by Katie Cross
“I want to be a crab!” Lana said. “Then I can pinch people and not get in trouble.”
“That’s what you think, missy. We’ll talk about this more later this week, when we know what part you’re going to play.” I roped off the braid and pressed a kiss on the top of Lizzy’s head. “In the meantime, I’m very glad you’re home, and I love you very much.”
Lizzy tossed her skinny arms around my neck and held me close. I melted into the loving embrace. Lana blew me a kiss—backing it up with a grenade—as I stood up.
Three rounds of drink requests, two adjustments to the night light, and thirty goodnight kisses later—while I secretly enjoyed their demands to spend more time with me—I turned off the light and left with a sigh.
While the quiet house settled around me, I stood in the kitchen and opened my calorie-counting app. Satisfaction filled my chest when I glanced at the numbers. Right on target. Almost to the calorie. A banner slid down from the top, stirring my heart. I might not be married, but I could stick to a diet like Gorilla Glue.
With a satisfied click, I shut the phone off.
Beautiful.
After a long, hot shower, I toweled off, slid into a pair of clean black workout pants so old the elastic resembled melted bubble gum, and found myself in front of the fridge. A reminder glared at me with bright red letters.
No more eating tonight!
Unbidden, Daniel’s face whipped through my mind. I’m moving here. The words made my stomach churn. The nerve of men. With a flick of my wrist, I threw open the fridge door, ruminating over Lana’s innocent questions. Why didn’t I get married again?
“Not enough time,” I murmured in silent agreement with Lizzy.
Honestly. Married.
A quick perusal revealed that the saucy enchiladas had somehow survived the earlier raid, but the Tupperware containers labeled cheese sticks, apple slices, and baby carrots were strewn on the wrong shelves, lopsided. I reached for the carrot sticks again and stopped. It was past nine o’clock. My calories were recorded. I put a hand on my belly as it grumbled.
Carrot sticks wouldn’t really count.
All food counts, said that militant inner voice.
I’m hungry. Definitely hungry … aren’t I?
The temptation of a carton of yogurt drifted back through my head.
If I’m hungry, I should eat. I mean, c’mon. Yogurt. What’s healthier than that? Protein for workout recovery.
Or you can just have a bigger breakfast tomorrow. Once you start eating tonight, you won’t stop. My heart started to pound. You know you won’t stop. Do you want to be out of control … again?
I licked my lips, feeling the hot puff of shame swelling inside me. With a sigh, I stacked the containers again—in alphabetical order—and stepped back. With one final tweak to make them all line up, I shut the fridge and went to my room, where I closed the door firmly behind me. Once I put distance and obstacles between me and food, the voice retreated, fading into the depths of my mind. I wasn’t really hungry.
Just upset.
Twenty minutes later, I slid into bed, pressing my cheek to the cool, crisp pillow.
Do you want to be out of control again? asked the inner voice. You’ve been in control for so long. It takes one second to slip up. One second to forget all your hard work. One second to fail.
No, I whispered back.
Never, never again.
A pocket of cool air, nestled amidst the warmth of early summer, blasted my face the next morning. I tore through it, my knees and ankles propelling me down the street with savage speed.
After Daniel’s declaration last night, savage felt good.
A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek and dripped onto my neck. The burn of speed walking flowed down the front of my legs, wrapping my calves in a hot blanket. My arms pumped like pistons in an engine room. It required a special restraint to stay at high walking speeds and not jog. I enjoyed the challenge.
A mailbox whipped past me as I continued around the block for the seventh lap. My eyes darted to my little house, tucked behind a tall tree, as we passed. Darkness still filled the interior. The girls hadn’t woken up yet—they always sat at the window and waited. Satisfied, I picked up the pace. Subtle, but it would burn later. My calves cried out for mercy.
Never slow, I thought. Entering the calorie burn feels too good.
“So,” Rachelle said, huffing next to me. “What demon bit your butt? Can we slow down? My ankle is throbbing. I don’t even breathe this hard when I’m running, and I’m back on the marathon training circuit again.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry.”
I matched my stride to hers, which was half of my goal. My lungs thanked me, so I filled them with deep gulps of air. Rachelle cast me a sidelong glance.
“Do you enjoy this?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity. “Seriously? You look like you’re in pain. You never smile when we work out together. This feels like an obligation.”
I forced a laugh. No, I didn’t like it. I loathed speed walking, but it burned more calories than a walk and hurt my knees less than a run. Exercise wasn’t for enjoyment.
Unless that enjoyment was better-fitting clothes.
“All exercise is good, Rachelle. Just work through the pain. The endorphins will help.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she grumbled. She cradled her side with a grimace. “How do you do this every single morning? At least I can vary my jogging route.”
“Willpower of steel.”
We slid past another corner. The tinkle of sprinkler water hitting a fence rang in my ears. The early morning light crept in from the sky, sweeping out the deepest corners of darkness. Everything lay still, as if we were the only people alive. My heart thudded at a slower rhythm, like a mournful tempo. The calorie burn wouldn’t be as high on my app now.
