Home with You

by Shirlee McCoy

  “We’re not going to get arrested, so don’t get yourself all excited. Your heart can’t take it.”

  “My heart checked out just fine when I went to the doctor last week. All the blockages are gone, so I’ll get as excited as I want.”

  “Suit yourself, but we’re not going to get arrested.” Rumer put on the hazard lights, acknowledging the officer and hoping that would satisfy him until they reached the house.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror again. The officer was right on her tail, edging in close enough that he could have rammed her if he’d wanted to.

  He?

  The driver had shoulder-length blond hair, so a woman seemed more likely. Maybe she’d be more sympathetic. Or not.

  “Here,” Lu said, digging into her purse and pulling out a white cotton cloth. “Let’s hang handkerchiefs out the window, so he knows we’re friendly.”

  She had her window unrolled, the cloth waving like a surrender flag before Rumer could tell her not to.

  “You do the same, Minnie.” She tossed another cloth in the back, and Minnie—right-brained, analytical, book-smart, people-savvy Minnie—did the same.

  So, now they were speeding down the middle of a country road, cops chasing them, surrender flags waving from the windows, plumes of dirt and exhaust streaming out from behind them.

  Dear God!

  Could things get any crazier?

  Could her life be any more nuts?

  Maybe. Probably. But Rumer didn’t know how.

  She turned onto the gravel driveway, tires spitting out dirt and pebble, Cadillac bouncing over ruts and into divots.

  The house was just ahead, the yellow siding cheerful in the sunlight. No ambulance in view. No emergency crews. The place looked quiet.

  Maybe too quiet.

  Usually something was happening there—kid running around in the yard, someone sitting on the porch swing.

  She parked the car and jumped out, waving at the cop as she ran up the stairs. The door was locked, so she fished the spare key out from under a loose floorboard, shoving it into the lock as the officer pounded up the stairs behind her.

  “Ma’am,” she said. “I’m really going to need you to stop.”

  “I will. I just have to check on the kids. There’s been an emergency.”

  “We haven’t had one called in,” the officer said, stepping into the house behind Rumer.

  “Rumer!” Moisey cried from the top of the stairs. “I knew you’d come.”

  She ran down as fast as her legs could carry her, throwing herself into Rumer’s arms with so much force she almost knocked her off her feet.

  “Honey! What’s wrong? Where’s Heavenly?”

  “She’s in the mudroom. The uncles are scrubbing her down.”

  “Scrubbing her down? What does that mean, doll?” The officer frowned. She looked to be in her mid-forties, blond hair a little brassy, blue eyes a little tired.

  “Well, we were going to church, and she had blue on her, and the uncles weren’t happy about it, so they’re trying to get her back to her normal color, Deputy Reynolds.”

  “You can call me Deputy Susan,” the officer said.

  Obviously, they knew each other.

  That was good. Great, even. Deputy Susan could try to get the information out of Moisey. Rumer was going to the mudroom.

  She ran down the hall, ignoring Lu and Minnie, who’d just walked in the front door. The kitchen was empty, but she could hear water running and see Maddox and Milo standing in the mudroom doorway.

  They must have heard her approaching. They turned, relief and pleasure washing over their faces.

  “Rumer!” Maddox said, rushing toward her. “Wait until you see this!?” He sounded both intrigued and horrified.

  “See what?”

  “Heavenly cut off all her hair, and she put colors in it, and now they can’t get it out. Uncle Sullivan’s already washed it like a bazillion times, and it’s still poop brown,” he whispered, his gaze darting to the mudroom doorway.

  “No, it’s not,” Milo argued. “It’s poop green.”

  “Her hair?” Rumer asked, hurrying across the room, desperately hoping they were exaggerating.

  The mudroom was filled with kids and men. Porter over near the back door, Oya in his arms, his gaze focused on the sink. Twila was beside him, nervously raveling and unraveling her braid. Flynn stood closest to the kitchen, his broad shoulders partially blocking Rumer’s view.

