I’d missed it too.
The ten minutes actually only lasted about two before Pippa asked irritably, “Can we watch something while you schedule your bazillion programs into the DVR?”
I looked at the programming happening and wondered when my son actually intended to watch all that.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Something,” she answered.
Expertly, Auden changed the channel to something Pippa would accept then went back to programming the DVR.
But he did this asking, “That cool for you, Mom?”
In my son’s voice (or my daughter’s), “Mom” was the most beautiful word in the English language.
“Yeah, kiddo,” I replied, not even knowing what we were watching.
I didn’t care.
They were back.
My kids were back.
With me.
* * * * *
“Amy, that’s fuckin’ great,” Mickey said in my ear through the phone while I reclined on my daybed in my bedroom.
The kids were still camped out in front of the TV, but I’d gone to my room because it was late.
It was also high time to text Lawr and Robin.
But I decided to phone Mickey.
Lawr and Robin texted back with different but equally elated responses.
Mickey was giving his verbally.
“It’s actually Lawrie’s doing,” I told him. “He called them a while ago and gave them a talking to.”
“Just a catalyst to finish the work you been doin’, darlin’,” Mickey replied. “Don’t give away credit you should take.”
That was when it happened. I didn’t know why that was what made it happen. But it happened.
And my soft sob was audible.
“Fuck, Amy,” Mickey whispered.
“I missed them,” I whispered back, my voice husky and trembling.
“Can’t imagine, don’t want to, baby, but they’re back. Rejoice.”
“I am, Mickey. These are happy tears,” I told him.
“Then I won’t walk over and jimmy up your window so I can climb in and take care of you.”
God, he was a good man.
And suddenly, I wished they were sad tears.
“You could still do that,” I told him.
“How about we don’t introduce me to your kids with the possibility of them catchin’ me breakin’ into your bedroom?”
I was still crying a little even as I giggled.
“That I like to hear,” he murmured, that murmur underlining his words.
“So, kids DVRing a million programs, do you think that means they’re going to come over and watch them?” I asked hesitantly, wiping away my tears, asking this because I wanted the answer to be a definitive yes, but I was worried it would be an uncertain one.
“Don’t know your kids’ habits, babe, but also do not know a kid who tapes a show they don’t intend to watch. I also know, if they got a million taping, your DVR space is gonna be used up and so they’re gonna have to find a way to clear it somehow, and that shit’s not gonna happen comin’ over once a month.”
That was not definitive.
But I’d take it.
“I should let them know they’re welcome over anytime,” I declared.
“You haven’t already done that?” he asked.
“I should repeat to them perhaps more than once over the next two days that they’re welcome over anytime,” I amended.
I could hear his smile in his, “Good plan.”
“Are you still at the firehouse?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered.
“I should let you go,” I noted.
“Yeah, but only because I went somewhere to talk privately, the guys have invaded and they’re givin’ me shit for talkin’ to my girlfriend.”
I again very much liked him referring to me as his girlfriend.
But my back went straight. “That isn’t very nice.”
“You got time to kill, apparently they feel in the mood to kill it tonight bein’ assholes.”
I had a feeling this was directed right to guys.
I also had a feeling I really should let Mickey go.
“I’ll help put an end to that and say goodnight,” I offered.
“Okay, darlin’, check in tomorrow.”
“I will, Mickey. Stay sharp.”
“Always,” he replied. “Later, Amy.”
“Later, honey.”
We hung up and stared at my unlit fireplace.
Don’t give away credit you should take.
There was no denying that their Uncle Lawrie calling and sharing he felt they needed to shape up helped.
But Mickey was right.
It was mostly me.
I’d been in the battle of my life, the stakes the most important there were.
And I’d won.
On that thought, feeling like I was floating for a different reason, I got up and walked to my bed. I put my phone on the nightstand and went to my bathroom. I got ready for bed, turned out the lights, slipped between the sheets.
And I fell asleep easily.
* * * * *
I was at the kitchen counter, clicking through my laptop, when I saw movement.
I looked up and saw Auden wandering in wearing a navy tee snug across his broad (and getting broader) chest and a loose pair of plaid pajama bottoms.
“Hey, kiddo,” I called. “You want breakfast?”
“Yeah, Mom,” he replied, wandering my way, still looking sleepy. Half boy. Half man. All my son. “Waffles?” he requested as he came to a stop at the end of the counter.
“Sure,” I replied, straightened away from my laptop and turned to the kitchen.
It was Sunday morning.
Our Saturday had been just as good, if not better, than our Friday night.
I met Polly and her mother, Sherry, when they came over to get a tour of Cliff Blue.
