think Iâd be better off just getting on with my life and leaving the past as past?â
âBecause itâs too difficult to talk about?â
âNo, because it wonât change anything. Iâm fine. Iâve always been fine.â
As much as I liked Jane, I hated when she resorted to psychobabble. And I saw through her attempts to put me at ease with her casual stance.
âWhat do you want, Jane?â I asked. âShould I scream and tear out my hair? Do you want me to curse Mom for destroying my chances at a normal life?â
âI donât want anything, Arlie, except for you to have a full, happy life. But youâve lost your mother. You have a new guardian and are experiencing all the normal stressors of teenage life, with the added stressor of being physically different. So, yeah, I think you have some emotions to sort out. Maybe ones you havenât even allowed yourself to feel yet.â
I played with a hole in my jeans, avoiding Janeâs stare. Mom had done the unforgivable in leaving me. And it frightened me to think I hated her more than I loved her.
âI think itâs time for me to be going,â I said. âIâll see you next Friday.â
Before I could leave, Jane reached out and touched my elbow.
âYour mother didnât destroy your chances at a normal life,â she said. âOnly you can do that.â
CHAPTER 9
Frank lugged a bundle of two-by-fours on one shoulder without breaking a sweat. When he saw me, he dropped the wooden planks to the ground and they bounced noisily.
âHow was school?â he called out.
âItâs Monday. Whatâs there to say?â I mumbled and made my way over to the Airstream trailer.
âItâs Monday. Whatâs there to say,â he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. âGet over here and tell me how your day went.â
He sat down on the edge of the smooth concrete foundation. I sat down beside him and offered him the rest of the water in my Nalgene. He downed it and wiped droplets from his thick beard.
âItâs a warm one for April,â he said. âYou wearing sunscreen?â
Both he and Mo were overprotective of my burn scar. Or maybe being a redhead made Frank unusually concerned.
âYes,â I said. âWant to inspect the tube I have in my backpack?â
âYou donât always have to be a smart-ass.â
I shrugged.
âHey, I borrowed that new Karen Russell book from your room,â he said. âIâm sure youâre probably working on several others.â
He was right. I usually had four or five books going at once. If I got bored with one story too easily, I liked to have choices. And since we didnât have a TV, I was reading more than usual lately.
âYou almost done for the day?â I looked at the chaotic construction site. No matter how cluttered it seemed, by the end of each day, Frank always had his tools in order and locked away in a storage shed. Scrap materials found their place into the dumpster.
âIâm going to finish framing this wall and then Iâll cook us some supper.â He slapped his thighs with both hands and returned to his woodpile.
Besides recognizing his voracious appetite for books and an aversion to razors, I still knew little about my uncle, but we felt more and more comfortable around one another. He usually said what was on his mind, which kept things real. Sometimes too real.
âCan I do anything to help?â I asked. âChop something?â
âAlready done that,â he said. âRelax or read.â
I shielded my eyes and continued to watch him work. He assembled two-by-fours into a grid on the foundation. Within forty-five minutes, he had another wall lifted and braced into place. Heâd designed the house himself. In fact, heâd drawn and redrawn the plans over and over for the past twenty years. He said heâd never gotten around to building
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley