of scrap lumber. He’d done some miter cuts today, and Gabe had shown him how to mark intended cuts so as not to make a mistake.
“Mark them.” Her son cackled. “Get it?”
She produced a chuckle.
This was Thursday. She hadn’t encountered their neighbor since their Saturday morning confrontation over Watson chasing his horses. Having seen the bone-deep reluctance on his face, she’d honestly been surprised when he’d let Mark come down to his workshop later that same morning. She was even more surprised that he had scheduled appointments thereafter, meaning Mark had disappeared for up to two hours to the neighbor’s both Tuesday and today.
She was trying to keep her distance, but had expressed her gratitude by sending a loaf of freshly baked bread with Mark on Tuesday and a Bundt cake today. Mark had reported an enthusiastic reception for both the cookies and the bread. She asked now about the cake.
“He said you don’t have to send stuff every time.”
“Oh.” Ciara was disconcerted to feel let down. “Does he not like desserts?”
“He had, like, a humongous piece of cake while he helped me with my math.” Lines appeared between Mark’s eyebrows. “So I don’t know why he said that.”
Her spirits rose. “He was probably being polite.”
He stared at her. “Why is it polite to say he doesn’t want your food if he really likes it?”
Ciara told herself it was just the age, or maybe being dense about the games people played in the name of civility was a boy thing. She explained why people said, “Oh, you didn’t have to,” when that wasn’t really what they meant at all. Mark appeared to be listening earnestly, but his expression never cleared.
Her suspicion was confirmed when he said finally, “People are weird.”
Well, yes, they were, but Mark nonetheless had to learn the art of telling polite lies. Right now, if he’d been required to take a standardized test on this particular art, Ciara was afraid he’d score somewhere in the first percentile. He always said what he was thinking.
It seemed like every time she took the phone after he’d spoken to his dad, the first words out of Jeff’s mouth were, “For God’s sake, do you know what he just said to me?”
Um...the truth?
It was surprising how often the truth came out sounding awfully rude.
“When are you going back to Gabe’s?”
“Saturday. Tomorrow he’s going to a house to make measurements for cabinets. I wanted to go with him, but Gabe says I can’t ’cuz it’s going to take him most of the day and he knows I have to do schoolwork.”
“I don’t suppose he often builds cabinets for houses in Goodwater,” she said thoughtfully. She wondered if anyone in this small town could afford him.
“This house is at someplace called Medical Lake. Gabe says it’s called that ’cuz people used to think the lake water cured them of all kinds of diseases.”
In her initial search, she’d browsed houses online in Medical Lake. As in much of Eastern Washington, real-estate prices were staggeringly low compared to the Seattle area.
“There’s sort of a castle in Medical Lake,” she told him. “It was built by an English lord.”
“Can we go see it?” Mark asked eagerly. “Maybe we could go with Gabe.”
She shook her head. “In the first place, he hasn’t invited us. Plus, I think I remember reading the castle has been turned into an apartment house, and there isn’t much to see anymore.”
“You mean, you can rent an apartment in a castle?”
Mark had enjoyed touring Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria, British Columbia, almost as much as he’d liked the natural-history displays in the Provincial Museum there. Craigdarroch, built in the late 1880s, was no more a real castle than the one in Medical Lake—which had probably been built in roughly the same decade, come to think of it.
“I wish he’d let me go with him,” Mark said, sounding sad.
Ciara took a deep breath. “Maybe we should invite Gabe to dinner tomorrow night. Or Saturday, if he’ll be back too late tomorrow.”
“Can we?” He pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. “Can I call him? Right now?”
She hoped this wasn’t a huge mistake. She was torn between discouraging Mark from forming any deep attachment to a man who might lose interest in him any day—and, okay, keeping her own distance for personal reasons—and bribing said man to keep providing something Mark obviously needed desperately.
Something his father would never give him.
“I think this is one invitation that should come from me,” she said firmly. “He needs to know it comes from me.”
“Then will you call him right now?”
“After dinner. Sit,” she ordered.
He sat. From then on, all he talked about was how cool it would be, having Gabe here. He bet Gabe could show him how to make Watson sit. ’Cuz he knew all about animals. Had he told her...?
Oh, Lord. What if Gabe Tennert politely declined her invitation? Mark would be heartbroken.
The phone rang. Once more, Mark erupted from his seat.
“I bet that’s Dad!”
He returned a moment later with her cell phone, his expression downcast. “It’s that man who came out here about the floors.”
She accepted the phone, saying brightly, “It’s still early,” even though she knew damn well Jeff wouldn’t call.
What was she thinking, letting Mark get attached to a man whose only connection to them was a property line?
Even as she greeted the local contractor who was ready to offer a bid on refinishing floors, all she could think about was their next-door neighbor’s slow, deep voice and a face not quite as expressionless as she suspected he wanted it to be.
* * *
CIARA DID LET him call his grandparents that evening, and took a turn talking to them herself. Dad said hello, there was a Mariner game on and gave the phone to Mom, who laughed.
“He started watching so he could sound intelligent when clients commented on games or players or whatever, and now he won’t miss a game. Bridget, too.”
“Bridget?” Ciara repeated. That, she’d have to see to believe.
“You know, if you gave your dad a chance, he could get Mark interested, too.”
Ciara snorted.
Mom laughed again.
“What about you?”
“I
