Page 99 of Friends Don't

“Spit it out, Nelson.”

At my tone, Rose grabs my hand. I click the speaker phone button so we’re both listening.

“She had an accident.”

“Is she okay?” I ask at the same time as Rose says, “What kind of accident?”

“Um, uh…she’s on her way to the ER—in an ambulance,” he not so helpfully adds.

I press hard against the bridge of my nose. “Nelson. Tell me what happened. How is she hurt?”

“Likely concussion. Possible skull fracture. She hit the edge of the railing.”

My breathing is erratic. “Why aren’t you with her?”

“I, uh, don’t think she’d want me to be. But she was unconscious. I called 9-1-1. I didn’t—”

Rose clicks the phone off. “I can’t with him.”

I nod. “I’m booking a flight.” I pull up the airline’s website as guilt rips me in two. I can’t believe I’m not there. My baby sister needs me, and I’m an entire country away.

28

Emo Email

Mack

I’mblastingmyCelineDion Spotify station like it’s a national anthem.

And maybe it is.

Heck, I’ll be the one to love Poppy more if she’ll let me, and judging by that very public display of affection, I think she’s going to let me.

Could Ibeany more thrilled?

No. No, I could not be.

Also, I think if I hire Poppy to kiss me every day at lunch time, I will increase my afternoon’s productivity by a solid fifty percent, because I amcruisingthrough this work.

I’m finishing up installing the electrical outlet and switch boxes at a multi-unit complex. It’s a menial task, sure, but it still feels good to get it done. I could have left it for my apprentices to take care of on Monday, but I want to stay on schedule, and I’ve made it a point not to have my employees do anything I’m not willing to do. The truth about running a small business is if you’re not willing to get down and dirty, then you’re not going to be successful.

This week, getting down and dirty means working on a Saturday afternoon, making sure all the electrical boxes are roughed in.

I stand up from where I drilled in an under-the-counter outlet box in what will become the kitchen of this apartment. My back aches. I wonder if Poppy would be up for a late-night trip to Wool Beach for a relaxing swim. The water is still comfortable, considering the August temperatures will not quit.

Movement in my periphery catches my eye. Holland’s car is tearing down the road. Looks like I’ll be able to ask Poppy out on a proper one-on-one date sooner rather than later.

I start collecting my tools, tossing them into my toolbox and tidying up the workspace. When I hear the car door slam, I make my way through the framing to the front of the building.

I’m grinning like an idiot, but when Holland’s figure appears through the glare of the late-day sun instead of Poppy’s, my cheeseball smile falls away. He must've grabbed his vehicle from the duplex.

“Mack, hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

Holland looks affronted. “What, I can’t come see my big brother at work?”

“You know what I mean. You’re on tour. Why aren’t you golfing somewhere?”

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