The Eight Year Ledger novel · Chapter 14 of 32

Chapter 14: First Night

"Four thousand one hundred and forty dollars," I said.

"By January fifteenth."

Beau nodded at the number.

"Have it at the store."

"Have what?"

"A bake sale. Saturday, January tenth. Out front on Main, and inside where it's warm."

He ticked off the points on his fingers.

"Free coffee. Dottie runs a rock booth. I put twenty percent of the day's register in the jar."

"You can't afford twenty percent."

"You'd know. You do my books."

"That's why I'm saying it."

"Fifteen," he said.

"Ten."

"Twelve, and I pick the music."

"Deal," I said, and we shook on it over the fund statement.

His hand was warm and rough, and he held on one second longer than a handshake.

We planned it for three weeks.

At his counter, between customers. At my kitchen table, with the kids drawing flyers on the floor.

Dottie's flyer said ROCKS 25 CENTS, SCIENCE IS FREE.

Gabe's said HELP US SEE THE PLANETS, with a bus that had nine wheels.

On the first Saturday in December, Todd brought Gabe back at four exactly.

He'd started being exact since the judge.

At five, Beau texted.

Dinner here? Kids want a fort. I have chili and no plan.

His house was two blocks behind the store, a narrow brick place that had been his father's.

Every door in it closed perfectly.

Every hinge was quiet.

The kids took every blanket in the house and built a fort across the living room, over two kitchen chairs and the couch.

Beau made chili and cornbread.

I made a list on the back of a flyer of everyone who'd promised to bake.

Dottie checked the list and added her own name four times.

By nine, the kids were asleep inside the fort with a flashlight still on, Gabe's sock foot sticking out of one end.

Beau turned off the flashlight and put a pillow under Gabe's head.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him do it.

Something in my chest turned over and stayed turned.

He came back into the kitchen and started on the dishes.

I picked up a towel.

We worked side by side at the sink.

He washed. I dried.

It was so ordinary it hurt.

"Thanksgiving was weird," I said.

"Weird how?"

"I made a turkey for two. Gabe ate the rolls. Then he asked if we could have chili with you instead next year."

Beau handed me a bowl.

He didn't let go of it.

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I'd ask."

"So ask."

I took the bowl.

I set it on the counter.

I put the towel down beside it.

Then I took hold of the front of his flannel shirt with both hands, and pulled his head down, and kissed him.

He made a sound against my mouth like he'd been hit.

For one second, he didn't move.

Then his wet hands came up and held my face, and he kissed me back.

It wasn't careful.

It was five weeks of the porch step and the foam screw and "I can count."

He kissed me until my back was against the refrigerator and the magnets were sliding off it.

A flyer fell. ROCKS 25 CENTS.

His beard was soft. His mouth wasn't.

I had my hands under his shirt, on his back, and he was so warm I wanted to climb inside it.

"Kristen," he said into my neck.

"I know."

"The kids."

"Are asleep in a fort."

He pulled back far enough to see me.

His eyes were dark, and his chest was going up and down.

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