Ron sets down the plank we’ve just finished and sets it against the wall with the others. “Listen, Gingersnap. Where I grew up, you didn’t go into the woods. We knew not to be out there after dark. My granny taught me never to follow strange blinking lights or respond to the sound of people whispering my name. Do you know why?”
Ginger blinks rapidly. “Not exactly, no.”
Ron crosses his arms. “Because my granddad, her husband, believed he was abducted by aliens.”
Ginger squints. “This story again…”
“He wrote a whole book about it. If my granddad believed he broke bread with little green men, well, I’m sure not going to be scared of a giant green one, especially not if he’s this talented.”
Ginger props herself up against the wall, and I go to her.
“Lean on me.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look ill,” I say.
“I knew my family was cracked. This explains so much,” she says.
Chapter Eleven
Ginger
Dad and Grak finish up in the woodshed, then Dad asks me to handle the customers while he gives Grak a tour of the farm.
“Grak, don’t overextend yourself,” I say. “You’ve already fixed up the cabin. You don’t have to prove yourself.”
“I will do whatever Ron needs done. There is much work to do.” Before I let them go, Grak leans in and gives me a chaste kiss on the top of my head. I blush when Dad notices this, and his mustache twitches.
“Don’t be too long. Remember, Mom has her treatment today.”
“Thomas is taking her,” Dad says. “Mom insisted I take a break today. I told her I didn’t need a break from that, but you know how she gets.”
Dad looks happy, like he’s made a new friend with an orc. My orc.
I watch the pair of them head to the stables, and I wonder what my life has become.
I spend a couple of hours waiting on customers before Dad and Grak return, while secretly steaming that May and Thomas have mainly contributed to indoor work, while leaving the outdoor, dirty work to me, Dad, and Grak. Just as well they haven’t run into the orc yet. That’s going to take a hell of a lot of explaining. And, as the baby of the family, my brother and sister won’t listen to any explanation from me. How would that go, anyway? “Hey, bro. Hey sis. This is Grak. He’s an orc. And by the way, orcs are real. Deal with it.”
I can’t even fathom how to broach the subject with Mom.
When Dad and his new best friend take over for me, I go into the craft shack, an eight-by-eight white clapboard hut that I helped Dad build when I was 12 years old.
Much to my surprise, there’s not just one type of hot chocolate ready, but also peppermint, hazelnut, and an array of different-colored mini marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles.
My heart warms knowing that someone helped get this ready.
When I move past the refreshment area into the craft room, I find all the wreath-making materials laid out perfectly. Floral tape, scissors, wire cutters, and fresh green cuttings that came from the tree trimmings. Not only that, but also bows, holly berries, and small silk floral picks for guests to add to their wreaths.
I feel bad about the way I spoke to Thomas and May yesterday, so I call May and thank her for what she did at the craft shack.
She is confused.
“I didn’t do anything with the wreaths or the hot chocolate.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been Thomas,” I say.
“No, Thomas and I have been with Mom at her treatment all morning. In fact, we’re pulling up to a drive-through for lunch. Do you want anything? A burger? Chocolate shake?”
