Abby put her bike in the barn. Her dad’s Cannondale sat propped against the wall where she left it; no other bikes. Jack must be gone already. She had set a new record for chasing a guy away.
She stepped in a puddle and looked up to see the cloudy sky through the dilapidated roof. After moving her bike to what appeared to be a drier spot, she sighed. Like any serious biker would want to use leaky storage, even for one night. Probably Lisa’s lame business would fail. Which would mean moving again. Leaving another place that had started to feel like home.
“Hey—Abs, you in there?” Morton shuffled in the barn lugging his bike. “Got yours fixed, huh? Looks okay to me. Want to try it out?”
Abby craned her neck to see if Jack might be coming. “No, I just got back. Maybe later. Lisa needs some help with the guests.”
Morton craned his neck around the empty barn. “What guests?” He started at the sound of footsteps.
Jack wheeled his bike into the barn. He reached out to shake hands with Morton. “I’m a guest—Jack. How’s it going?”
Morton attempted to pull himself up taller, sucked in his stomach, and cleared his throat. “Yo. Great. Morton here.”
Abby hid a smile. “I’ll catch you later, Morton.”
Jack watched Morton leave. “Boyfriend, huh?”
“Seriously? I mean, he’s a friend, a really good guy, but just a kid. He helped me out yesterday when I wrecked my bike. So, are you getting ready to leave?” Abby crossed her fingers behind her back and held her breath.
“I got lucky,” Jack said. “I’m staying for a while. Your mom wants this roof fixed, and I can do it. I’m low on money and need a place to stay. We decided to barter, your new barn roof for my room and board and some spending money. Now I guess we’ll have to get to know each other better.” His smile lit up the gloomy old barn.
Abby smiled back, until a tiny finger of suspicion wiggled into her mind. Just because a guy had innocent blue eyes and killer muscles, it didn’t mean he could be trusted. Had Lisa even checked him out?
Abby left the barn with Jack close behind. She struggled to keep her tone noncommittal. “So, you’re not from around here, are you?”
“I live in Canada, Montréal, actually,” Jack said. “At least for now.”
“You’re Canadian? Where’s your accent?”
“What, you have something against foreigners, eh?”
“Of course not. But it’s just a little weird to have a Canadian so far from home on a bicycle.”
Jack laughed. “I’m just teasing you. I’m from the good ole U.S. of A. I go to college in Montréal at McGill University.”
“College. Got it.”
Abby tossed her damp hair over her shoulder, wishing again that she’d taken more time with her make-up and not been caught in the rain. A college guy around the house would be unbelievable, although she would take it slow until she got to know him better. She dragged her eyes away from his biceps as he spoke.
“I just finished my first year. I’m going for a degree in creative writing.”
“And U.S. colleges don’t have that as a major?”
“Tell you what.” Jack cocked his head and smiled. “You find me a glass of iced tea, and I’ll give you my life story, abridged version. Not that it’s all that interesting.”
“You’re bartering again,” Abby said. “A roof over your head for a roof over the barn, tea for your story. Don’t you ever just do things because you want to or because it’s the right thing to do?”
A shutter closed over Jack’s open features. He scowled, squinting at Abby so the blue of his eyes almost disappeared. They had lost their glimmer, expressionless and dead.
Abby shivered.
“Believe me, I know what’s right and what’s not.” A flush spread across his face. “You think that a guy like me is itinerant and has no scruples? Try some hardship in your life, and see what happens. Someday I’ll be famous, and you’ll understand how much you didn’t know.”
Abby took a step back. “You don’t know anything about me. I’ll get you the tea, but I don’t really care about your ‘life story.’” She stalked toward the house, pleased that she had avoided calling him an asshole. Even though he deserved the title.
Jack followed her and smiled, open and friendly once again. “Wait, I’m sorry. Maybe I’m a little intense, okay? But I’m harmless. Meet me on the porch? I could use a friend around here.” He paused and once again seemed to be appraising her. “Maybe you could use a friend, too, eh?”
Abby considered. It would be a chance to check him out—his information as well as his obvious attributes. He seemed to be the best scenery in town. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be back.”
She went to the house, taking the time to duck in the powder room and brush her hair back into a ponytail, leaving tendrils loose at the sides. It almost looked like a style she had seen in Epic Hair. After adjusting her bra and pulling her tank top a little lower in the front, she tried to smooth her full eyebrows with a finger dipped in water. From the medicine cabinet she grabbed Lisa’s cologne and spritzed her neck.
A pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator, complete with a sprig of fresh mint from the garden, a plate of Lisa’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and she had what she needed. She carried it to the porch on a tray and poured Jack a tall, frosty tumbler, dripping with condensation and clinking with ice.
He raised his glass to her. “À votre santé. To your health.”
Abby pushed the plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies toward him. The aroma of the warm, rich chocolate made her mouth water, but she waited. He ate a cookie in silence, licked his lips, and drained his glass. He set it on the wicker table, careful to place it on a napkin.
“I do believe you’ve earned the full and complete story of Monsieur Jacques Charpentier. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Jacques …?”
