He answers easily and quickly, because he runs the program. “Three months ago. In fact, we started making calls on applications today.” He pauses. “Why? You tryin’ to pull strings by knowing me?”
At that I laugh, because Rawley doesn’t need me to pull strings for him, and I knew that before knowing he received an interest call on his application. He’s a talented, smart kid. Hell, all of these Colt boys are. “Nah, just asking for a friend. Look, I gotta go but thanks for the answer.”
“Get up here one of these nights for some dumplings and beer,” Atticus says before adding, “until then, later man.”
“Later.” I slide my phone away, and say, “He turned it in three months ago.”
“So he didn’t go behind my back after our talk.” She’s visibly relieved, and that brings me unexpected relief, too. “Thank goodness.”
“For whatever it’s worth, he was good fixin’ that machine with me the other day. Real good. I suspect he’s a fixer. And if he is, the apprenticeship at Wrench Kings will help him develop skills to complement that curiosity, to grow it into something. Make himself a career out of it, even.”
Clara June sinks into the couch cushions, getting comfortable, pulling her knees to her chest. Being this close to her, I’m catching a whiff of bergamot and water lilies, maybe perfume or just fancy fabric softener? Either way, the clean, intoxicating scent has my stomach floppy again.
“He is good with his hands. He always tried to fix things around the house when he could.” She nods to the detached garage out back, the one visible through the screen door. “He’d always be begging Troy to show him how to do things with that old car, but Troy never did.” She picks at the tassled edge of a blue throw pillow. “I really don’t care if he chooses trade school over college, I don’t. I mean, college doesn’t equate to a certain income or type of life, this much I know. But to not take the test would be saying he knows without a doubt that he won’t want to try college in the next few years and I don’t want him to eliminate any possibilities, you know?”
“Sure,” I say slowly. “But if he wanted to enroll in classes at a college at a later date, he could still apply and get accepted. The SAT isn’t absolutely necessary. Some colleges don’t even require it anymore.”
She sits up a little straighter. “Really?”
I nod. “Prestigious schools still use the scores to determine talent, but most schools now have given up on that concept, since the smartest kid can be the lousiest test taker.” I smile ather, because goddamn I’m a smiling fool around Clara June. And she always returns it. And I guess that makes us both smiling fools. “He’d be okay to get in somewhere without it, I’m sure.”
She’s slow to nod this time but she eventually does. “I just want him to see that he’s just as smart as Tanner, that he can do anything he wants if he applies himself.”
“So the test is as much about making him feel good as it is leaving doors open?” I ask her.
After a moment she nods. “Rawley took his dad leaving the hardest, because he was the oldest, and he understood that Troy willingly walked away from him and never planned on returning. He masks it, but his self worth can wobble. And I really think this test would be a little hit of power for him, and sure, still keeping a door open.”
She shakes her head. “I’m rambling about the psychology of my son, the one that isn’t even on your team. I’m so sorry.” Clara June brings her hands together in her lap, clasping them. “I forgot how nice it is to talk things out with another person.” She taps the side of her head. “It’s usually just me and me.”
I don’t know what’s appropriate here, because Clara June’s not my girl, hell, we don’t even know each other well.
Yet.
Still, the words clutter my tongue and I need to purge them. “I’m a problem solver, and an overthinker.” I shrug. “That, paired with how much I enjoy talking to you…” I let the sentence hang for a moment as I try to read her expression. The apples of her cheeks grow bubble gum pink, and that makes me warm and fuzzy right where I don’t need to be warm and fuzzy, not right now at least. “If you ever need to talk through anything, call me, Clara June.”
She tugs the neckline of her off-the-shoulder shirt, but it slips back down again. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Well, maybe not.”
Her face falls.
“You know, because I’d like to believe we’d already be talking on the phone, so you wouldn’t need to call.”
Her smile stretches from ear to ear, and desire twists my stomach, making me clench my gut. “You’re funny,” she says.
“See? Another reason why you should start talking to me on the phone at night. I’ll give you a laugh before bed.”
She dances her brows, and the smattering of freckles melting down the bridge of her nose seem to grow darker when she’s happy like this. “I’m a big fan of classic stuff. Knock knock jokes, a priest walks into a bar, that type of stuff.”
I blow on my nails and make a show of buffing them out against my chest, along my worn lucky flannel shirt. “A priest, a rabbit and a shaman walk into a bar,” I start, earning me a long, breathy laugh from Clara June, a laugh so gorgeous and organic that I tell myself right then and there that I definitely need to invest in my jokes. Anything to hear more of that laugh.
She claps her hands together, steepling them beneath her chin, blue eyes effervescent and wide. “Oh my God, you’re coming through, I love it.” She readies herself for the punchline, crossing her legs on the couch.
It occurs to me while sitting next to her—cushion barrier between us and all—that I could reach over and lift her frame entirely, drag her onto my lap and sit comfortably with her pressed against me. Forcing that image from my brain as best as I can, I deliver the rest of the joke. “The bartender says to the rabbit, ‘what’ll you have?’ And the rabbit says, ‘I don't know, I’m only here because of autocorrect’.”
Her eyes flit between mine for a split second before she erupts into laughter, and I laugh too, mostly just enjoying her, and her reaction. But our focus shifts to the street, which we can see from the large window centering the living room space, behind the couch. Rawley and Tanner pull up, slamming the old car doors.
“Oh good, they’re home. I’m sure you don’t want to hang around here forever, now you can talk to Tanner before you head out,” Clara June says, wiping at the corner of her eye before she leaps off the couch and pulls open the front door, greeting her sons as they enter.
