sawing diligently. “Does this look like I'm afraid?”

“No, Dawn, it doesn't. But looks are often deceiving.”

“No offense, but I'd like to have a conversation with you sometime when you didn't tell me the things you were seeing.”

“That would be nice. Normal, even,” she said, smiling.

“Have you ever seen the endings of movies
that you're watching?” Jenna asked as she walked over and handed each of us a bottle of water. “That would be a total bummer.”

She'd missed the rest of our conversation, having gone on another water run. We were trying to drink as much as we could. One girl had fainted yesterday. They called EMTs who had taken her to the hospital. She was going to be fine, but it was a reminder that we needed lots of fluids throughout the day.

“No,” Sara said. “And I don't know any winning lottery numbers or who's going to win the Super Bowl. I can't control what I see. It just happens. Anyway, I didn't come over here to discuss my visions. I'm organizing a group to go on a ghost tour Saturday night, and I wanted to see if you were interested in coming.”

“That would be fun,” I said. I looked at Jenna to gauge her reaction and knew what she was going to say before she said it. Sara's psychic ability was rubbing off on me.

“I'm sort of leaving Saturday night free for now, in case something…well, maybe you already know. Am I going to have other plans?”

“No, you won't have other plans.”

“Oh.” Jenna's face fell. “Then I guess I'll say yes.”

“She could be wrong,” I told Jenna. “Not everything she sees is an absolute.”

“This is,” Sara said smugly.

“So you saw her on the ghost tour?”

“No, Tank told me that he and Jenna were coming. So I was just asking you, Dawn, because I figured Jenna's answer was already yes. Are you interested?”

Was I, or did I want to keep Saturday night open? Open for what? A better offer? I wasn't looking for a date. So what could be better than getting up close and personal with ghosts?

“Sounds like fun,” I said. “I'm definitely there.”

“Good. We'll meet outside my shop at nine.” She turned to walk away, then stopped. “And just so you know—I'll be matching people up into pairs. You'll be with Brady.”

“He's going to be there?”

She gave me a secretive smile. “I'm pretty sure he is. He asked if you were going, so I just assumed…”

Her voice trailed off. I wasn't sure I liked
what she was assuming.

“What if I'd said no?” I asked her.

“I knew you wouldn't.”

“How did you know?”

She smiled all-knowingly. “Because I'm a psychic.”

She could be really irritating, but I liked her.

She walked away, humming a song that sounded strangely like the theme from
Ghost-busters
. Sometimes I didn't know whether to take her seriously. But how could I not?

“She gives me the creeps,” Jenna said, picking up branches and tossing them into the wheelbarrow. “I don't care how nice she is, she gives me the creeps. She just knows too much.”

“At least we have something to do Saturday night.”

“Are you okay with having a date?”

“It's only a date if he asks, and he didn't,” I pointed out.

Jenna held up her hands. “Okay, I guess. It's not a date.”

Still, it felt like maybe it was.

And if it was, could I get hurt?

 

“Ow!”

“Hold still,” Brady commanded—like a drill sergeant or something—as he studied my palm and the large sliver of wood that had slid under my skin.

“You're not the boss of me,” I grumbled.

He looked up and grinned. “That's real mature. I thought only guys were bad patients.”

Just before noon, lumber had been delivered on a long-bed truck. We'd been unloading it, carrying it into the yard, and stacking it up. Brady had been there helping me.

We'd been carrying some boards across the yard when I'd tripped and lost my balance. I'd landed hard, and in trying to not drop the wood, I'd ended up with a wickedly long splinter.

I should have been wearing my gloves. But they were hot, making my hands all sweaty, and I was tired of being hot and sweaty. Stupid, I know. But I'd thought I'd be okay. They'd told us we didn't need to wear our hard hats or goggles while unloading the truck.

It didn't make me feel any better that Brady
had wrapped his hand around my arm and hauled me across the front yard. He'd grabbed the first-aid kit from Sara and then led me to a picnic table where the blueprints for the house had been spread out earlier. He'd set the first-aid kit down. Then he'd put his hands on my waist, picked me up, and set me on the table—like I couldn't have gotten up there by myself.

I didn't even know why I had to be sitting down. I wasn't going to faint. I could probably take out the splinter myself.

I knew I shouldn't be irritated, but I was.

“About Saturday night,” I said.

He looked up again from studying my hand. I didn't think even a palm reader would look at a hand that much.

“The ghost tour? It's not a date,” I told him.

“Okay. I didn't think it was.”

