A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn(88)

There was no reason on earth that the two of them couldn’t continue their friendship. They’d survived so much already: the summer they’d both gotten ringworm and neither had wanted to appear in public, Lukas’s brief infatuation with Molly Miller and her alluring curves, and that one awful, hormonal-crazed year when Darla had turned thirteen and cried almost every day.

Still, recalling the afternoon he’d teased her about her moodiness, he winced. Darla had gotten so tired of his playful comments and jibes, she’d announced very loudly that it was her time of the month—much to his dismay and her embarrassment. He was sure he’d blushed every single time he saw her for a whole year afterward.

If they could survive all of that, plus a whole bunch of other catastrophes and minor arguments, he imagined that they could help each other get through almost anything.

Even the deaths of their fathers.

Lukas had hoped that they’d reached a point in their lives where they could ignore the rest of the world, reach out to each other, and offer comfort and care. Wasn’t that why God had given them years and years of opportunities to gain each other’s trust and affection? Only such a foundation would help them get through this year. After all, what was the point of a friendship surviving fifteen-plus years if not to have each other at times like this?

He didn’t know. Worse, he didn’t think Darla knew either. If only she would give him some time to talk to her, Lukas was sure they could finally, finally reach a point where the awful ache resting deep inside his chest would ease. If that happened, he’d be able to breathe easier and do everything he’d promised his father.

And if that happened, everything else that was worrying him would fall into place, too.

But until Darla stopped being so obstinate, he was going to have to give her a wide berth. And now, he was practically banned from the post office!

He kicked at a rock in his path. How could something he’d taken for granted for years now suddenly feel like it was the most important thing in his life? And for that matter, why did repairing the damage between them now feel as impossible as turning back time?

Frustrated beyond measure, he kicked at the rock again. This time, instead of merely skittering to a stop in front of him, it veered to the right, narrowly missing a pair of children.

Their mother glared at him.

“Sorry!” he called out before grumbling to himself again.

He needed Darla back in his life. He needed her friendship and she needed to understand that what had happened to their fathers—indeed, to all the men—had been a terrible accident. The fire hadn’t been her father’s fault and it certainly hadn’t been his father’s fault. It had been caused by spontaneous combustion—according to the fire marshal.

Lukas preferred to simply consider it an accident. An act of God, much like a lightning strike or a tornado. And because of that, he understood that it made no sense. But they didn’t need for it to make sense. One day He would help them understand.

Lukas hoped so, anyway.

Still annoyed, he kicked another pebble blocking in his path, earning him another glare from a pair of kinner.

“Ack, Lukas, stop with the rocks!”

Only his brother, Levi, talked to him that way.

Drawing to a halt, he turned as Levi approached, his brown eyes contrasting with his dark blond hair curling wildly under the brim of his straw hat. As usual, Levi walked like a runner; his thin, wiry body moving in a constant fluid motion. “Hey, Levi.”

“Hey, yourself,” his brother snapped. “Did you see that you almost hit those kinner with that rock?”

“It wasn’t even close.”

Levi pulled his hat off and brushed back a chunk of hair from his forehead before slapping the hat back on. “What is wrong with you? Who burned your toast today?”

Lukas refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. “I canna believe you brought that up.”

Levi slowly grinned. “Couldn’t help myself.”

His brother was referring to an episode when Lukas was eight, when he’d yelled and griped at everyone one morning on the way to church. When their mother had finally had enough of his surly attitude, she’d asked what had happened to set him off so badly. And because he couldn’t really think of a reason why he was grumpy, he’d said the phrase of which he was now reminded with irritating regularity: that his toast had been burnt.

Oh, but his family had had a time with that! Now, whenever he wore a frown, they brought it up with a teasing smile. Unfortunately, he didn’t get as much entertainment from the constant reminder as the rest of them did.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”