proposals on YouTube, but I wonder about the ones that go bad—the ones that never get posted.
Frank led us to an immense boulder on the east edge of the lawn, one of countless granite outcroppings all over the place that give Granite Bay its name. We climbed up and sat down. The granite felt nice and cool against the back of my legs. I’ve always liked Indian Rock, as my little brother used to call it. When we were little kids we’d come up here and try to pound acorns on the granite.
The excited gleam in Frank’s eye made me nervous for Lisa. I’d hate to be proposed to in front of other people, even if my answer was going to be yes.
“It’s been ages since I had a Friday night off,” she said. “I’m usually working while everyone is playing. This is great.” She leaned against Frank and laughed. She had no clue what was about to happen.
J.D. sat down next to me. He’d exchanged his empty martini glass for a bottle of beer. That was a surprise. I thought he wanted to leave. Brad must have talked him into staying. He almost set the beer down in a hole.
“Watch out!” I grabbed his wrist.
“What the what?” He frowned at the hole and ran his hand around its inside wall. “Wow. This looks man-made.” It was about five inches across and cylindrical.
What can I say? The sound of his voice was like hot molasses, quiet and strong, with an edge. He had far more self-confidence than I’d expect in someone out of work for three years. It seemed he could stay calm at the center of hell.
“More likely woman-made,” I said. “They’re called mortar holes. Hundreds of years ago, they were worn into the granite by Maidu Indians grinding acorns into meal.”
J.D. looked around. “And the acorns must have come from all these oak trees. That’s cool you know that.”
“We learned about it in grade school. It’s part of our local history.”
“History.” He nodded. “Brad says you’ll be studying the Maidu up at the dig. A three-week vacation must be nice.”
“But didn’t you just come off a three-year vacation?” I said. His face went red, and I felt like a jerk. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “That was a shitty thing to say. Three years out of work is no vacation.” I was such an idiot.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Trust me. It’s not that big a deal.”
“No, really. I know what it’s like to struggle.” I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “People think I have money because I have this house, but it’s not what it looks like.”
“Is this where you grew up?” It was so great he didn’t judge or try to make a clever comment.
“My mom did. This was her parents’ house. I grew up in Loomis, close to the vet where Frank works, actually.” I never told my story to strangers, but with J.D. it wasn’t like that. I felt like I’d known him all my life. “My niece and I moved in here with our grandma six years ago. I was seventeen and Stacey was twelve.”
“Where were your folks?”
Crap. I’d gone too far. Opened the wound. “They were…” We’d come to the edge of things I never talked about, and I’d led the way. “They died.” Please don’t ask about it. Please don’t ask.
I spread my fingers and pushed my palms against the granite to keep my hands from clenching. J.D. reached over and gently covered my left hand with his.
“I’m sorry,” he said. I was relieved he didn’t press me to say more.
I inhaled and held my breath and exhaled. I wanted to lean against his arm. It was hard to remember we’d only just met.
“Stacey’s great,” I said. “My niece. She’s away on her high school graduation trip. About a year after we moved in here, my grandma died. See the wisteria blooming at the kitchen window? When my mom was in high school, she and my grandma planted those vines. Grandma told me the hardest thing for her after Mom died was the next spring when the wisteria bloomed. I think she died of a broken heart.”
“That’s
Frank led us to an immense boulder on the east edge of the lawn, one of countless granite outcroppings all over the place that give Granite Bay its name. We climbed up and sat down. The granite felt nice and cool against the back of my legs. I’ve always liked Indian Rock, as my little brother used to call it. When we were little kids we’d come up here and try to pound acorns on the granite.
The excited gleam in Frank’s eye made me nervous for Lisa. I’d hate to be proposed to in front of other people, even if my answer was going to be yes.
“It’s been ages since I had a Friday night off,” she said. “I’m usually working while everyone is playing. This is great.” She leaned against Frank and laughed. She had no clue what was about to happen.
J.D. sat down next to me. He’d exchanged his empty martini glass for a bottle of beer. That was a surprise. I thought he wanted to leave. Brad must have talked him into staying. He almost set the beer down in a hole.
“Watch out!” I grabbed his wrist.
“What the what?” He frowned at the hole and ran his hand around its inside wall. “Wow. This looks man-made.” It was about five inches across and cylindrical.
What can I say? The sound of his voice was like hot molasses, quiet and strong, with an edge. He had far more self-confidence than I’d expect in someone out of work for three years. It seemed he could stay calm at the center of hell.
“More likely woman-made,” I said. “They’re called mortar holes. Hundreds of years ago, they were worn into the granite by Maidu Indians grinding acorns into meal.”
J.D. looked around. “And the acorns must have come from all these oak trees. That’s cool you know that.”
“We learned about it in grade school. It’s part of our local history.”
“History.” He nodded. “Brad says you’ll be studying the Maidu up at the dig. A three-week vacation must be nice.”
“But didn’t you just come off a three-year vacation?” I said. His face went red, and I felt like a jerk. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “That was a shitty thing to say. Three years out of work is no vacation.” I was such an idiot.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Trust me. It’s not that big a deal.”
“No, really. I know what it’s like to struggle.” I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “People think I have money because I have this house, but it’s not what it looks like.”
“Is this where you grew up?” It was so great he didn’t judge or try to make a clever comment.
“My mom did. This was her parents’ house. I grew up in Loomis, close to the vet where Frank works, actually.” I never told my story to strangers, but with J.D. it wasn’t like that. I felt like I’d known him all my life. “My niece and I moved in here with our grandma six years ago. I was seventeen and Stacey was twelve.”
“Where were your folks?”
Crap. I’d gone too far. Opened the wound. “They were…” We’d come to the edge of things I never talked about, and I’d led the way. “They died.” Please don’t ask about it. Please don’t ask.
I spread my fingers and pushed my palms against the granite to keep my hands from clenching. J.D. reached over and gently covered my left hand with his.
“I’m sorry,” he said. I was relieved he didn’t press me to say more.
I inhaled and held my breath and exhaled. I wanted to lean against his arm. It was hard to remember we’d only just met.
“Stacey’s great,” I said. “My niece. She’s away on her high school graduation trip. About a year after we moved in here, my grandma died. See the wisteria blooming at the kitchen window? When my mom was in high school, she and my grandma planted those vines. Grandma told me the hardest thing for her after Mom died was the next spring when the wisteria bloomed. I think she died of a broken heart.”
“That’s
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