Carla had decided, after much semi-conscious back-and-forth, that Trevor’s ability to enthrall people was creepy, not cute. It irked her how everyone, right or wrong, reacted to his elusive magic—if that was really what it was.
Of course, with no dream-level excuses, she privately acknowledged her injured pride. That first night, after he had told his “motherless child” story, Carla had come on to Trevor—a new low for her. Never had she behaved like that, rutting and disgusting.
With her mind clamoring its love for decent, sensible Brian, Carla had surrounded the beguiling Trevor, kissing him until she had him pinned against the refrigerator. Meanwhile in the next room, Brian had remained lost in thought.
Without violence or even abruptness, Trevor squirmed free.
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He dashed away so deftly that Carla’s forehead hit the refrigerator door. Upon regaining sufficient composure, she took her chair at the table and stared straight into the atmosphere until Trevor pushed the pipe his brother had refused into her hands.
A few weeks later, when she fired him, Trevor accepted her decision without sorrow or complaint. When she called him a bad guitar player, he agreed. When he brought Hailey to the lodge, he had already arranged to stay in Cabin Four, separate from her and Brian. And when Hailey’s brothers had demanded to know where Trevor was, because he’d taken off with another young lovely, he had stepped up out of nowhere, asking them to ask their sister about it.
Hailey not only agreed with Trevor’s wandering, she practically relished it. “He wants too much for one person to satisfy. I could see that from the start.”
Andrew, one of carpenters, had smiled at Carla’s story, telling her how Jamaican Hailey and Trevor were.
All along Angelina had kept Trevor busy, and since the dreadlocked carpenters arrived, everybody, Carla included, unwittingly looked to Trevor for comfort, song, and starry nights.
Thanks to Trevor’s bright eyes and easy rapport, Angelina was now paying Brian more money than Bed Bath & Beyond ever would. Also thanks to Trevor, Carla would soon own a share in her beloved Eden Café.
Wearing his quasi-Rasta disguise, Trevor persuaded Angelina in every little thing. And when it came to feeding his friends on site, naturally, Carla consulted Trevor—much as she liked slow and sweet-natured Andrew.
Trevor wasn’t shy about explanations. None of them, he said, adhered to Rasta ital, a strict way of life permitting no alcohol, meat, certain fish, and even salt.
After learning over the phone that the Home Depot delivery had temporarily disappeared, Royce asked Trevor to accompany him to the store.
A skinny man in an orange apron looked up the order while Trevor and Royce waited. “It’s in limbo,” the man said. “Typical weirdo screw-up.”
Trevor, Royce later reported, had touched the bald man’s forearm and wondered if he would wait a few minutes and look again. The skinny clerk agreed without protest.
Trevor and Royce were fingering wall coverings in aisle twenty-eight when the skinny man planted his feet in front of theirs and smiled. “Screw-up unscrewed.” A truck would deliver the order the next afternoon.
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