Random Acts of Kindness Read Free Page B

uncertainty embarrassed her. She hesitated to ask in case this visit had been prearranged and in the hell that had become her life, she’d just forgotten.
    “I like the pictures.” Jenna stood in the hallway with her sunglasses perched on her head, eyeballing the framed, whimsical charcoal sketches of oak trees upon the walls. “Who’s the artist?”
    “My eldest son.”
    “You’re lucky he draws. My husband sculpts. You can’t walk five feet in my house without tripping over one of Nate’s installations.”
    Nicole mentally scrambled for what little she knew about Jenna. Pine Lake High had been small, but she and Jenna hadn’t really been friends. And though the cancer blog had put everyone in touch again, it gave only hints of everyone’s life through their brief, sympathetic, cheering posts.
    “Could Lucky have a bowl of water?” Jenna gave the dog a nuzzle. “I didn’t dare give him a drop in the car. Sometimes he pees when he’s nervous.”
    Numbly, Nicole led the way toward the kitchen. Eighteen months ago, she’d have been deliriously happy to welcome guests, joyfully enfolding them into her happy, unruffled suburban life. She’d be handing Jenna a stiff drink and asking about her family, trying to coax the woman out of her shell, find out what she’d done with herself, maybe joke a little about that one time they went whitewater rafting and Jenna had surprised everyone by being the first to hurl herself into the water off Elephant Rock.
    Neutral questions only , Nicole thought. If she asked probing questions, then they would ask probing questions, too.
    “So,” Nicole said, choosing her words carefully, “did you call to tell me when you were arriving, Jenna? I’ve been elbow deep in replacing chopper blades, but—”
    “I told Claire to try, but she wanted to surprise you. She also said you’re not so good at answering phone calls.”
    Her breath rushed out of her. So she hadn’t missed a call or an e-mail or a text. She wasn’t completely losing it. “With three kids, the phone’s always ringing. Do you want something to drink? Water? Lemonade?”
    “Lemonade.”
    “I’ll have some of that, too,” said Claire as she joined them a minute later, blinking at the metallic guts of the dishwasher on the floor. “What, are there no cars to reassemble around here?”
    “It’s been a long time since I took apart an engine. This is a lot easier.” Yesterday it was replacing the inner tubes in her bike, and the day before she’d spackled a hole that her daughter Julia had punched into the hallway wall with her lacrosse stick. “It’s less greasy than under the hood of my old Lynx.”
    Claire grinned. “It’s good to see some things never change.”
    Nicole set out a cereal bowl of water for the dog and poured a second glass of lemonade for Claire. “Listen, I promised Lars I’d have this all cleared up before he got back from work and the kids from practice and that’ll be”—she glanced at the antique clock on the wall above the sink, calculating how soon she could gracefully shoo these two out—“about an hour from now. You don’t mind if I finish this while you guys tell me what brought you so unexpectedly to my door?”
    “Of course, Nic,” Claire said, her eyes dancing. “I know we took you by surprise.”
    Nicole laughed as if she hadn’t panicked at all. Then she leaned into the dishwasher and removed a torx screw in the chopper cover.
    Claire added, “Jenna did the same exact thing to me the day before yesterday.”
    Jenna? “Really?”
    “Yup, she just drove down from Seattle and showed up at my cabin and offered to take me and the dog on a road trip for the next three weeks.”
    Nicole paused, more at the number than the news. It’d be three weeks, six days, and ten hours before Noah would be home again.
    “Wow.” Nicole’s voice sounded flat even to her own ears. “I don’t remember what it’s like to be that spontaneous.”
    Claire leaned