“You didn't?”

“Nope.”

“But you asked if I was going to be there.”

He shrugged—like that was an answer. I suddenly felt bad for being snappish and was
worried that I might have hurt his feelings.

“Look, don't take it personally. I'm just not dating this summer.”

He studied me for a minute, then said, “Okay.”

“I mean, you're nice and all—”

“Nice
and all
? Please. You're going to make me blush with the compliments.”

I scowled. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually I don't. What's included in ‘all'?”

Terrific smile, great shoulders, strong arms—

I shook my head. “You're missing the important part of what I'm trying to say here.”

“You're not dating.”

“Right.”

“But if I get scared on the ghost tour, can I hold your hand?”

I stared at him a minute. Was he teasing? “You're going to get scared?”

“I could. Ghosts. They're frightening.” He rolled his amazing shoulders dramatically. “I get goose bumps just thinking about them.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh yeah. Especially when they help me get babes.”

I smiled. Did he take anything seriously? Other than a splinter in my hand. That he seemed to take way too seriously.

“You don't believe in ghosts,” I said.

“Hey, I believed in Santa Claus until I was seventeen.”

“Really?”

“My mom told me if I stopped believing, no more presents on Christmas morning. So, yeah. I believed.”

“Why stop at seventeen?”

“Got tired of getting toy fire trucks.”

I laughed.

He opened the first-aid kit and took out a pair of tweezers. They looked so tiny in his large hand. Had I ever noticed how large his hands were? How tanned? How steady? How strong?

Was I suddenly developing a hand fetish?

“Do you even know what you're doing?” I asked.

He furrowed his brow. Suddenly he seemed
to realize something. He jerked off his sunglasses and hooked them in the front of my coveralls.

“No wonder I couldn't see,” he said.

He spread my palm wide, shifted around so he wasn't creating a shadow over my hand.

“It's really in there,” he said.

“Let me look.”

“I've got it, but this is probably going to hurt.”

No surprise there. It did.

But as far as hurts go, it wasn't too bad. And I couldn't help but be relieved. I'd been careless. I'd gotten hurt. Just like Sara had predicted. And that irritated me, too. Even knowing the future, I hadn't been able to change it.

Brady poured alcohol over my palm.

“Ow!” I jerked my hand free and waved it in the air to get the stuff to evaporate.

“Sorry.” Then he laughed. “You're such a baby.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.” He moved near, put his hands on my waist, and leaned in. “But that's okay.
Because I have a thing for babes.”

I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just lifted me off the table.

“Be careful. I don't like it when you get hurt,” he said.

“You think I do?”

I stepped away, thinking I might get hurt again—worse—if I stayed close to him. I handed him his sunglasses. We took the first-aid kit back to Sara.

“You okay?” she asked me.

“Oh yeah, just a little hurt.” I smiled. “Which you predicted.”

“I predicted a splinter?”

“You predicted I'd be careless and get hurt.”

She furrowed her brow and a faraway look came into her eyes.

Oh God, maybe the splinter wasn't the hurt. It probably wasn't. It couldn't be that simple.

“Whatever it is,” I said hastily, “I don't want to know. Thanks just the same.”

I started walking away, and Brady hurried to catch up.

“Hey, that was kinda rude,” he said.

“I really don't want to know what she sees. She says things like they're all innocent, but—” I shook my head. “I just really don't want to know.”

 

That night John arranged for us to have reserved tables at a local restaurant and club—for crawfish étouffée and blues music. The blues originated in the African-American community. To me, it sounded as though the notes themselves were melancholy.

As soon as we walked into the restaurant, he snagged Ms. Wynder and led her over to his table. A table for two away from everyone else.

Jenna waved at someone, and I didn't need to look around her to know who she was waving at. I was slightly disappointed when we got to the table to discover it was a small one, with only four chairs. Tank and Brady were sitting in two of them.

Jenna sat beside Tank, then looked at me as if it was a foregone conclusion I'd sit between her and Brady, so I sat. And then wondered if I should have asked Brady if it was okay.

“John reminds me of a cruise director,” Jenna said. “Making sure everyone has something to do.”

Tank nodded. “That's one of the great things about volunteering here in New Orleans. You can work during the day, but party at night. The tourist part of voluntourism. And the businesses here need the tourist dollars as much as the people need help getting their homes rebuilt.”

Then he leaned toward Jenna and they started that low talking that they did. Drew and I hadn't whispered that much to each other in the entire year and a half that we were together.