You are Rachelle’s guide, came my inner voice. She needs to see you taking breaks. This is okay.
Even if it felt like a lie to do so. Without her, I never would have backed off. My stomach growled. I’d tried to convince myself that it wanted oatmeal before I left, but I couldn’t stop thinking about a fried egg sandwich.
She eyed me with concern. “Seriously, though. You okay, Bits?”
“Fine.”
“You seem distracted.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Liar. Daniel is back in town, isn’t he? You always get like this when he comes.”
I sighed. “Yes. He’s here.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar! Look, I know you hate talking about yourself, but c’mon, Bits. It’s just you and me.”
“Fine! I just … he’s moving here. To Fox Acres.”
“What?” Rachelle screeched. She halted in the middle of the road. I didn’t stop, but slowed until she caught back up. “What do you mean that jerk is moving ten minutes away?”
“Just like it sounds.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
A stretch of silence—quite validating—filled the air. Slowing down gave me more room for my thoughts to unwind. Maybe that’s why I walk so fast in the first place, I thought, then pushed that aside. Rachelle studied me.
“You can’t be happy about this. Seriously, Bitsy. How do you feel?”
Utter and complete rage. I want to scratch his eyes out.
“I’m upset. He’s irresponsible and hasn’t ever had to parent full-time. Not to mention he’s the product of a terrible father that he’s just like. I don’t think his constant influence would be good for the girls.”
She snorted. “That’s the least of it.”
“It’s fine when he’s visiting and only sees the girls for three days. But to live here? He could influence … everything.”
“He’s doing that now, isn’t he?”
I scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Not being present is an influence,” she said quietly. A momentary pang struck my chest. If anyone k
new the influence of an absent father, Rachelle did.
“True,” I said, but I wasn’t being totally honest. It wasn’t just about the girls being with Daniel. It was the utter adoration in their eyes, the shared jokes that I didn’t understand because I hadn’t been there. The way they spoke about him with giggles and reverential awe. Then got frustrated at me for making them do homework.
“The girls love him,” I said, startled by the seething bitterness in my voice. “They think he’s fun. They miss him when he’s gone. Meanwhile, I’m slaving away every day to make ends meet and can’t buy them a house with a pool, and I make them go to the dentist. I am definitely not the fun one. That’s not fair.”
My chest tightened. I knew where this train of thought was going—and what wall it would slam right into. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t even want to face it. If I said it out loud, would it come true?
“You’re afraid Daniel will replace you?” she asked.
So much for not putting it out there.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“Maybe.”
“I seriously doubt that could happen, Bits. Those girls love you, too. You’re their sun. Their gravitational pull.”
“But…”
“Besides, he’s basically offering free childcare for you, right?”
And possibly lower child-support payments. A flicker of fear accompanied the thought. He didn’t know how much I relied on that money. With less time with the girls, I’d simply have to find more houses to clean. Would it really be a break, then? The nuances of the law slipped in and out of my head. I’d have to call my father again.
“You know what our problem is?” I said. “We never had anything in common. Nothing. Except for the girls. We don’t know how to handle it. Sometimes I worry we’ll never figure it out in a way that benefits them.”
We strode past my house again. A moving truck had parked in the driveway of my neighbor’s house to the right. The house had been vacant for months now.
“At least you aren’t married to him anymore.”
“Amen.”
“Can I help?” she asked. “Want me to egg his new house?”
“Listen,” I said, looking over at her. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to figure out a way that Daniel can, I don’t know, be responsible?”
“Remember when he let Lana watch The Grudge?”
Just recalling the weeks that she’d woken up with nightmares—after he was gone—set my teeth on edge. Did being the father really give him rights to the girls?
But were they happy without him?
These questions flirted close to guards I didn’t want them near. We rounded the corner again. Whether it was the workout from yesterday or the restless sleep I’d fallen into, weariness shot through my bones. Scaling back on the speed felt nice, in retrospect.
“Do you ever get bored of walking every single morning?” Rachelle asked, brow furrowed. “I’m just curious.”
“Sure. I do it anyway.”
“Hmm.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I just thought about mixing things up a little bit. What if we rode bikes instead?”
It would be far harder to get a sufficient calorie burn on a bike. We’d have to ride around the block probably a hundred times to equal the speed walk. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave the girls alone and go any farther away. No matter how fun it sounded.
“Oookay,” she said, “based on the frown on your face, I’m going to say that’s a no. What else would you want to do?”
Spin class, I thought. Something stationary. Or a nap. A nap sounded really good too. But there was no way I could buy a spin bike, a gym membership, or a babysitter to watch the girls. Sleeping in was for Sundays, anyway. Until I didn’t fear Lana setting herself on fire again, this would have to do.
“This is fine for me.” I waved a hand. “No reason to change what works. If you want to try something different, feel free. I wouldn’t feel bad at all.”
“But—”
“How are things at the Frosting Cottage?”
If she noticed my change in topic, she gave no indication. A tiny dog came tearing down a fenced yard, yipping at the top of its squeaky voice. We both ignored it.
“Good. We’re starting out our big summer push. Can you believe I’m hitting my year anniversary there soon?”
