Chapter_12

The project underway was, as far as Rosie could tell, more extensive than painting and hanging shelves. Dylan had pulled the lumber from the pile and laid it across sawhorses in the front yard. Lark moved in and out of the outbuilding with cleaning and painting supplies. All the windows were open.

Jordan pulled out his AirPods and joined Rosie by the window. “They’re still going at it?”

A pickup truck pulled up, and a few people hopped out. Rosie could not help but try to ascertain their genders. She recognized one of them from the general store: buzz cut, tattoos, motorcycle pants.

“Are those all short dudes?” Jordan said. “Or—”

“That’s none of our business,” Rosie said. They all hugged and took turns greeting Justin, who writhed on his back. Then they turned their attention to the garbage pile. The one with a buzz cut pulled a few pairs of work gloves from the bed of the truck and passed them around. Someone wearing overalls and a camouflage baseball cap freed a rusty metal grate from the pile and put it in the back of the truck. Another started amassing old hand tools. The one with the camouflage hat said something that caused the one with the buzz cut to suddenly wrap him in a hug and lift him a few inches off the ground.

“Why are they touching each other so much?” Jordan said. “Also, we’re out of floss picks. Or are they in a box somewhere?”

“I feel like they’re planning to use that stuff.”

“For what?”

“I wish I knew.”

Jordan kissed her on the cheek. “Shower time,” he said.

Rosie was so close to the window her nose touched the glass. Dylan inspected each piece of lumber and methodically removed nails, tossing them into a metal bucket. She plugged a boxy machine into a long extension cord. It roared to life. She sent the wood through the machine, each piece emerging cleaner and more uniform. Next to her, Lark wore rubber gloves and pulled triangular pieces of fabric from a canvas bag and submerged them into a large vat of liquid, which she stirred with a long wooden paddle before pulling out the fabric, wringing it out, and draping it over a clothesline in the front yard. The others grabbed trowels and metal trays and disappeared into the outbuilding.

Sorry to bug you, the family friend said, startling her. Want me to grab some joint compound for you guys?

Rosie frowned at the speaker. “What?”

I could order youWhite Pro-Grade Lightweight Joint Compoundor17 Piece Paint Roller Set—Paint Rollers 9 feet 4 inches, Paint Roller Frame,Paint Trays, Microfiber Roller Cover, Paint Kit for House Painting—

“No,” Rosie said. She hadn’t realized the family friend could communicate between houses. She remembered the floss picks and hoped they wouldn’t be announced to Dylan and Lark.

The group of friends emerged from the outbuilding covered in plaster. Dylan pulled a few beers out of a metal cooler in the truck bed and opened them with a lighter. They all sat around the tailgate, drinking and throwing rocks for Justin to fetch. Rosie tried to think of an excuse to join them.

“Babe?” Jordan shouted from upstairs. “Could you grab me a towel?”

The truck returned every day, loaded with demolition tools. By the end of the week, all that remained in the trash heap were the few things Rosie and Jordan had deemed acceptable and left in the outbuilding, which filled Rosie with shame. Lark had added more indigo-dyed fabric to the line, which Dylan had outfitted with a pulley system.

One evening, from the corner of her vision, Rosie saw movement in the woods. Dylan stood between two trees, gripping the hand of the toddler Rosie had seen on the produce scale at the general store. The sky glowed lavender.

“Beautiful,” Jordan said. He dumped a pot of pasta into a colander.

“Hm?” Rosie said, her eyes still on Dylan.

“Beautiful,” Jordan repeated, and Rosie realized he had his AirPods in. “So I’ll take an action item to look into the HIPAA stuff.” He shook out the colander, added the pasta back to the pot, and popped open a jar of red sauce.

Outside the window, Dylan and the child had emerged from the woods. Dylan wiped her boots at the entrance to the outbuilding and went inside, and the child ran to Lark, who was hanging more dripping fabric to dry. He gave her a brown maple leaf. She lifted him and kissed his cheek several times. A car pulled up alongside them, and the clerk from the general store got out. Lark greeted her at the car door and, perplexingly, kissed her on the lips before passing the child to her. The clerk put the child in the back seat and drove off. Rosie blinked. Had she seen that right? She felt like she had been given a set of clues to solve a complex geometry problem. She replayed all the kisses.