I liked Sherry unreservedly. She was what I was learning most of Magdalene was. Nice, open and friendly. We got along immediately.
I wished I could say the same about Polly.
She was a pretty little thing, not as pretty as my daughter, but still very attractive.
She also had an air about her that put me on edge.
Conceited. Snooty.
And the way I grew up, I could call conceited and snooty from twenty paces.
Further, it was clear she was queen bee and my daughter was her minion. She didn’t overtly treat Pippa as such, but it was communicated anyway.
Olympia might like her, but I suspected Polly held some position at school that Pippa wanted to be close to and so she was serving her queen.
I felt badly about thinking this about Polly, especially considering Sherry was so lovely. I was also troubled about witnessing this from Pippa.
These feelings didn’t get any better when Auden interacted with the girls, openly reluctant to be in the presence of Polly in a way that he was clearly trying to hide his aversion to her.
During their visit, we all decided to go out to lunch, with Auden deciding not to join us (this being because he was a teenage boy, not because he didn’t like Polly). He hooked up with his friends, and I enjoyed spending time with Sherry but, alas, this time with Polly only cemented my opinion of her.
For one, she was openly catty about the people around us (mostly the females, their hair, outfits, anything she could note and say something mean about). Sherry attempted to curtail this but didn’t put a lot of effort into that, probably because she didn’t want to embarrass her daughter by remonstrating her in front of her friend and her friend’s mom.
And further, Polly was almost entirely negative about absolutely everything; the food, the temperature of the restaurant, the service.
After we parted ways, I decided it was too soon in my reparation efforts to broach this subject with my daughter, so I didn’t.
I didn’t do this also with the hope that she’d sort herself out. She was a good ki
d. A smart one. She had good friends back in La Jolla, they were close, had been friends a long time and they were all great kids. She’d been in Magdalene awhile, but she still was in a new place finding her way, and now, doing that her first year of high school.
I just had to trust she’d find the right way.
We came back, had a family dinner and I let them go out with their friends last night.
I got a knock on the door when Pippa got home, through which she’d called, “Mom! I’m back!” and I’d replied, “Good. Hope you had fun!” to which she said, “I did! Goodnight.”
Auden didn’t knock on my door but I stayed up until he got home.
Now, it was morning and, except for Polly, the weekend had been a smashing success and I was still flying.
“What’s this?” Auden asked.
I turned from getting the pancake batter mix down and saw him looking at my laptop.
“Just some research I’m doing on a possible fundraiser I’m thinking about,” I told him.
That was the truth.
However, the specifics included me attempting to find what I thought should be easy to find, though I’d never looked for such things. They were still public records. These being the town of Magdalene’s financial accounts.
I didn’t know what was driving me or if I’d make any sense of what I found when I found it.
I still wanted to know what they allocated to the fire department.
The town was clean. There were flowers decorating Cross Street and the boardwalk. The 4th of July decorations had been effusive but attractive. The roads were nice. There was a small police station that resembled the fire station in its age, size and quaintness. They had an extensive recycling program.
But there was also money in that town. Coastal properties that I knew from experience cost a good deal. Shops that were not inexpensive in the slightest that stayed in business because someone was patronizing them regularly. Very nice restaurants.
Everyone paid taxes and with property tax alone, there had to be money in the coffers for more than flowers, holiday decorations, decent roads (which might not be the town’s responsibility at all but the county’s or the even the state’s), recycling and street sweeping.
“It was cool what you did for those kid boxers.”
My thoughts about the town’s finances flew out the window as my eyes shot to my son.
His voice was strange.
Not sleepy.
Regretful.
When I caught his eyes, I saw that tone reflected in them and felt my heart squeeze.
Auden went on, “My friend Joe and his little brother are both in that league, though Joe’s in the young adult portion. But Joe’s family isn’t rolling in it. They can’t afford gloves and shorts and all the other stuff they need. Same as wrestling, I guess, it not being fun to put on sweaty headgear a hundred other guys have used before you, even if it is cleaned.”
I looked to my son feeling a great deal but saying nothing.
“Joe was freaking ecstatic you raised all that money. He’s into that. Boxing. Been in that league for five years. Says this year, because of that money, it’ll be the best one yet.”
“Well, now I’m happier I did it than I was before,” I replied.
“It was cool,” he repeated softly.
Instead of weeping, I gave him a gentle smile.
“Been a dick,” he whispered.
Our conversation had turned to a place I did not want my son to go.
My nose started stinging and I whispered back, “Auden. Don’t.”
“Thinking on it, you had your reasons,” he said.
“I did,” I agreed. “But I should have shielded you from it.”
“I guess,” he muttered unconvincingly.
