by Ren Benton
She wanted many things. That was not one of them. “No.”
Cole pulled himself up using Griff’s upraised knee.
He absently patted the baby’s bottom. “This must be serious padding if his tailbone isn’t broken yet.”
“Let me know before you undertake your next daredevil adventure, and I’ll forge you a suit of diaper armor.”
“It will do double duty at that moment when I realize things have gone horribly wrong.”
“I will not laugh like a nine-year-old boy because you used ‘duty’ in that context.”
“I’ll have to try harder. I’ve missed your laugh.”
A burst of babbling from Cole obscured Ivy’s whimper. If not for the baby using the narrow patch of grass between them as a plopping pad, she would have curled up next to Griff right there on the ground and done her best to laugh for him.
“I have a two-month-old nephew I haven’t seen yet.”
The confession startled her. “Where is he?”
“Ten minutes away. Not far enough to justify my inattention.”
“Then why haven’t you seen him?”
“I’m afraid I’ll drop him or make him cry and he’ll be scarred for life.”
She did laugh a little. “Babies cry. All the time. They can’t text when they need something.”
“Just as well. I become my seventh grade English teacher when I read, and babies probably wouldn’t capitalize or punctuate.”
“On the other hand, if a baby indicates he’s rolling on the floor laughing, there’s a greater likelihood it’s true.”
Cole put his ear against Griff’s knee and chuckled.
“It creaks and pops, but I had no idea it told jokes.” Griff grinned at her nephew. “So if he starts screaming, it’s because he can’t express his feelings like a grownup?”
“And then the investigation begins. Always start with cuddles. Sometimes that’s all they need, and if not, you’re in a better position to assess and address second-tier woes like loaded diapers and hunger.”
“I’ll have to try that next time I get tongue-tied.” He rolled his head to look at her. “Scream until you cuddle me, I mean. No second tier, I promise.”
Her fingers inched toward him until her knuckles pressed against his warm, solid arm, resisting the temptation to cuddle. She had seen the future. It didn’t end well for them.
What she could give him was baby-related guidance. “My professional advice about dropping is to keep babies as close to the ground as possible until you’re confident about your grip. Nothing higher than a chair, but you really can’t go wrong sitting on the floor.”
“You never dropped a baby.”
His certainty was laughable. “Every kid you see here has been bobbled. Every one has taken a dive out of a carrier or stroller. They’re squirmy as water balloons. Sometimes they thrash like crocodiles. It’s impossible to helicopter over them every second of every day. When it happens, you call the pediatrician, she says they’re fine unless they’re bleeding or groggy, and then you take them to the office anyway because you’re freaked out, and they’re almost always fine. The important thing” — she lowered her voice to a whisper — “is that you never let them sense your guilt because they will exploit every weakness.”
He bent his arm and toyed with the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Will they, or will I be buying everything in the toy store to self-medicate my guilty conscience?”
“That’s what they want you to believe. It’s all your idea. They had nothing to do with it. You won’t see them turning down the toys, though.”
“It’s like they’re born well versed in the art of Dangereusian treachery.”
She blinked to clear the film of moisture from her eyes. The past week had been unrelenting stress with no end in sight. She wasn’t prepared for jokes. “The best thing about babies, if you can get past the terrifying parts, is they’re so obvious. If they’re happy or sad or mad or scared, it’s right there on their faces, blatant as a caricature. They haven’t learned to hide how they feel and their lives depend on letting you know, so you never have to guess.”
“This one is gnawing on my leg. Obviously, he’s a cannibal.”
“Exactly.” Cole had taken up gnawing on the sofa, as well. Denim and upholstery must have provided the perfect amount of resistance for his sore gums. “It’s a drag to leave them and go back to trying to decipher their elders, who invariably deny cannibalistic tendencies.”
His fingers moved from her sleeve to the sensitive skin of her inner arm. “And who pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.”
During the past week, fine had evolved into an acronym for fuck, it never ends. Griff would appreciate that, but she couldn’t say fuck in front of the kids. Certainly not repeatedly, lingering over the F, until he took it as an invitation.
She couldn’t play that game anymore, and she wanted to scream her frustration like a toddler whose favorite toy had gotten lost on an outing.
But she was a grownup, and everything was fine. “Let’s not forget acting like the world is ending when it’s not.” Life would go on, regardless of whether she had a good time. “Meet your nephew. He needs all the love he can get.”
He did nothing but rub circles on her skin with his thumb for a while. Finally, he said, “I will.”
Well, that was easy. If only everyone took orders so amenably. “How are mom’s cabinets coming along?”
He closed his eyes as if he’d rather not think about it. “I was happy with them, but while I was waiting for the glass, I got bored and decided to ruin them with a hand-carved detail. I lost my nerve after making the first scratch. If I fill it, you’ll see the flaw in the finish, so I have to take it apart and replace that piece.”
“Or finish what you started.”
“I’m not at that level of competence with artistic detail.”