“Good meeting?” Rosie said when Jordan got off the phone.

“Really good. There’s definitely a learning curve. Data privacy laws in this industry are next-level. There’s all the regular stuff, plus HIPAA.” He gave the pasta a stir.

Rosie had not understood Jordan the first time he explained the new app. He’d described it as a healthtech app that would disrupt the family planning economy. When she’d asked follow-up questions, he’d used the words “monolithic,” “on-demand,” and “KPI.” She could feel the window closing on her opportunity to ask for clarification.

“You know what I was thinking?” she said.

Jordan brought out two bowls of spaghetti and handed her one.

“Let’s delete Instagram,” Rosie said. “It’s just a constant stream of advertisements. Let’s unplug.”

Jordan held his bowl of spaghetti in one hand and used the other to take out his phone. “Done,” he said after a few motions.

Rosie deleted hers, too. “I feel lighter,” she said.

“We were out of the good Parmesan,” Jordan said. He topped the pasta with a powdery cheese from a plastic container.

“Did you see that woman who just came by? The clerk, from the general store? I think she’s the mother of the toddler,” Rosie said.

“What toddler?”

“The one Dylan was with today.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“They were just walking around the woods, and then the clerk from the general store came by to pick up the kid. I assume she’s his mother. And she kissed Lark.”

“On the lips?”

“Yes!”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “In front of Dylan?”

Rosie thought about it. “Dylan was inside. But it didn’t have a sneaky vibe.”

“How long was the kiss?”

“Like, three seconds?”

“Like a peck?”

“Longer. More lingering.”

“Show me,” Jordan said.

Rosie got up and kissed him, tasting garlic and tomatoes.

“Huh,” Jordan said. He twirled his spaghetti around his fork. “I think maybe girls are just like that. More affectionate.” He looked up at the ceiling as he chewed, then patted his mouth. “Who’s the father?”

“Of who?” Rosie said, though she knew what he was asking.

“Of the toddler.”

“Maybe there isn’t a father.”

“OK, but...” Jordan gave her a knowing look. “You know what I mean.”

“What?”

“I just wonder who the guy was. Like, a donor? An ex-boyfriend? You’re not wondering about this?”

“No,” Rosie lied.

They ate in front of the TV. Their favorite contestant on the reality show revealed that he’d been the victim of bullying as a child. Kids at school had broken into his gym locker and taken his shoes and socks while he was showering. It was winter, so he’d needed to make the humiliating trek across campus to the nurse’s office wearing goalie gloves on his feet. As he told the story, his girlfriend pressed her cheek against the glowing wall that separated them. “I’m hugging you,” she said, unaware that he had a goatee—one of her deal-breakers.

Jordan cleared his throat. “Wow,” he said. “I’m actually crying!” Rosie turned to him and confirmed that was true. He always felt very strongly for bullied characters. Rosie suspected his sensitivity had to do with his half brothers, who, as far as she could tell, had spent their free time as children torturing him. She squeezed his hand. “You gonna be OK?”

Jordan put his empty bowl on the floor and reclined into Rosie’s arms. “No,” he said dramatically, and Rosie rubbed his chest. “Do we need a palate cleanser? Maybe some dessert?”

Jordan perked up. “I finished the ice cream earlier. What else do we have?”

Hey, guys, the family friend said. Sorry to barge in. Looks like you’re out of range for two-hour grocery delivery, but I could totally order you someIce Cream Cone Multipack Vegan Friendly Two Day Shipping.

“Boo!” Jordan said. “No!”

Gotcha, no worries.

“I’ll go to the general store,” Rosie said. She hadn’t left the house all day. “What are you thinking? Oreos? Ice cream?”

“Surprise me.”

Rosie hadn’t yet gotten used to driving without streetlights. She turned on her brights and saw a deer on the side of the road, its eyes wide and frozen. It leapt into the woods. She gripped the wheel tightly.

