Mending Fences. Jenna Mindel

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      Chapter Four

      That Saturday evening, Laura returned from the hospital to find a moving truck parked in the drive. Two men and Jack unloaded boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture into the clean and empty barn. A tall, lanky girl with one long, dark braid sat on the porch swing looking lost.

      Laura parked her car and put up the top just in case it rained. The weather had been hot and humid. She eyed the girl on the porch who watched the movers with annoyance. Poor kid.

      “You must be Jack’s daughter.” Keeping her distance, Laura sat on the top step of the porch. “My name is Laura.”

      “Mine’s Angie,” the girl said softly.

      Sensing the kid’s reluctance to chat, Laura didn’t want to push. She rose to leave, but the stark grief pooled in the girl’s blue eyes stopped her cold.

      “Moving is tough,” Laura quickly said. “My mom’s lived here for thirty-three years. She’s in the hospital right now and hates it. I tried to get her to move into an old folk’s home but she said she’d rather live in a barn. I can’t blame her a bit. Barns probably smell better.”

      She spotted Jack coming toward them. She cringed when she realized the kid had reduced her to rambling. Besides, Laura’s heart went out to her. “Have you seen the inside of the apartment yet?”

      Angie nodded and rolled her eyes.

      Ouch.

      Jack stepped onto the porch, his color high. “Laura, this is my daughter, Angie.”

      “We’ve met. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to fix you dinner, but I’m no gourmet cook. Either of you like macaroni salad and sandwiches?” Laura didn’t know where that offer had come from, but it seemed like the neighborly thing to do.

      Angie shrugged her shoulders. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

      “Come on, Ange, what do you say to Ms. Toivo?” Jack said.

      A teenager living in a barn, even with a cute little apartment, was not a good idea. Angie probably thought her father had taken leave of whatever sense he might possess by moving up here.

      “Please, no need to call me that. Makes me sound like an old lady.” She looked at Angie, hoping Jack didn’t mind that she’d just counteracted his instructions. “Just Laura, okay?”

      “Okay.” Angie glanced back at her dad.

      Jack didn’t look confident about what to do with her, but his eyes narrowed in some form of communication.

      His daughter evidently understood. With a sigh, she rose from the bench swing. “Point me to your pots and pans. I can help.”

      Laura unlocked the door to the kitchen. “Good, because I need all the help I can get.”

      “Ange, you go on ahead with Laura. I’ll finish unloading. We don’t have much more,” Jack said.

      Angie nodded, but her shoulders drooped.

      Laura had heard that junior high girls might as well be aliens. One of the tech guys at work constantly complained about his daughter’s changing attitudes—nice one minute, grouchy the next. She couldn’t blame Angie. Who’d want to move here anyway?

       “Your dad said you lived in East Lansing—anywhere near Michigan State? That’s a pretty college campus.”

      No answer, just a shrug of skinny shoulders as they went inside.

      “Living in the country will grow on you, kind of like mold.” Laura released a nervous laugh.

      No response, not even a hint of a smile.

      Great. Laura set her purse on the kitchen table. “So—” She clapped her hands together. “Are you good with a knife?”

      Angie looked surprised. “I guess.”

      Laura opened the refrigerator. “Let’s see, carrots, cukes, pickles, celery and hard-boiled eggs. You can cut these up into a big bowl. I’ll start the pasta and sandwiches.”

      “Where’s your big bowls?”

      Laura looked through her mother’s cupboards and found some. “How’s this?”

      “Fine.”

      Laura kept busy. She gathered the fixings for turkey sandwiches and then grabbed a pot, causing all the other pans to rattle and spill out of the cupboard. She glanced at Angie. A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of the girl’s lips.

      “Do you live here?” Angie’s quiet voice asked.

      “No. This is my mother’s house.”

      “What’s the matter with her—your mom?”

      Laura heard the slight tremor in Angie’s voice. It still hurt. Of course it did. Laura still felt twinges when she thought of her dad. She filled the pot with water and set it on the burner. “She had a stroke. Her blood pressure’s too high for her to come home yet.”

      “Oh.”

      Laura dumped macaroni into the pot and turned on the gas. She knew Angie watched her every move as she slathered a piece of bread. “Do you like mayo? I didn’t think to ask.”

      “It doesn’t matter.”

      “What do you like to drink? I’ve got milk, Diet Coke and prune juice.” Laura looked at Angie, hoping for a smile.

      Nothing. And then finally, “Milk’s fine.”

      Laura set the table when a hissing sound caught her attention. She turned in time to see bubbling water foam over the rim of the pot and onto the stove. The gas burner flared red. Laura ran to grab the pot, and gasped when she burned her fingers.

      Angie actually laughed. “You put the pasta in too soon. You’ve got to wait until the water boils.”

      Laura finally relaxed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I make macaroni like, never.”

      Angie laughed again. “I used to make macaroni and cheese from the box all the time, but now we get the microwave kind.”

      “I didn’t know there was a microwave kind.” Laura’s meals were either eaten out, ordered in or frozen entrees.

      “Don’t you cook?” Angie asked.

      “I do breakfast. Eggs and toast.”

      Angie shook her head then took over. She fished in a drawer for potholders, grabbed the hot pot and dumped the contents into the colander.