Her Road Home. Laura Drake
girl whispered in a singsong voice.
If you loosen up, stuff is going to fall out.
Sam gathered her hair into a ponytail with her fist, pulling tight the tender hairs at the nape of her neck. Maybe the pain would wake her up. She’d been in denial. The nightmares were the rumble of thunder, signaling an approaching storm. Now was the time to hunker down—find some shelter.
Because it’s surer than hell gonna rain bad stuff.
She snuck a glance at Nick’s profile. He looked like a bad boy thanks to an unlucky arrangement of features. But she learned today he was really just a small-town homebody. Sweet, but...
Too sweet to get sucked into the funnel cloud heading her way.
A shudder rattled down her spine. She didn’t know what was going to happen when that storm hit, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Nick slowed, and turned at her driveway.
She reached to the floorboard to pick up her bag, before the car stopped. “Thanks for lunch, and for the ride.”
He turned, the questions in his eyes grazing the skin of her face, as if looking for a way in. “I had a good time, Sam. It felt like I’ve known you a lot longer than I have. I’d like to find out why. Can I call you?”
So he’d felt it, too. Usually she didn’t relax so easily. Lunch with Nick had filled more than her stomach. She’d enjoyed him way too much. When had that ever happened to her? Exactly never.
But within her, a harbinger wind whipped the small hope away. She scrambled out of the car. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m going to be really busy.”
“What are you afraid of, Sam? Me?”
“Not you.” She felt her lips twist, but the result probably wasn’t a smile. “We’ve both got things to do, Nick, and my things aren’t in Widow’s Grove. Better to just let it go.”
“Better how? Look, Sam. I know you’re going back to the road as soon as the house is done, and I have no intention of leaving Widow’s Grove, ever again.” He lifted his hand from the passenger seat, turning it palm up. “Doesn’t that make me safe?”
“Safe?” She dropped her hands and stepped away from the car. “I don’t know that word.” She turned to trudge up the drive, hearing the throb of the car’s engine, and feeling the familiar throb of separateness in her chest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAM SPENT A RESTLESS night awash in dreams that were complex and dark. She’d struggle almost to the surface of consciousness, only to be pulled under by another black wave. At dawn, sleep’s undertow pushed her onto the beach of Wednesday morning. Her muscles ached, as though she’d spent the night swimming against the current.
After brewing a pot of coffee, she sat on the front steps to strategize. Once the basic task of keeping the rain out was complete, maybe she’d install a porch swing. How great would it be to sit out here in the morning, watching the cloud shadows shifting over the landscape?
Besides, a swing would add a homey touch. Make it show better.
Later that morning, she drove into the packed parking lot of Widow’s Grove High. Much as she hated it, she had to face facts. She needed help.
The school was a cluster of single-story stucco buildings connected by covered walkways, outlined in flowerbed borders. Her alma mater in Ohio had been a stone block prison in comparison. Heading for the large double doors, she wondered if things would have been better if she’d attended a school like this.
Yeah, right. Like pretty scenery would have changed anything. Now, if you’d never met Mr. Collins, that would have made a difference.
She opened the heavy glass door and stepped into the past.
Amazing how all state-run learning institutions smelled the same: a mixture of old library books, decades of cafeteria food, dust and teenage hormones. She checked in at the office and received directions to the shop classroom.
Sam forced her shoulders back and her chin up, reminding herself that she was no longer a gangly, scuttling misfit. Strange how walking the halls brought back the sharp-edged emotions that memories themselves did not. A tall, awkward, tomboy from the wrong side of town might have skated under the radar of the cool girl clique—if she hadn’t had the audacity to be friends with their boyfriend pool.
Clllannnggg! At the bell, the cavernous hall became a flash-flood river of students. They wore cutting-edge fashions, piercings and blatant attitude. The girls chattered behind their hands about the boys, who postured in studious disregard. Exotic fragrances competed with sweet, immature ones, combining in a miasma of perfume and teenage sweat. Raucous laughter echoed off the cinder block walls and every voice ratcheted decibels, competing. Sam breathed in the youthful energy, the air fairly crackling with a potent mix of potential and angst.
It was one of those rare times when she stood at the edge of a double-sided mirror: on one side was the awkward teen outcast, on the other, a grown woman. A professional. A contractor.
An emotional mess.
She found the correct room number and dropped out of the flow of students.
Maybe so. But at least in one aspect of her life, she’d achieved her dream. A rare bubble of pride rose in her chest.
Dan Porter stood at the front of the classroom in dress slacks and a blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Samantha. You came!” His tone told her he hadn’t been at all sure she would. He hurried over on stubby legs to pump her hand.
The front of the large room was a typical classroom, with chairs in rows facing a blackboard. The back transitioned to a wood shop, with high ceilings and windows marching down one side.
“Class is about to start. Do you have the time to sit in? It would give you an idea of the kids’ knowledge levels. At the end, would you mind talking a bit about what you do for a living? I try to remind them that there will be life after high school. Or am I asking too much?”
Sam chuckled. “What would I expect from a man who prowls home improvement stores, springing on unsuspecting contractors? I’d be happy to talk, but I’m not ready to commit to hiring them.”
“That’s fair enough.”
She slid into a chair at the back as the bell rang. Several students slipped in as Dan closed the door. Sam was gratified to see both sexes represented; she’d been the only girl in her shop classes. The boys had accepted her, once they realized that she took it seriously. The girls weren’t as forgiving.
Dan began the class by asking them to recite the rules.
Smart way to get the kids to buy in to safety.
“I want to introduce Samantha Crozier, a local contractor.”
Heads turned, chairs squealed and the heavy regard of a tough audience settled on Sam. She sat still, squirming relegated only to her stomach.
“Ms. Crozier is going to speak with us at the end of class. You’re free to work on your individual projects, now. Anyone has questions, come see me.”
Sam followed the noisy crowd to the business side of the shop.
Wandering past the floor saws, she stopped to talk to several students. Their projects ranged from simple bookshelves to birdhouses.
One boy was using power tools to carve a long chunk of cedar. Tall and lanky, stringy black hair obscured most of his pale face. Clad totally in black, he had a safety pin through his eyebrow and homemade tattoos etched the backs of both hands. He ignored her, concentrating on his intricate work with a scroll saw.
When he paused, Sam asked, “What is it?”
“A sign for a band I know.”
Gothic