“Will you play something for me?”

“Oh, no,” Laurel said, pulling her fingers away from the strings.

“Please? I bet it would make you feel better.”

“Why do you think that?”

He shrugged. “You’re holding it so naturally. Like you really love it.”

Laurel’s hands stroked the neck. “I do. It’s really old. I like old things. They have…history, and stories.”

“So play.” David leaned back, his hands behind his head.

Laurel hesitated, then strummed the guitar softly, making small adjustments.

Slowly her hands transitioned from tuning chords to the soft melody of John Lennon’s “Imagine.” After the first verse, Laurel started singing the words slowly, softly. It seemed like an appropriate song tonight. As her fingers finished the final chord she sighed.

“Wow,” David said. “That was really beautiful.”

Laurel shrugged and laid the guitar back in its case.

“You didn’t tell me you sing, either.” He paused. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. It wasn’t like the way a pop star sings; it was just beautiful and calming.” He took her hand. “Feel better?”

She smiled. “I do. Thanks.”

David cleared his throat as he squeezed her hand. “So what now?”

Laurel looked around. There wasn’t much here for entertainment. “Want to watch a movie?”

David nodded. “Sure.”

Laurel chose an old musical where no one was sick and no one died.

“Singin’ in the Rain?” David asked, wrinkling his nose a little.

Laurel shrugged. “It’s fun.”

“Your call.”

Fifteen minutes into the movie, David was laughing while Laurel just watched him—his silhouette brightened by the television screen. His face was in an almost-smile, and every once in a while he would tilt his head back and laugh. It was easy to forget about everything else when she was with him. Without stopping to think about her actions, Laurel scooted closer. Almost instinctively, David lifted his arm and draped it around her shoulders. Laurel snuggled up against his ribs and laid her head on his chest. His arm tightened around her, and he leaned his head so his cheek rested against the crown of her head.

“Thanks for coming,” Laurel whispered with a smile.

“Anytime,” David said, his lips brushing her hair.

Laurel looked up when the chime sounded on the front door of the bookstore.

She wasn’t sure she had it in her to smile at one more customer. But a smile of relief crossed her face when her eyes found David’s. “Hi,” she said, and set the stack of books she’d been sorting back on the table beside the shelf.

“Hey,” David said quietly. “How are you doing?”

Laurel forced herself to smile. “I’m alive.”

“Barely.” He hesitated. “How’s your dad?”

Laurel turned back to the shelf, trying to blink away her tears for about the fiftieth time that day. She felt David’s hands rubbing her shoulders and she leaned on him, letting herself relax, feeling better—safer. “They’re transferring him to Brookings Medical Center,” she whispered after a few minutes.

“Is he worse?”

“It’s hard to tell.”

David let his cheek rest against the top of her head.

The chime at the front door sounded again, and even though Jen hurried to help the customer, Laurel stepped away and took a deep, shuddering breath to regain composure. “I need to get this done,” she said, picking up the small stack of books from the table. “The store closes in an hour, and I’ve got four more boxes to unload.”

“Let me help,” David said. “Just tell me where they go.” He grinned. “You can be the supervisor.” He took the stack of books from her and rubbed the shiny cover of the top one for a few seconds. “Maybe I could come in and help tomorrow too.”

“You have your own job. You have to pay for car insurance, you told me.”

“I don’t care about my stupid insurance, Laurel.” His voice was sharp and he paused before continuing in a soft, calm tone. “This is the first time all week I’ve seen you for more than lunch or during class. I miss you,” he said with a shrug.

Laurel hesitated.

“Please?”

Laurel relented. “Fine, but only till my dad’s better.”

“That’ll be soon, Laurel. They have great specialists in Brookings; they’ll figure out what’s wrong.” He grinned. “You’ll be lucky if you get a whole week’s worth of labor out of me.”

Chapter 18

DESPITE DAVID’S OPTIMISTIC WORDS, ONE WEEK turned into two, and still Laurel’s dad didn’t improve. Laurel moved through her life like a ghost, hardly speaking to anyone except Maddie and David and Chelsea, who often stopped by the bookstore to chat. They hadn’t gotten Chelsea to help much yet—she was a natural supervisor, she joked—but the company of Laurel’s two friends was comforting.

True to his word, David was determined to work at the bookstore until Laurel’s dad came home. Laurel felt guilty as time passed and he kept working for free, but it was an argument she always lost.

Some days they spent the afternoons chatting as they sorted books and dusted shelves, and for just a few minutes Laurel would forget about her dad. It never lasted long, though. Now that he had been transferred, she didn’t get to see him every day. But the minute David got his license, he volunteered to play chauffeur every two or three days.