Page 135 of Give & Take

“You too.”

I scrape a hand over my hair, squinting at all the chrome in front of me. “Listen, there’s a bit of a hiccup.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, the vehicle I’ve got here—it only has two wheels.”

“That boy left you a bicycle?”

I nearly cough. “A Yamaha. But possibly just as unlikely to get us both up to Redbeard Cove.

“I’m so sorry, he said he was bringing the truck. He must have changed his mind at the last minute. I should have said?—”

“Have you got your license?”

“My motorcycle license? Yeah, I drove one for years. Nearly gave my mother a heart attack.” Regularly. I felt so bad for her—she called me so many times sobbing every time she heard of any kind of accident involving a bike I’d eventually given mine up. It was fun, but not worth prematurely aging my mom.

“Are there two helmets?” she asks.

I pause. “Lori…”

“Are there two helmets, Raphael?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Then, I don’t see the problem.”

I shut my mouth, trying not to smile. She’s straight to the point, just like her daughter.

“Lori. You’re telling me you’re okay with riding on the back of a motorbike all the way up to Redbeard Cove?”

“Honey, you should have seen the vehicles I’ve ridden in over the past year. With women in labor, no less. A motorcycle with a handsome young man will be a treat. Plus the highway up there is gorgeous.”

She’s right, it is. It hugs the coast in winding curves all the way to the ferry, where it does it again to Redbeard Cove.

I do a calculation in my head—Lori’s not exactly elderly, she’s only 56. 57 tops. I grin and say, “Okay, then, we’re back on. See you in thirty minutes.”

Chapter 37

Lana

“Raph comes home to-niiight, Raph comes home toniiiight!”

The girls sing an echo of what’s been spinning through my brain ever since I woke up this morning. Is it bad I’m as giddy as the two of them?

“Okay, okay!” I say as we clamor out the front door. “I get it, we’re excited!” The girls practically skip down the front stairs, while I glance over at my porch ceiling, where Raph cleaned out the rot and replaced the boards a few weeks ago. I still feel guilty about him doing all that free manual labor, even though that’s the least of what he’s done since he’s been here. He’s trimmed the hedges (that made for several innuendos I had to try hard not to wheeze at over dinner that night), hauled out and driven away all the junk in the basement—broken furniture and baby gear, mostly—and every week, he sorts Mrs. Brown’s recycling.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Brown waves at the girls from her porch as they skip past her front yard. Ipromised I’d take the kids down to the Bean Scene for ice cream before Raph got back from whatever urgent university meeting he had to deal with back home.

I’m still on top of my stairs when she calls over to me, “Where’s that handsome babysitter of yours?” She’s shameless. I’ve seen her peeking out her blinds when Raph mows the front lawn. Debbie Mathers across the street, too.

“He’s out of town for a few days,” I tell her.

“He’s coming back tonight!” Aurora says, jumping up and down over on her path.

“Goodness, Lana, what are you going to do when he heads back to California?”

My eyebrows lift. “How?—”

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