  She could see enough to know the boys hadn’t been exaggerating. As a matter of fact, they might have understated the gravity of the situation.

  A chair had been pulled over to the sink, and Heavenly was sitting in it, her head tilted back, a bottle of water in her hand. Sullivan was bent over her, his back to Rumer, squirting a few drops of shampoo onto her hair.

  Or, what was left of it.

  She had chopped it off and dyed it, the color a mixture of puce and purple and blue. Her scalp had stains from whatever she’d used. So did her cheek, which was also smeared with mascara and eyeliner.

  She’d been crying.

  There was no doubt about that.

  “I don’t suppose someone wants to explain what’s going on,” she said, and Heavenly jerked upright, water dripping down her pale face.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “It’s your day off.”

  “Moisey called me,” she responded.

  “I was wondering what she was up to. If I’d known what she was doing, I’d have stopped her,” Sullivan said, turning to face her. So, of course, her heart did its funny little pause, her mouth went dry, and, for about two seconds, all she could think of was the way his lips had felt against hers.

  “I don’t mind,” she finally managed to say. “I was mucking stalls. This looks like a lot more fun.”

  “That depends on what side of the shampoo bottle you’re on. I don’t think Heavenly is having all that much fun. Which is a shame since it’s her birthday.” He emphasized the last part, and she didn’t miss that. She also didn’t miss the two red splotches on Heavenly’s normally pale cheeks.

  Was she embarrassed that he’d mentioned her birthday, or that she’d chopped off her hair?

  Butchered her hair?

  It looked like she might have taken a hacksaw to it, but far be it from Rumer to point that out. She’d done her own stupid things when she was that age.

  “Your birthday, Heavenly? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, keeping her voice light and cheerful.

  “I hate birthdays,” the teen responded, her cheeks still pink.

  “Happy birthday anyway,” she said, sidling past Flynn and moving closer to the sink. The floor and walls were splattered with grayish water and cut hair. His shirt was splattered, too, the white button-up dress shirt now multicolored. He’d rolled his sleeves up, and she could see the muscles beneath his tan skin.

  He looked way too good, and she was noticing way too much, so she turned her attention to Heavenly. “So, was this a birthday hairdo gone wrong?” she asked.

  “Kind of,” Heavenly responded, closing her eyes as Sullivan rinsed soap and color from her hair.

  “Sunday said she could have it done on her thirteenth birthday. But, Sunday wasn’t around today.” Sullivan took a towel from a stack someone had set on a chair nearby and rubbed Heavenly’s hair.

  “Did I hear it’s someone’s birthday?” Lu squeezed into the room, forcing everyone to shift position to accommodate her.

  When Rumer shifted, she bumped into Sullivan.

  “Careful,” he said, his breath tickling the hair at her temple. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady even though she hadn’t been falling. She could have stepped away, but his arm was warm, his muscles firm against her abdomen. His hand splayed against her upper lip, and her heart started to beat a happy rhythm that she really wanted to ignore but couldn’t.

  Lu’s gaze dropped to Sullivan’s hand, lifted to Rumer’s face, and then shifted to Heavenly. To her credit, sh
e didn’t blink an eye at any of it.

  “I see you got your hair done for your birthday,” she said.

  “I did it myself.”

  “You don’t say?” Lu responded, and Heavenly grinned, obviously catching on to the sarcasm and appreciating it. Not surprising since sarcasm seemed to be her second language.

  “I do say, and I’d be saying a lot more, but Uncle Sullivan hasn’t cussed in a couple of days, and I told him I’d quit when he did. So, I’ve got to keep things clean.”

  “Rumer?” Susan called. “Did you figure out what the emergency was? Because, I’m not getting much info from Moisey.”

  She peered into the room, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Heavenly. Unlike Lu, she didn’t hold back on her judgment. “Heavenly Melody Bradshaw, what in God’s name did you do to yourself?”

  “My middle name isn’t Melody,” Heavenly retorted, her fingers inching up to touch her hair, then dropping away again.

