CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WEST
“WHY ARE THERE GIRL CLOTHES IN THE DRYER?” OLLIE SHOUTS AT ME FROM the laundry room.
I freeze right as I’m about to flip the grilled cheese sandwich in the pan before me. I’m a grown-ass man, and I feel like I’m in trouble with a nine- year-old. Like I’m sneaking around somehow.
I consider making something up, but why?
“Those are Skylar’s, bud,” I call back.
He walks into the living room with a basket of Skylar’s dry clothes and plunks them on the table. The world’s most helpful kid, I swear. His sister is probably upstairs destroying something after losing her soccer game this morning, and he’s here, putting his favorite clothes through the wash after a week at his mom’s house.
“Gotcha” is all he says as he drops the basket on the living room table.
I steal a glance at him, but he casually makes his way to the table for lunch. He doesn’t ask why her clothes are in the wash, and I don’t know why I’m expecting him to interrogate me or look at me accusingly.
“Was thinking we could go out fishing after lunch.”
“Cool,” Ollie says as he pulls out a chair for himself. “Can we invite Skylar?”
I almost drop the sandwich on the floor as I go to transfer it to the plate.
“Fishing?”
He shrugs, and his lips tug up. “Yeah. She must be lonely in the bunkhouse.”
“I doubt she has a license.” My heart thuds like I’m a teenager about to get busted for street racing all over again.
“I can fill out an application for her. It’s easy.”
Emmy stomps down the stairs into the kitchen, her temper somewhat subdued. “I wanna be the one who clubs the fish when we catch it. I need to hit something,” she grumbles as she approaches the table—a monster drawn out of her lair by the smell of food.
“You scare me” is all I say, plating the food and setting it in front of them.
While we eat, I work up the courage to go knock on Skylar’s door to ask if she wants to come fishing with us.
An hour later, my misfits and I roll up to the bunkhouse and find Skylar sitting on the front porch. It seems cleaner, like she swept and wiped things down. She looks bright and well rested, her hair falling in wild waves around her face.
“Coach Thick Thighs!” The evil bird announces me from her shoulder, and it makes Skylar’s cheeks turn pink. Her eyes flick to the side as though the parrot will pick up on the accusation in her expression.
“What does that me —”
“Wanna come fishing?” I cut Emmy off with our invite, lifting the tackle box in my hand.
Skylar’s eyes go wide as they flit to mine. “In what?”
“Our canoe,” Emmy provides, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
The pink glow of Skylar’s cheeks creeps down her throat and over her chest as her eyes meet mine.
“Please?” Ollie asks quietly, and I try not to double take. The kid who never talks to someone new is out here showing off with one-word sentences.
I don’t miss the way Skylar’s body softens as she watches him.
He keeps his eyes trained on the ground and kicks at a rock as he adds a mumbled, “I got you a license and everything.”
Cherry bobs eagerly on Skylar’s shoulder, as though the motion could urge her up out of her seat.
“I didn’t know you needed a license to fish,” she ventures carefully.
Emmy lets out a little scoff before turning to me dramatically. “It’s
amateur hour over here.”
I ignore Emmy. “Yeah, fishing, hunting…bear petting. All licensed
activities.”
“Bear petting?” the kids ask at once.
Skylar narrows her eyes at me. “He’s joking. But yes, sure. I’ll come.”
I watch my children’s body language change. Oliver straightens his lips, tipping them up in a shy smile. Emmy is less subdued, letting out a loud whoop and shooting her fist up in the air as though this win makes up for the morning’s loss.
They’re both already heading down to the water when Skylar asks, “Is
there room on the canoe for all of us?”
“We can —”
“If there’s not, you can always sit on my dad’s lap,” Emmy cuts me off, shouting back.
All traces of pink on Skylar’s skin blaze red now. I doubt I’m any better. I feel like a fucking kid blushing over his crush.
Still, I cover a laugh and meet Skylar’s stunned gaze. “Kids, man” is all I offer with a shrug as I turn away. I wave my hand over my shoulder, urging her to follow.
I take a few steps, just to be sure Emmy and Ollie are far enough ahead to be out of earshot. “I know it’s one of your favorite pastimes, but quit staring at my ass, fancy face. Put your bitchy bird away. Let’s go.”
“Are you flirting with me?” Her voice is all music and amusement.
I grin at the water and don’t turn back when I say, “Absolutely.”