The only other car in the general store parking lot was Dylan’s. She pulled alongside it, then backed up her car and took a spot a little farther away. She could see Dylan inside the store, taking money from the ATM. The thought of Dylan wondering whether Rosie had followed her to the store was excruciating, but so was Rosie’s curiosity. She shut off the engine and made her way inside, the door jangling shut behind her. Dylan didn’t turn around, and Rosie pretended not to see her. She took a pack of Oreos from the shelf, then a frosted pint of local ice cream from the freezer. The wall of cold air made her nipples hard. The speakers played “Forever Young.” Dylan had made her way to the register. “And can I get some rolling papers?” she asked. The clerk pulled them off the shelf. The toddler sat on the counter, sucking on a honey stick.

“Roll me one?” the clerk said, briefly refusing to let go of the papers.

“I could have watched him a little longer, you know,” Dylan said. She started rolling a cigarette against the counter.

“Truck,” the toddler said, pointing outside. “Ford.”

“That’s right,” Dylan said, ruffling his hair. “That’s a Ford Ranger.”

“Ranger,” the child repeated.

“He’s obsessed,” the clerk said.

“Subaru,” the child said, turning to the clerk.

“Yes,” the clerk agreed. “I drive a Subaru.” She took the cigarette from Dylan and tucked it behind her ear. “You going to Hank’s?”

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Lark took a divination workshop where she learned how to throw bones, and Hank found some raccoon bones behind his barn, so, you know, big plans.”

“Oh, he’s going to absolutely hate that,” the clerk said. “Wish I could be there to see his face.”

Rosie watched from the aisle as Dylan pushed a fold of cash across the counter, and the clerk slid it back. “We’ll call it even for fixing my car.”

“You sure you can’t dip out early?” Dylan asked, pocketing the cash.

“Well, as you can see, there are other customers,” the clerk said. Rosie’s heart thrummed, and then, to her horror, the clerk continued: “Who would sell overpriced ice cream to tourists if not me?”

“All right,” Dylan said. “Text me. Come by later if you can.” She leaned over the counter and kissed the toddler on the cheek.

“Ford Ranger,” the toddler said, as Dylan turned to leave.

“Oh. Hey, Rosie,” she said, tilting her head.

Rosie allowed the fantasy of an invitation to come and go like a cloud across the moon. Her throat went dry. “I’m not following you, I promise.”

“Looking good,” Dylan said, looking at Rosie.

“What?”

“Your cookies.”

“Oh,” Rosie said. “Yes. We don’t have the most refined palates.”

“Hard to beat Oreos.”

“Milk’s favorite cookie,” Rosie said.

“What?”

“Milk’s favorite cookie. That’s their slogan.” She turned the package around so Dylan could see.

“Kind of presumptuous to give milk a point of view,” Dylan said.

“Well,” Rosie said, and, unable to think of a response, added, “that’s true.”

“OK,” Dylan said. “See you around.” The bell jangled after her. The clerk scanned the ice cream and the Oreos. The child pointed a finger at Rosie. “Who?” he said, turning to the clerk.

“Customer,” the clerk said.

“Customer,” the child agreed.

Rosie watched Dylan pull out of the parking lot. She had already begun replaying the conversation, each time feeling more embarrassed by her part in it.

“I hope I didn’t stop you,” Rosie said to the clerk. She crumpled the receipt and pushed it into her pocket.

“What?”

“From going.”

The clerk looked at her blankly.

“To the divination thing.”

“Oh,” the clerk said. “That’s OK. Thanks.”

Rosie left a 25 percent tip on the touch pad and exited the store, overheated, although the night was cool. Inside the car, she opened the package of Oreos and stuffed two in her mouth.

The only other car on the road came into view ahead of her. She couldn’t see more than its taillights through the dark, but she knew it was Dylan’s truck. She felt some pleasure that they were in sync, turning and climbing together. The wind pushed against the car, the mountains appearing as black shadows beyond the trees. She wished she had said more to Dylan at the store. In her memory, her voice was shrill. “I’m not following you, I promise,” she said aloud to herself in a lower, cooler, and calmer register. “Milk’s favorite cookie.”

She wanted to be closer. She wanted proof that it was Dylan. Her foot grew heavier on the pedal. Soon she was close enough to see that the truck was blue. Dylan looked up through the mirror and held up her forearm, and Rosie realized she still had on her brights. She quickly turned them off and took her foot off the gas, her heartbeat in her ears. When they reached their driveway, Dylan’s truck sped by, disappearing around the bent road, leaving Rosie with the familiar feeling of small, dark loneliness.