“No.”
“Me either. Easter was fun, though. I loved all the bunny cupcakes and Easter egg candies, although the sight of pastel colors makes me want to vomit.”
“How’s William?”
She grinned. “As productive, organized, and focused as ever. He’s starting into his third year of college debt-free, yet again. Pretty amazing, right?”
“Very impressive.” I sighed. Now there was a real man. “Anything new in the romance department?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “We’re going slow. I like it that way.”
“New for you, isn’t it?”
She grinned. “Yep.”
“Did your Mom go back to Janine yet?”
I asked the question carefully, hating the momentary grimace that flittered across her face. “Not yet. Still just has two appointments under her belt, and those were pretty simple. Maybe even awkward, based on what Mom said about it, which wasn’t much.”
“That’s something.”
“Maybe.”
A new thread of tension infused Rachelle’s voice. Her morbidly obese mother, Melissa, had lost fifty pounds while living in a rehabilitation center, but after moving back to her trailer last fall, had stalled. Her progress working with a counselor had been less than impressive, which pained Rachelle.
“I knew this would be a rocky road,” Rachelle said with a shake of her head, “but didn’t realize I’d be this frustrated.”
I reached over and touched her arm. “Whatever your mom decides to do with her life, Rachelle, you’re going to be okay. You’ve always pulled yourself out of the hole.”
Rachelle grinned. “Ditto.”
Chapter 2
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The annoying peal of my alarm broke through my deep, dark sleep. Why were there never enough hours in the night?
Even when I went to bed early.
I shut it off with a flip of my thumb, slid into my workout clothes, and grabbed my tennis shoes. Five minutes on my calorie-counting app provided the mental motivation I needed. Rachelle had a point. Speed walking day after day after day wasn’t fun.
Maybe I should change it up.
The sound of my new neighbor mowing his lawn—seriously, who mowed their lawn at six-thirty in the morning?—chugged in the background. A man in a baseball cap, shorts, and old tennis shoes pushed a mower next door. The moving truck had only lingered for about four hours. No other signs of life had appeared until now.
A hushed giggle sounded outside my bedroom door. Shadows darted across the crack near the carpet. My lips twitched with a knowing grin. Ah. How I loved those girls.
“Oh,” I called with a dramatic stretch of my arms above my head. “I’m so hungry this morning! This bear needs breakfast after such a long hibernation.”
The giggles grew louder. I stalked to the door with reverberating thuds of my feet on the ground.
“I feel like a hungry bear that wants a hunny bun or two!” I growled and threw open the bedroom door.
Lizzy and Lana squealed and scampered away, stumbling over each other in their rush down the hall. Lizzy’s neon green leggings and purple tutu—which she definitely would not be wearing to school—flashed in the morning light as she darted into the kitchen. Lana wore nothing but her underwear, arms waving above her head. She always had been an exhibitionist.
Once we spilled into the kitchen, Lana halted with a screech. She set her hands on her hips and whipped around. With a jab of her finger, she pointed at the top of my head.
“Mooom! You forgot!”
“Clumsy me,” I said, skidding
to a stop. “My eternal apologies, General Lana.”
She smirked and tapped one foot, her naked arms folded across her chest while she waited.
Grabbing two ponytail holders from a drawer, I wrapped my hair in separate buns on either side of the top of my head like giant ears, then threw my arms up high. Squealing, Lana bolted again, bare legs pumping and arms flailing. Lizzy followed, shrieking like an incoming fighter pilot. Minutes later—just as I almost had them cornered for the twentieth time—the doorbell rang. The three of us stopped and stared at each other.
“Who’s here this early?” I asked, glancing at a hideous cat clock that Lana adored. Daniel had bought it for her as a joke, but she ended up insisting it remain on the wall. Every attempt to throw it away met with hysterical tantrums and dramatic tears.
Lizzy sprinted for the door, tiara falling off her head.
“I’ll get it!”
She peeled the door open just as I caught up behind her. “Whoa,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“Lizzy!” I yanked her back. “That’s not very ni—”
The words stalled in my throat. I blinked, staring at a man covered in what appeared—and smelled—to be oil. And grass. And splotches of dirt. I lifted my eyebrow.
This had to be our new neighbor.
“Oh,” I said, breathless. “Hi.”
Lana shoved past the two of us, her mouth dropping open. “Whoa,” she cried. “You’re a mess.”
I slapped a hand over her mouth, then shoved her behind me.
The man’s lips twitched. “So are you,” he said.
Lana peeked out from around my legs with a grin. “I know.”
His upper lip bunched, as if holding back a laugh. He glanced down at his oil-smeared body and hands. The smell of grass shavings wafted off him in a heady aroma.
“Sorry to bother you so early, ma’am,” he said with a grimace. “I’m afraid it’s a bit urgent.”
“Oh, it’s fine.”
“Apparently some people have forgotten how to replace lids, so when I reached for a container of oil on a top shelf…”
He trailed off, but I didn’t need the rest. I bit my bottom lip. Lizzy laughed, her head tilted back as she twirled in circles.
