to Kat’s sister. One set of grandparents. Three of Lucky’s male cousins. An uncle on his father’s side. His neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wong, from across the street. Two kids flying paper airplanes. And the tiny black dog that I saw running around the boatyard office that day I walked by their window …
“This is Bean the Magic Pup,” Lucky tells me as he crouches near the small ball of fluff and scratches him behind one ear.
“Why is he magic?”
“We found him roaming around the boatyard, and no one claimed him, and my mom kept feeding him.… Go on—pet him. He doesn’t bite, but he is super gassy. That’s his magic power.”
“Ah, pass,” I say, holding up my hands and chuckling.
“Still scared of dogs?”
“Not scared.”
“Ever since that Doberman, when we were nine. The one by the school.”
“I hated that dog,” I admit. “It’s not that. I don’t know … I’ve just never been around any. Not up close and personal.”
His nose crinkles. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure? Never?”
“A few cats at some of the small bookstores that my mom’s managed, but no dogs. I’ve never really had a pet. Never been anywhere long enough, I guess.”
“Well, if you ever want to practice dog ownership, Bean is happy to oblige. And the good thing is, he’s got a short attention span,” he says as the dog scampers off, tongue lolling as he chases a paper airplane. “Come on. Let’s eat before someone else corners us.”
We pile plates with food—a mishmash of everything from spanakopita and moussaka, to pork egg rolls from Mr. and Mrs. Wong, and not one, but three kinds of potato salad—and find an unoccupied table. It’s a little awkward between us while we eat. We don’t have much to say, and it’s so noisy … so much going on in the small backyard. Conversations. Laughter. And it continues like this until one of his uncles—George, who is a little tipsy—trips over a water sprinkler. Thank God, because it attracts everyone’s attention, and Lucky finally breaks the awkward silence between us, reminding me of funny stories about Uncle George embarrassing himself at other Sunday dinners.
“You hate this,” Lucky suddenly says, toying with the tab on top of a can of grape soda. “Being here. You were worried about being here today, and I said it would be okay, but now you’re not talking, so I’m pretty sure you hate it.”
I think for a moment. “You know what? I actually don’t. It’s just that I forgot what it’s like. I’ve been used to just me and Mom. It’s been weird since we’ve moved back here for Evie to be added into the mix. Not bad-weird. Just …”
“An adjustment.”
“Yeah.”
“This is my normal,” he says, gesturing toward the yard. “Always loud, always people coming and going. At home. At the boatyard … You may remember that my dad also has two sisters and a brother, and they all moved into town two years ago, so I have a million cousins. Someone’s always needing something. Money. Help. Attention. Sleeping on our couch. Dinners. Errands. Favors. Drama. Babysitting … I get so tired of all the chaos. I would kill to have the kind of refuge you have there. That’s my dream—living above the Nook? That seems amazing.”
“Seriously?”
“Hell yeah. Why do you think I love coming in there? One of the few places I can enjoy some peace and quiet and get away from my family.”
“You haven’t recently, you know. Been in the bookshop. Not since …”
“Well,” he says, shrugging as he pushes his plate away. “Been a little busy, chartering boats and whatnot.”
“And whatnot,” I say, smiling. I’m just happy that we’re talking, and it’s not awkward like it was when we first sat down to eat.
He glances over his shoulder, then says, “Hey. Wanna see something?”
“Are you going to show me where the bodies are buried?”
“I’d be surprised if there weren’t at least one.” He gestures with his head, and I silently follow him around the edge of the yard, through a pair of tall bushes, and into a side door that leads into the detached garage, where he flicks on an overhead light that takes a second to illuminate the dark space.
I look around while he closes the door behind us, shutting out the din of the backyard. It’s a one-car garage with no car parked inside, same as it always was when we came in here to play games on rainy days. But that’s all that’s the same.