But he wanted to do it. He built something he was happy with and then looked at it and thought embellishment would make it even better. She knew from the way he’d made her measure every dimension of the cabinet in her parents’ dining room, the precision of his drawings, and the quality of his other work that he hadn’t picked up a steak knife and started hacking at the wood. He painstakingly designed a pattern, agonized over making the first cut, and then chickened out because, in this one pursuit, he was alone. “You can do it.”
“It’s ambitious beyond my skill level. I need five more years of practice.” His brows pulled together. “Ten with the amount of time I can give it right now.”
“Everything you make is beautiful. No one but you will ever think you fell short of perfection, and you won’t have to look at them once you turn them over.” Her voice weakened at the reminder he wouldn’t be around much longer. “Those cabinets will be in my mother’s house forever. I don’t want to look at them and think they could have come from the store. I want to see your hand in them.”
The sense of loss would fade, eventually. Then, she would want something beautiful to remember him by.
“I’ll try.” Smoky eyes opened, their usual twinkle restored. “This is great, actually. If your mom hates it, I can say, ‘Ivy made me do it.’”
“Do I get equal credit when she loves it?”
“She’ll recognize my muse right away. I wasn’t subtle about my inspiration.”
She had exhausted her supply of chitchat, bringing them to the topic of his presence here. “Thank you for the screws. I never would have thought of it.”
“A tip I picked up doing construction. One of the rare cases when a few pennies can make a world of difference.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Speaking of screws, I need your professional advice about screwing up with older kids.”
“Fortunately, I am an expert in that field.” She had an infinite well of screwups from which to draw.
He relayed his discussion with Blake about the interior doors, followed by his realization that he’d provided wrong information. “I saw him figure it out when he was p
utting the first screw in his bedroom door. He looked at the latch and then at me like I was stupid or a liar, or both, and he hasn’t said a word to me since.”
That was sometimes a problem when dealing with a boy genius. Blake would correct Ivy because she’d made it clear she wanted to know if she made a mistake, but he clammed up otherwise because he’d gotten used to his mother and teachers responding poorly to being told they were wrong. “Tell him the truth. It’s rare for a child to hear adults admit they make mistakes. Shock him into forgiving you.”
It might not be that easy with Blake. He’d been lied to so much, he’d become stingy with his trust. But it was better to be worthy of his trust and have it withheld than to prove him right.
Better for Blake, anyway. She could confirm being untrusted was the hell Sunday school had warned her about.
One good thing came from the home security demo, other than the security itself. “Gift shopping will be easy for a while. They’ll all want tools after that show.”
“As long as they know what they take apart, they have to put back together, you’ll be fine.” He winced at the reappearance of that word. “You had an eventful week.”
Fuck, it never ends. This was the first time she’d sat for more than two minutes in a row without falling into what passed for sleep these days.
“What happened?”
“Holly is... unaccounted for.”
“How delightfully vague.”
Wasn’t it, though? “We don’t know where she is, so we can’t say whether her absence is voluntary. My lawyer wants me to practice erring on the side of neutrality and maintaining my composure so I appear soft and motherly when we get to court.”
A big, strong woodworker’s hand wrapped around her arm, anchoring her. “I’m not a judge. Give me the ugly version.”
His other hand blocked Cole from butt-plopping onto his liver. Instead, the baby flopped over Griff’s stomach and waved his arms and legs as if making snow angels in the air. Griff anchored him with a hand on his round belly and awaited her answer.
Her throat tightened to restrain the outpouring of poison. “She left them. She told Blake he was responsible and not to ask anyone for help and walked out the door. Three and a half days later, when they were out of diapers and cereal — which was the only food she had for them, not even any milk — he broke down and called me, and I cannot erase her voice in his head telling him it was his responsibility and he failed.”
She gasped for air. There was none untainted to be found.
Cole whined, sensing the shift in her mood.
Next thing she knew, the baby was in her lap, and Griff was wrapped around her from behind. “Ivy needs hugs. Can you give her a big hug?”
Cole burrowed against her chest to comfort himself.
“That’s not a hug,” Griff gently corrected him. “You have to use your arms and squeeze, like this.”
Griff had an unfair advantage with arms long enough to wrap around both of them, but Cole did manage to get a stranglehold around her neck. The air cleared, though she couldn’t inhale it very well through his python grip. “That was a great hug. I feel better now.”
Worn out after a busy day, Cole resumed his cuddle position. Ivy kissed the silky hair on the top of his head. He was such a sweet, loving baby. She would never understand how anyone could just leave him. Any of them.
Griff’s chest formed a warm, solid wall against her back. “Blake takes responsibility very seriously. Like you. That’s a good quality to have.”
“Good for people who pass the buck. It’s not fair to him, and I hate him being used. He should enjoy being a kid.” There was no enjoyment in being the one in charge of staving off disaster.
“He’ll enjoy parts of it, but you’ll never cure him of carrying weight. He had both kinds of role model, Ivy. He chose you to emulate.”
The poor kid would have gray hair and an ulcer before he turned eleven. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“I think you’re pretty fantastic.” He tickled Cole’s cheek with a finger. “Who’s your favorite person?”
