He sat up. “Yes?”
“Would you be willing to provide care at the emergency medical care station during the Turkey Trot in November?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’d be fine. And I can ask the hospital about donating supplies as well.”
“Great.”
He’d been hoping to run, but this was okay, too. He could run the Bunny Run in the spring or go up to Portland to run the marathon. Plus, maybe Ainsley would get a blister or something, and he’d have to touch her gently and comfort her. This is getting out of hand . . .
“Hey”—he nudged his sister—“you want to work the booth with me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Aw, come on. It’ll be fun. You can give the lollipops and stickers to the kids who fall down.”
“No, thank you.”
Maggie was only here because their mother had made her come. She had little interest in town life and no interest in medicine. It wasn’t even a fraction, it was a negative integer. In a family that already had three doctors and a physical therapist in it, folks tended to view that as surprising. So far, the only things that interested her were fantasy novels, video games, and cosplay. He imagined she’d have her own Etsy shop before too much longer, selling capes. Kyle frowned; it was hard enough getting to know his sister when she was so much younger than he was. He used to wish they were more alike; now he just wished he understood her better.
“Mags,” he whispered again.
“What?” she asked, exasperated.
“What kind of cookie are you going to get?”
“Kyle. Leave me alone.”
“But I’m a grown-up. I can’t get away with reading at the town meeting.”
“And that’s my problem why?”
His mother elbowed him, and Kyle resigned himself to listening to the meeting.
“The Save Our Bridge campaign kicks off tonight, and all the proceeds go directly to saving the Manfield bridge. The county seems to think that it’s a hazard, but if we can raise the money, they’ll allow us to retrofit it and save this piece of Timber Falls history. We’ve made T-shirts to create awareness, so let us know what size you’d like, and it’s twenty-five dollars apiece.” Councilman Rogers held up the shirt, which had “S.O.B.” printed on it in block letters. No picture of the bridge, no mention of the campaign.
“We’ll take a break now; make sure to sign up when you grab one of Esther Kirschbaum’s peanut butter cookies.”
Kyle edged past his mother, who was talking to Mrs. Price on her other side, toward the center aisle. Ainsley was involved in a conversation with Jennie Wallace, and he took the opportunity to look her up and down, just because he loved looking at her. But his gaze caught on her forearm; that was a nasty scratch. How did she do that? Does she own an animal? He eavesdropped as he tried to figure out which chocolate chip cookie had the most chips.
“What’d you do to your arm?”
Ainsley shrugged. “Build accident.”
“Are you still doing that?” Jennie asked. “Geez, I thought you’d have given that up ages ago.”
“It’s for a good cause. I like spending time with my dad. He likes building. And I’m good at it.”
“Well,” said Jennie, “you’re coming out with us on Saturday.” Ainsley started to shake her head, but Jennie spoke over her nonverbal objection. “Yes, you are. You never do anything. You keep to yourself too much.”
“Just because I’m not with you and the other girls in town doesn’t mean I’m alone.”
“Committees do not count as a social life.”
“And yet, they keep me very busy . . .”
Kyle cleared his throat, which was too full of cookie, and reached for a cup of water. Jennie, attuned as she was to every single male in her vicinity, turned to him.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is Kyle Durand attending a town function voluntarily?”
He gave her a polite nod. “I heard there were cookies and inappropriate T-shirts, and I couldn’t miss that.” He glanced at Ainsley’s left hand: no ring. Maybe it was getting sized. No tan line, either, though. But if it was very new, there wouldn’t be. Or she could be allergic to certain metals.
She smirked at him, but Jennie cocked her head.
“T-shirts? What?”
Kyle glanced at Ainsley; he sometimes struggled with nonverbals, but the obvious twinkle in her eye told him she’d gotten the joke.
“Never mind.” Councilman Rogers was coming back up to the front. “You ladies have a good evening.”
“Wait, Kyle.” Jennie touched his arm. He didn’t care for casual touching, and he knew his face was probably broadcasting that. “Ainsley and I are going to go get a drink tomorrow night at Annie’s. Why don’t you come out with us?”
Usually, work was a convenient excuse not to get dragged to social activities. This time, he was available, but he had zero interest in going to a loud, smelly bar, especially when he saw Ainsley shift her weight and look away uncomfortably. Why is she uncomfortable? Probably afraid that she’d be a third wheel while Jennie flirts with me all night. Not an unlikely scenario.
“I can’t. Sorry.” Councilman Park was clearing his throat up front. Kyle hurried back to his seat, and his mother patted his knee approvingly. “What was that for?”
“You’re talking to young women.”
“So?”
“So I want more grandkids. That’s step one.”
“More? You’ve still got Mags in the house. Just cool your jets, lady.”
“Ugh. No one says that,” Maggie said, shifting away from him so that their shoulders weren’t touching, as if disgusted by being associated with him in any way.
“Radical, Mags. Neato.”
“You’re the worst.” But she was smiling, and Kyle grinned back at her. His mother passed him a clipboard.
“What’s this?”
“Sign-ups for the events you’ve been ignoring.”
Councilman Park was still talking. “There is a single clipboard coming around with several different sign-up sheets, for those interested. There’s one for the Turkey Trot, one for the Habitat for Humanity build that’s happening in Stayton—that’s an ongoing project—and one for the bridge committee. All participants on the committee get a free T-shirt.” Is that how Ainsley got that nasty scratch? It fit with the rest of the discussion he’d overhead between her and Jennie. Building. A good cause. He looked it over. Yeah, it was kind of a long drive, but it was only half a day, and he had Saturdays off this month. He unhooked the pen from the top of the clipboard and signed up for the build.
It was only once he’d passed the clipboard that he remembered that he knew less than nothing about construction, and he’d failed to put down his contact info for the Turkey Trot.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTER SCHOOL, AS WAS her habit, Ainsley walked Aiden and Emily to the Rachel Rutherford Memorial Library in the center of town. Starla hadn’t asked her to, but she knew it made her friend feel better to have an adult with them, and besides, they were sweet kids.
“Big plans tonight, guys?”