Frankie finished off the rest of the fried clams and tapped his fingers against the tabletop, looking—weird. Nervous? Maisie wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Frankie nervous.
“Hey,” he said after a moment, shifting in his seat. “So, about college...”
“What about it?”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you thinkyou might really be able to help me ... y’know ... get accepted somewhere?” His voice lacked its usual teasing edge.
Maisie glanced up, startled. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean ... it wouldn’t be Harvard or MIT, but I’m sure there’s a college out there that would want you. I’ll do some research tomorrow. And you really should go to college, Frankie. You’re too smart to not give it a try.”
He shrugged, but she could tell he was kind of pleased. “So, uh ... you really think there’s something awesome inside of me?”
“I did. But now I don’t.”
He frowned. “Not even deep, deep down?”
Maisie hesitated. Maybe therewasmore to Frankie. Maybe he had layers. Maybe—
Then the bell over the diner door jingled.
Maisie knew before she even turned that something was about to ruin this moment. She saw the shift in Frankie before she even saw his expression. The way his posture straightened, the way his attention flicked away from her entirely.
Sophie.
Gone was the vulnerability. Frankie was back to his usual self, gawking as Sophie lifted a hand and gave him a slow, deliberate four-finger wave. Frankie grinned, leaned back in the booth, and lifted his hand and did the same.
Maisie could have rolled her eyes straight into next week.
She sat back, crossing her arms.
Yep. Still Frankie.
Rain pattered against the windows of the little cabin, the world outside cloaked in gray. Inside, Scout sat curled on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs, watching the fire flicker in the hearth. Too warm for a fire, but she couldn’t help it. Sheloved rainy evenings at home, and she needed to find comfort in the quiet, something to keep her mind from buzzing.
After the press conference, after Scout announced she was donating her finder’s fee to the Penobscot Nation, the superintendent wouldn’t even look at her. Another ranger patted her on the back and whispered, “Better start packing.” Another asked if he could have Scout’s interp job on Baker Island.
Cold, but probably right. Scout guessed she’d be here through August and then get sent off to a far less trafficked park.
She had done the right thing. She didn’t regret it. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t going to be a consequence.
She didn’t want to leave Acadia. Getting here had been her goal all along. Everything about it had surpassed her memories, her expectations. She’d found her dad. She’d met incredible, inspiring people, like Ranger Rivers. Like Naki.
She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and leaned her forehead on them. She’d only known Naki for ... what, less than a week? And yet she felt like she’d never see the world in quite the same way. Most likely, she’d never see him again.
Feeling anxious, she fetched her Bible from her bedroom and plopped back down on the couch, covering herself with a cashmere afghan her mother had brought with her and laid carefully over the back of the couch. Filling her mind with the Word of God was her lifeboat in any crisis, something she had learned over and over again and still had to be reminded of. Randomly, she opened to the Old Testament. Her eyes fell on this verse from Deuteronomy, a book she seldom read: “The Lordhimself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”
She let out a deep breath, feeling her whole self settle. She closed the Bible and stared at the flames, thanking God in the silence. A holy silence.
The knock on the door made her jump. She set the afghan aside, smoothing her hair as she walked to the door. When she opened it, there stood Naki, his rain-slicked jacket glistening, drops of water beading on his hair.
She blinked, thinking she was imagining him. “You came back?”
He tilted his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Not tonight! Not now! She was wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt. No makeup. And her hair ... it was gathered in a messy bun on the top of her head like a pom-pom on a winter hat. “I ... wasn’t sure ... I thought maybe you’d left. For good.”
“Scout, I told you once that I don’t run.”
“Please come in.” She stepped aside. “You’re drenched.”