Cole shouted, “Nivy!”
“There. You’re outvoted. You can’t argue with democracy.”
She held the baby tighter, shamelessly using him as a shield to protect her heart.
“Do you have a recent picture of Holly? I know a guy who runs a security company. He has resources official channels might not use.”
Her shield was too small to save her from this assault with aid — and falling asleep on the job, besides. “Sounds pricey.”
“He’s owed me for years. I don’t have much use for a snoop or bodyguard.” He pressed his mouth against her hair. “Or would you rather not have her found?”
She had wrestled with that question all week. “I want her to be safe. I don’t want her to come back and take up where she left off with the kids.”
“Wes will report anything he finds directly to you. The information will be yours to do with as you see fit.”
The illusion of that much control in the midst of chaos was irresistible. “Her Facebook page is loaded with selfies.” Many of which provided detailed views of tattoos, piercings, and other distinguishing marks.
“That will help.” His nose brushed the shell of her ear. “I have a lot of pictures of you with a tape measure.”
She rocked Cole, and Griff matched her swaying, rocking her. “You’ve already built the cabinets. I think it’s safe to delete the measurements.”
“I haven’t kept them for those measurements. In one of them, you reached for the top of the cabinet, and your shirt rode up. I want to lick that strip of bare skin on your back every time I look at it.”
Her skin tingled in that spot as if he’d done it. Her voice came out weak. “Why are you here, Griff?”
“I’ve heard you tell a man you didn’t want him in your life. What you said to me didn’t sound the same.”
How could being held and comforted hurt so much? “It’s not an issue of wanting you. It’s inability to be a woman who can have you. This” — she encompassed the whole scene, four kids, minivan, suburbia — “is permanent. Every day. I don’t get evenings and weekends off for recreational activities.”
“Do you get an hour for lunch?”
She turned her head to give him the side eye. “You want me to duck out of work for a quickie?”
“What kind of man do you think I am? I have a job, too, you know. I can’t afford to be drained of my vitality and will to move in the middle of the day. My brother would not understand my need to be wheeled into a meeting on a stretcher when you were done with me.”
Perhaps because she’d felt utterly powerless, the ability to incapacitate him thrilled her. “That’s so weird. I’m always full of energy afterward.”
“Because you steal all of mine, succubus.”
Her wicked laugh did little to mend her reputation, and she didn’t care. Better a demon than Boring Old Ivy.
His arms tightened around her. “I just want to take you somewhere to decompress with a little friendly, PG-rated fun.”
Her need to decompress was inversely proportional to her time to do so. Her schedule was congested with work, kids, and legal obligations. “Tuesday?”
“Works for me.”
“Subject to change without notice, per usual.”
“I’ll be there. Call me if you need to reschedule.” His lips barely brushed her neck. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, before I go, I need to shock a ten-year-old into forgiving me.”
15
Tuesday, Ivy met Griff in the park at noon and accepted the parchment-wrapped bundle he offered. “Aw. You bought me cart falafel.”
“Wait. There’s more.” He presented her with a business card. “If a stranger calls asking about your sister, this one isn’t shady. Well, not much.”
The minimalist white-on-black card didn’t reveal much about the guy he knew beyond his name: Wes Hunter. “What did he say?”
Griff took
a great deal of interest in a passing pigeon.
“I can handle the ugly version.”
“I know you can. I wish you didn’t have to.” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “In his experience, missing people with profiles similar to Holly’s usually turn up in jail when they run out of booze, drugs, money, or the goodwill of whoever’s allowing them to hide.”
It wouldn’t surprise her if his prediction turned out to be accurate. “He’ll call if he finds anything?”
“Yeah. You’re welcome to call him for an update if you get anxious, but expect to be told he’ll call when he has something to report.”
“Not the chatty type?”
He gave a short laugh. “Enjoy the silence while it lasts. Once Wes gets started, it’s impossible to shut him up.”
“Thank you for doing this.”
“All I did was make a phone call.” He relieved her of the Bag of Infinite Holding and slung it over his shoulder. He shot her a disbelieving glance as he adjusted his stance against the weight but otherwise didn’t moan about it. “Now, eat your street food and prepare to leave your troubles behind.”
She had deliberately avoided forming expectations, but if she had made a list of likely destinations, the public golf course five minutes from downtown would have been near the bottom of it.
Griff looked at her feet as he helped her from the car. “I didn’t account for your shoes.”
“I have flats in my bag.”
“You do not joke about being prepared for every eventuality, do you?” He stood by while she swapped footwear and then escorted her to the driving range.
The attendant’s face brightened at their approach. “Eye-vee! Long time, no see.”
She was equally happy to see him. “I couldn’t bear to come while you were out with your knee surgery, so I’ve been going to the batting cage instead. How’s the recovery going, Hector?”
“Great, except when the wife wants me to clean the gutters. Then it flares up for some reason.”
“Must be the altitude.”
“You may be right. But that’s why the good Lord made teenage neighbors.”