“My official name. Here goes. My dad is French Canadian, thus the Jacques, and my mom was American, which is where Jack comes from.”
“Your mom isn’t American anymore?”
Jack shrugged. “She died a long time ago.”
“I guess losing a parent gets easier after a while …”
He gave a dismissive little wave. “It’s been years, I barely remember her. After she died we stayed in this country and I grew up in Erie, right along the lake. Dad’s a U.S. citizen now; he owns a construction business. We specialize in roofing, so the barn repair is no big deal.”
“You have brothers and sisters?”
Jack paused and looked at the floorboards. “That’s a complicated question. The simple answer is one older brother, Etienne—that’s French for Steve. After Mom died, Dad took care of the company, and Steve took care of me. He wiped my nose, taught me to tie my shoes, and to drive, he, well, he just …” He stopped talking and played with a loose piece of wicker on the table edge.
“You live in Erie and go to school in Montréal.” Abby hoped to sidestep what seemed to be a painful memory. Brother Steve must have totally screwed Jack.
Jack shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, right … my story. There isn’t much more to tell. I’m on summer break. Steve used to pick me up when the semester ended. I thought about staying at school; the Beluga and Beer Bike Tour might have been fun. But I decided to go home. I could have rented a car, but the bike seemed like a better idea.”
“A better idea? Really? How far is it?”
“It’s 624 kilometers from Montréal to Erie; that’s around 399 miles. It took me a while, but I needed the time to think and plan, so it all worked out.”
“I can’t believe you rode your bike all that way.”
Jack stretched out his legs. “I ride a lot all year, so I can do around forty miles a day, depending on the terrain. That’s just average, nothing special. The important thing is to be prepared. Rule of thumb is three thousand calories and a gallon of water a day to stay healthy on a long-distance cycle trip.”
“Why didn’t you just stay in Erie? Why come to Pittsburgh of all places? Not even Pittsburgh. Locals call this town Little Boston because it’s so small compared to the Boston in Massachusetts; it’s not even on all the maps.”
“I did spend some time at home,” Jack said. “Usually I work with my dad in the summer. But things there are … difficult right now. He’s angry and sad all the time. I couldn’t stand it for long.”
Abby wanted to ask what made his father so upset, but something in Jack’s voice stopped her.
Jack sat quietly for a moment, eyes unfocused, then continued. “The bike trail goes all the way from Erie to Washington, D.C., and it runs right past your door. That’s why I’m here; I’m headed to D.C. There’s a bike rally on the Fourth of July, and I’m going to ride in it. Even the president will be there. I’m planning to meet him.” He paused, lips thinning in what could pass for a smile. “I’m looking forward to lots of fireworks for the holiday.”
“You mean President Keller? The President Keller?”
“Yeah, President Hartley H. Keller III, in person. Commander-in-chief.” Jack gave a mock salute.
Abby rolled her eyes. “Good luck getting close enough. Security is killer around him, no pun intended. If anyone gets protection, it should be him.”
“It sounds like you respect him or something.”
“Well, of course I respect the president, even if I don’t always agree with him.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, his breathing quickened, and his face flushed.
“Anyway,” she said, eager to change the subject, “you must be in amazing shape, riding all that way.” She let her gaze linger on Jack, dropping her eyes when he caught her. “My dad used to bike, a long time ago, but there’s no way he could’ve made it here from Montréal. He did it for fun, a weekend warrior.”
“He shouldn’t have stopped riding.”
A flashpoint of heat rose in her chest. “Dead people don’t ride the rail trails, do they?” To her disgust, tears ran down her face and dropped onto her jeans, leaving dark spots like a trail of dribbled tea.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled a picture from his wallet. A young man smiled into the camera, black hair blowing in the breeze, dark eyes crinkled at the corners. He held it out to Abby.
She wiped her eyes with a napkin, then took the picture and studied it. “Who is this?”
Jack cleared his throat and blinked several times. “My brother, Etienne.”
“He doesn’t look anything like you. And why show this to me now?”
“Etienne is—was—a Marine, killed in combat. You were right; I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I do know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Someone taken away too soon for all the wrong reasons—someone who means the world to you. It’s almost like I died when he did—and now neither of us has any peace.”
Abby sniffed and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. She picked up her half-full glass of iced tea.
Jack clinked his empty one against it. “To those we’ve loved and lost.”
Abby nodded but didn’t trust her voice. She took a gulp of sweet tea and scrutinized Jack. All concerns about him evaporated in the cocoon of shared loss and grief. She jumped when the screen door banged.
Lisa walked across the porch, patting Jack’s shoulder as she passed. “Hi, you two. I’m glad to see you’re getting to know each other.” She waved and headed for the car.
Abby watched her go. Shouldn’t she be worried about leaving her precious daughter alone with a virtual stranger? Not that having Lisa out of the way would be a bad thing.
She turned to Jack. “I don’t get her.”
“Shh.” Jack smiled, friendly once again. “Don’t worry about anything. She’s being polite, that’s all.”
He leaned over and touched Abby’s hand, just the briefest moment of contact.
She tensed for an instant then relaxed, forgetting about the folded letter in her backpack, Lisa, and everything else. Because at last, someone understood her.