“You screamed.” Emmy jabs her fork at Skylar, and I wince. Her enthusiasm is borderline violent sometimes.
Skylar rolls her eyes from where she’s seated across from me. From where they are all seated across from me.
Both kids wanted to sit beside her at dinner, so their three chairs are wedged in tight on one side of the table. Leaving me alone on the other.
I feel like I’m at the world’s most ridiculous interrogation.
“I did not scream.”
“Yeah,” Ollie adds, rushing to Skylar’s defense. She turns a conspiratorial smile his way, but a little too soon. “It was more like a squeal.”
Her mouth pops open, and I watch my shy son grin up at her.
“I did not squeal. Pigs squeal. I was just surprised by the fish flopping everywhere.”
The truth is that she was so startled by it, I thought she was going to dive out of the boat to get away from it.
Emmy laughs. “You almost tipped the whole canoe. And that thing never tips.”
I cough into a fist, pretending that it’s food down the wrong tube rather than laughter. Because if Emmy only knew.
Skylar presses her lips together and gives me a scolding look. As though the kids are going to magically guess that she and I did, in fact, tip it while dry humping the hell out of each other.
“Well, thank you for humoring me and putting it back,” Skylar says while taking a bite of her barbecue chicken.
Now it’s Emmy’s turn to roll her eyes. Skylar didn’t want to kill the fish —in fact, she looked downright devastated over the prospect.
I’m not sure where she thinks her food comes from, but then again, this is a woman who brought her purse fishing with us as though she could use her black Amex out on the water.
Emmy pats Skylar’s arm and smiles up at her, like she’s the adult placating the child. “It’s okay. I forgive you. You’ll get used to it eventually.
Before you know it, you’ll be reaching for the bat and putting those sorry suckers out of their misery yourself.”
My daughter goes back to eating as if she didn’t just speak words like a grizzled old fisherman, implying that Skylar will be around to go fishing with
us all the time.
I scrub at my stubble, shaking my head.
Emmy is a wild child, but instead of being horrified by her bluntness, Skylar’s expression is full of endearment. “Never change, Emmy,” she says, looking my daughter in the eyes. “Never, not for anyone.”
Emmy’s head tilts as she stares back at her, but then she nods. Something passes between them. Some sort of understanding. Some sort of promise.
Watching them together makes my heart pump faster, my chest puff up
with pride.
With longing.
“Your clothes are here, Skylar,” Ollie tosses out, making both of us freeze.
“Oh…thanks,” she replies, attempting to act casual as she spears a watermelon ball into her mouth.
Emmy mimics Skylar and, daintily forks a melon ball and then proceeds to talk with an open mouth as she chews. “Why are your clothes here?”
“Because I wanted to do some laundry, and your dad said I didn’t need to go to the laundrom —”
“Because Skylar stayed at the house while you guys were away,” I blurt out. Never been big on sugarcoating shit for my kids, so why start now? I didn’t break any laws by letting her stay in the guest room.
Two sets of blue eyes that match my own stare at me from across the table. I don’t know why I feel like I’m in trouble, but I do.
It’s quiet for a beat, then Emmy shrugs and goes back to her plate of food.
“Fair. I wouldn’t want to sleep in the bunkhouse either. Auntie Rosie’s
mouse lives there.”
Skylar and I lock eyes.
“You knew about Auntie Rosie’s mouse?”
Emmy freezes, turning big baby blues up at me. “Oh no. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Skylar tries and fails to bite down on a giggle.
I’m about to express all the ways I’m going to get back at Rosie for playing house with a goddamn rodent on my property when Skylar cuts me off. “It’s okay. Scotty and I will become friends this week.”
Ollie’s brow furrows. “Wait. You’re going back out there?”
“Yep.” Skylar shrugs.
“Why?”
She smiles a practiced smile, one I recognize from the glossy pages of magazines in the grocery store checkout line. Not the one she gives me when we’re alone. “Because you guys have a lot going on here. I don’t want to intrude.”
My son turns to look at her. “You’re not intruding. We like having you here.”
She blinks down at him, a sheen in her eyes.
“You should just stay. There’s a room for you and everything.” He turns to me. “Right, Dad?”
I watch them across the table, both wedged in beside her like they want to
be close to her too. Like they’re just as inexplicably attached as I am.
It’s new and foreign and…right.
That’s why I stare straight into her amber irises and say, “Stay.”