Page 90 of Keepsake
I shrugged, not wanting to talk about it.
Kieran had to pipe up then. “Lark giving you heartburn? Now that I think about it, you’re smarter than all of us. You went twenty-three years without girl trouble.”
My chest tightened, and I was seconds away from dropping the ax and walking away.
“What does she want from you?” Kyle pressed.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.”
“Hey, Griffin!” Kyle yodeled. “C’mere. Zach has woman troubles!” Of me, he asked, “Was she just looking for a quick round of fun? That happens sometimes.”
Lord, that was all I could take. Dropping the ax, I said, “It’s not like that.” It wasn’t, either. In my gut I knew Lark wouldn’t just toy with me. Something was wrong, and she wouldn’t tell me what.
Oblivious to my discomfort, Kyle followed me. “Then how is it like?”
Ugh. Spilling my guts to him wasn’t on the agenda. “I thought we could be together. But she thought differently.”
“So she fucked you and then abandoned you? That’s cold.”
“You know,” Kieran put in, “women have been getting that treatment since sex was invented. You’re the rare dude who’s getting a taste of that medicine.”
My answer came through gritted teeth. “I knew I was special.”
“That’s a tough break, man,” Kieran said with real sympathy. “You want to get drunk later?”
“Now that you’ve had your first breakup, you might as well drink,” Kyle suggested. “Comes with the territory.”
“Shoo, morons.” Griffin waved his cousins away and picked up the ax. “Don’t listen to those two,” he said, lining up his own whack at the tree. “On the subject of women, they’re as useless as tits on a boar hog.”
Griff swung, and I watched the ax bite into the pale yellow wood. “I don’t know what’s troubling her, and it’s killing me.”
Griffin swung the ax again, dislodging another chuck of wood. Then he knocked the wood chips out of the cut with a kick of his boot. “I told you already. Lark is too raw right now to make good decisions.”
My heart sank. “She’s pushing me away, so I can’t even help.”
“Give it time, Chewie.” He clapped me on the back. “That’s something you can give her, right?”
“She’s going back to Boston.”
“Boston’s not that far away.”
“That’s not the song you were singing last summer.”
Griff’s face fell. “I know you’re having a rough time. But so is she. If you really care about her, you gotta hang in there.”
“I’ll try.”
“I know you will, because you feel it deep. Here.” Griff patted his own chest. “Trust me when I say it’s never the wrong thing to put yourself out there. I know you don’t trust people very easily.”
“Sure I do,” I sputtered.
Griff raised a bushy eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh. That’s why none of us can get a straight answer out of you when we try to talk to you about the GED program or the job for Maker. You want Lark to open up to you, right? But something scared her so bad she can’t do it. You of all people should understand.”
I just sort of stood there, choking on this idea, glaring at him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Yeah? Then why do you look like you want to puke every time someone asks you what you want to do with your life? Nobody is going to give you the boot, Zachariah. I like seeing your face every day, and you have this job as long as you want it. You can stay in my bunkhouse until you’re Grandpa’s age if you want, and then my kids will probably make you move into the farmhouse.”
Griff handed me the ax, and I took it, dumbstruck.