  “Well, what is it? Because if I’m going to lecture you like I do my daughters, I’ll need to know.” She strode in, squeezing between the Bradshaw men, stopping an inch from where Heavenly was sitting.

  “I don’t have a middle name.”

  “Well you do now. Just like I said: Melody, and not because it sounds catchy with the first name. Because, my daughter said you have a beautiful voice. You know Tess Reynolds?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean maybe? She’s in the school choir. Sings soprano. Stands right next to you?”

  “I guess I do.”

  “Right. You guess. Typical teenager response.” Susan stepped closer, running her hands through the wet strands.

  “This,” she announced, “can be fixed.”

  “It can?” Heavenly said at the same time Sullivan responded with, “I’ve been telling her that for a half hour.”

  “To answer your question, Heavenly—yes, it can. But, not by you, Mr. Bradshaw.”

  “Really? You’re really sure you can fix it?” Heavenly touched her hair, this time letting her fingers linger on the jagged edges near her nape.

  “Hun, my older daughter, Micah, bleached her hair when she was your age. With real bleach. She let it soak in for so long, her hair burned off. If I can fix that, I can fix this. But, not with shampoo. What’d you use to color it?”

  “Some dye I found in Sunday’s closet.”

  “You were snooping through your mother’s things?”

  “I was packing clothes for her to have at the hospital, and I saw the dye while I was doing it,” Heavenly huffed, her arms crossing over her chest.

  “Funny,” Sullivan murmured. “I can’t see Sunday using blue hair dye.”

  “It wasn’t hair dye. It was fabric dye.”

  “Geez,” Susan muttered. “This is going to take a while. I’m going to call in and let the sheriff know what I’m up to, Heavenly, and then I’m going to put this mess to right. On one condition.”

  “What condition?” She scowled, but she looked more relieved than angry.

  “You sing in the festival this Friday.”

  Heavenly’s scowl deepened, and if she’d had room to do it, she probably would have stomped away. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. Not only can you, but you have to. The choir is counting on you.”

  “I missed five rehearsals. If you miss three, you’re out.”

  “You had extenuating circumstances,” Sullivan cut in, offering the same argument he and Rumer had been using for the past few days. They’d both spoken to the choir director. They’d cleared everything with her, but for some reason, Heavenly still refused to participate. “Mrs. Myers understands that, and she’s more than happy to let you come to rehearsal tomorrow. She’ll even schedule some extra practice just for you.”

  “I said, I can’t,” Heavenly snapped.

  “Right,” Sullivan responded. “You keep saying that, but you’re not telling any of us why.”

  “Because I don’t have a dress, okay? Sunday promised to take me out to buy one. We were going to the bridal boutique in Spokane, because she wanted it to be really special. She said it was a big deal, and she wanted my dress to be as beautiful as my voice is.” Her chin wobbled, her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t cry, she just glared at them all like they’d caused the problem.

  “You need a dress? That’s the reason you won’t go to rehearsals?” Sullivan shook his head, raked a hand through his hair, looked like a guy who had no clue why someone would worry about having the right outfit for the occasion. “I’ll take you to get one tomorrow after school.”

  “Have you seen the way you dress?” Heavenly asked.

  Porter chuckled.

  Sullivan didn’t seem amused. “I dress like a guy who’s been hanging around six kids for a few weeks. That doesn’t mean I don’t know a pretty dress when I see it.”

  “Hold on,” Minnie said as she poked her head in the room. “Just hold on one minute.”

  “No,” Rumer said.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “You’re going to offer one of your outfits.”

  “So what if I do? She’d look lovely in anything, and I have more than enough clothes to share.”

  “Really, Minnie, I know you mean well—” Rumer began.

  “That suit Rumer was wearing when we met, the one with flowers on the buttons? That was yours, right?” Heavenly interrupted, leaning forward and looking more excited than Rumer had ever seen her.

  “Right.”

  “Do you have something else cool like that?”

