Jake
It’s stupid. It’s stupid. It’s stupid.
But I’m doing it anyway.
Mrs. Lowe looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Are you sure, Jake?” she asks.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Lowe.”
“Well, I know you don’t need—”
I cut her off. “I have to do something over the summer to keep me out of trouble. May as well be this!”
She smiles at me and when she does, I see Em in her. They have the same eyes—the kingfisher blue of Crater Lake. “Well, okay, then,” she says. “We sure need the help.” She glances around the store with a little sigh, but it’s big enough for me to guess that the business isn’t doing so well. It makes me wonder how they ever managed to buy my uncle out, not to mention how they’re keeping afloat during the nine months of the year when it rains in Bainbridge and the kayaks sit empty.
I didn’t recognize Mrs. Lowe at first. Her hair’s gone completely gray. But she recognized me the minute I walked in the door. She even darted out from behind the counter and hugged me for about five minutes, squeezing me so tight I thought I’d need a crowbar to pry her off me. I was kind of happy for the hug, especially after the reaction I got from Em.
“Does Emerson know you’re back?” her mom asks me now, and there’s no hiding the note of anxiety in her voice.
“Um, yes,” I admit.
Mrs. Lowe shakes her head. “That’s funny, she didn’t say anything.”
“Well, I’m not sure she’s my biggest fan.”
Mrs. Lowe smiles softly, a little regretfully, and then pats me on the arm. “She just missed you, Jake, that’s all. We all did.”
I clench my teeth together. “I didn’t want to leave, Mrs. Lowe . . . ,” I say, a little more forcefully than I mean to.
Mrs. Lowe says nothing. I glance at her quickly. My throat feels dry. How can she not hate me?
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask.
“That’s what you’re here to find out, isn’t it?”
I open my mouth to answer her, but the door behind me pings. “What’s going on?”
Em’s standing in the doorway, wearing the hell out of her wet suit. She’s glaring at us as though she’s just caught us robbing the store.
“Why are you wearing that?” Em asks me, staring at the T-shirt I’ve got on. Her eyes, flashing with fury, dart to her mother.
I take a step backward. Stupid. I knew this was a stupid idea. I should have explained to Mrs. Lowe what Em’s reaction was to me yesterday. But if I had, she wouldn’t have said yes.
“Because I offered Jake the job,” Em’s mom says before I can get a word in. “He’s an employee now.”
Em’s eyes fly to the LOWE KAYAKING CO. T-shirt I’m wearing. I give her a massive grin, but inside I’m busy calculating my escape route.
“Listen,” I say, turning to Mrs. Lowe, my hands gripping the bottom of the T-shirt, ready to strip it off and hand it back. “Maybe this isn’t such a—”
Mrs. Lowe cuts me off. “Emerson, you know we need help, and Jake’s perfect.”
Em’s eyes go scarily round. Her nostrils flare. We’re entering the danger zone here. I feel like warning her mother to take cover, maybe pulling her behind the counter for shelter.
“Perfect?” Em says, her voice the sound of a whip.
“Yes,” her mother answers. “You can’t manage all this by yourself.”
I wince. Bad move. Never tell Em what she is or isn’t capable of.
“I have Toby to help.”
“Toby’s only meant to be part-time.”
“I can work extra hours.”
“You know that’s not possible.” Her mother glares at her, reminding me exactly where Em gets her stubbornness from.
Em’s jaw pulses like it’s going into spasm. I back away, remembering the damage she did to Reid Walsh that time on the ice, and there are way more weapons on hand here than there were back then. My gaze lands on a row of steel fishhooks hanging on a rack just to her left. I hope to God she doesn’t notice them.
Em glares at me and I ready myself for the fury that’s about to be unleashed, but . . . There’s no fight in her at all. Her shoulders slump. She turns and walks off, through the open door, not even slamming it behind her. I frown in astonishment. That’s the first time I’ve seen Em back down from a fight. Ever. Some things have changed, then.
“Don’t mind her,” Mrs. Lowe says.
“Maybe it’s better if I just leave,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m sure you can find someone else for the job.”
“No,” Mrs. Lowe says quietly. She’s staring after Em, who is visible in the distance, striding down to the shoreline. “The job’s yours, Jake. Emerson will come around.”
I turn fully to face her. “You think?” I ask. I’m starting to doubt my so-called epiphany that I had this morning in the shower, remembering the HELP WANTED sign in the Lowes’ store window.
In my head, it sounded ideal: eight hours a day in a confined space with Em . . . She’d have to talk to me. We’d have to work things out. It might take a day or two, but eventually we’d talk and figure things out and go back to being friends.
I let out a sigh.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time.