  “Honey, I have more cool clothes than any one person needs. You get your hair fixed, and I’ll go pick out a few things and bring them back here. I guarantee, you’ll have something stunning for the festival, and I guarantee it’ll be one of a kind. Just like you.” She flounced away, and Susan nodded.

  “That’s settled then. You’re singing in the festival, and I’m fixing this mess. Sullivan, you’d better call April and let her know. She might want to stop by and do a little extra coaching today.”

  “It’s Sunday. I’m sure she’s busy.”

  “Have you not heard a word I’ve said? Heavenly is the star of the show, the reason the Benevolence Middle School choir is going to win the regional trophy and go on to the state championship. April is going to be thrilled to hear that she’s going to participate.”

  April might be thrilled, but Heavenly didn’t look it. She’d sunk back into the chair, her expression closed, her fists clenched.

  “Is everything okay?” Rumer asked, touching her bony shoulder.

  “Dandy,” she replied.

  “You’ll be even better once you get that damn stud out of your ear,” Susan said, shoving in next to Rumer and poking at Heavenly’s ear.

  “Ouch!”

  “Exactly. You can’t do cartilage piercings at home. You’ll get an infection. Can someone get me alcohol and cotton balls? Scissors. We’ll need hair dye, too. Let’s go with honey blond. That’ll be closest to her natural color.”

  “I want it blue,” Heavenly muttered.

  Susan ignored her.

  “I’ll get the dye and bring back the clothes,” Minnie offered.

  “I’ll make a cake, because it’s her birthday,” Lu added, and then everyone was moving, walking out of the room, going off to do whatever it was they needed to. Except for Sullivan. He stayed where he was, watching as Susan removed the stud.

  “It looks like you’ve got things under control,” he said, and Susan nodded. “I’ve got some errands to run. I shouldn’t be long.”

  He walked past, and Rumer was telling her just how relieved she was that he was going, when he grabbed her hand, dragged her along with him.

  “Hey!” she said as they stepped into the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”

  “I need help,” he said, clutching her hand like it was a life preserver and he was a drowning man. “I need to buy her a present, and I have no idea what to get her.�
��

  “Nothing is going to be open, Sullivan. It’s Sunday.”

  “Things will be open in Spokane, and that’s where I’m going, because I’m not going to be that parent—the one who always has an excuse for not making his kid feel special.”

  That parent . . .

  His kid.

  She wondered if he’d realized the way he’d phrased it; if he realized how attached he was getting, how quickly his nieces and nephews were becoming more than just a job he had to do.

  She sure as heck knew how attached she was getting to the kids.

  And, to him.

  She knew it, and she seemed helpless to change it, to put on the brakes and stop herself from slamming full-speed into disaster.

  “You didn’t know it was her birthday, Sullivan,” she began, because she needed to stop. Just stop.

  “How does that matter? She’s a child. She’s got no present. Her hair looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket, her mother’s in the hospital, and she’s living with a bunch of kids and three men she barely knows. It’s her thirteenth birthday. Thirteen. That’s a big deal for a kid, right? It’s the difference between being a child and being a teen, and that little girl deserves something to commemorate it,” he whispered.

  “I’m sure—” You can find something. That’s what she planned to say. It’s what she should have said. But, he looked desperate, and she was staring into his beautiful eyes, thinking about how it would feel to be a thirty-something guy buying a gift for a teenage girl he barely knew.

  “We can find something,” she finished.

  Just one word of difference, but it was every difference that mattered; the difference between going and staying, spending time together or alone, building more connections or breaking the ones that had already formed.

  She knew she’d made the wrong choice. Again. Said the wrong thing by one damn word, but when he smiled, when he leaned down and whispered “thank you” against her lips, it felt like the rightest thing she’d ever done.

  * * *

  They found the gift in a tiny antique shop in the seediest area of downtown Spokane. Sullivan had planned to go to an electronic store, hoping that he’d gain inspiration once he’d arrived. Rumer had had other ideas. She’d given him directions to the shop, one she’d said she visited every summer during school break.