I slid closer to him and stated, “We’re all moving on. That’s done. Behind us. Now is now. And now is good. So let’s stick in the now, honey.”
His head tipped to the side, his gaze evading mine, and it looked like he wanted to say something but he didn’t say it.
He said, “I can stick in the now.”
“Good,” I replied.
He caught my eyes. “Are you happy?”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m doing great, kiddo. Really, really good. And yes, happy.” I gave him that. It was no lie. But I had to get him out of the place he was in. “Now do you want waffles, or what?”
His lips quirked and he asked, “Where’s the iron?”
“Cupboard to the side of the sink,” I answered.
I got to work. My son got the waffle iron out for me. Then he grabbed some juice and sat on a stool.
“Be cool I come over and hang, watch some of my programs?” he asked and my heart leaped as he went on, “Martine’s got a bunch of crap taping, so Pip and I miss a lot of things.”
Selfish, DVR-hogging Martine.
But he’d just mentioned her without being tense about it so that was indication he trusted I was over it so he could.
Which meant everything.
“Sure,” I told him casually. “Just give me a heads up you’re coming over.”
“Cool,” he muttered.
I was pouring the first waffle on the iron when Pippa wandered out of her room in much the same outfit as my son’s except the top was a pale yellow camisole and the bottoms were a yellow, green and peach plaid.
“Morning, honey,” I called. “Want waffles?”
She stared dazedly at the iron as she made her way to the kitchen and hiked her behind on a stool.
Only then did she say, “Yeah.”
I dropped the top and just contained myself from doing a whirl.
“You gonna get a dining room table, or is that space reserved for you to set up your Buddhist meditation space?” Auden teased.
I grinned at him. “The dining room table is foiling me.”
“You’ll need one, Uncle Lawrie, Mercer and Hart come for Thanksgiving,” Auden pointed out.
This was very true.
It was time to make the dining room table a mission.
“Just so you know, I talked with your Uncle Lawrie and they’re considering it, but Aunt Mariel might also be coming.”
Both kids did not look delighted with this news. Then again, having a soulless, emotionless vampire as an aunt to your favorite uncle was not something my kids liked either.
Pippa powered through first and suggested, “We can hit some stores today.”
I jumped on that trying not to appear like I was jumping on that. “You’re on.”
“God, furniture shopping,” Auden mumbled.
“Lobster at the Lobster Market for lunch, you come with your sister and me,” I bribed my son.
“Auden’ll do anything for lobster,” Pippa chimed in.
She didn’t have to tell me. I knew that.
“Add lobster chowder on top of lobster and I’m in,” Auden negotiated.
“Then we have plans,” I said.
Pippa looked sleepily excited.
Auden looked resigned but not surly.
And I was floating on top of the world.
* * * * *
“This is totally you,” Pippa declared.
I looked to my daughter who was holding up a bottle of perfume.
We were in Sephora. Dining room table shopping had been a bust. The Lobster Market had been a blast. And we were at the mall because Pippa wanted to go and because Auden’s friends were already there hanging.
So he was with his friends, and Pippa and I were dinking around shopping, something we’d done a lot before I’d lost my mind and my kids. Something we liked doing.
“Sock it to me,” I said and Pippa grabbed a paper strip, spritzed the perfume on it, waved it and then stuck it out to me.
I smelled it.
It was fresh and clean with a delicate floral background and hints of vanilla to mellow it out.
It was no Chanel No 5, but then again, that was the perfume to end all perfumes and nothing was.
&nb
sp; But there was something about the scent my daughter chose for me that I loved. Subtle. Mellow. Fresh. But still complicated.
“Grab a bottle of that, sweets,” I said after sniffing it.
She smiled and did as asked.
We drifted away and she shared, “I need more mascara.”
“We’ll grab a tube,” I replied. “Have you experimented with bronzer yet?”
“No,” she told me.
I grinned at my girl. “Let’s go play.”
She grinned back.
Then my baby girl and me played with makeup.
* * * * *
I hit the garage door button and stepped out of the door that led to the garage after waving at my kids as they backed down my drive.
It closed on me and I wandered to the kitchen.
Smiling, I grabbed my phone and started alternately texting Lawr and Robin to share all the news of my first good weekend with my kids in over a year.
While doing this, my phone in my hand rang.
It was Mickey.
I answered it, “Hey, honey.”
“It’s after five. They gone?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Today good?” he asked.
He knew yesterday was, I’d reported it to him through texts.
“It was great, honey.”
“Right, then get your ass over here. Makin’ you dinner and it’s almost ready.”
My toes curled, my belly flipped and my soul took flight.
“I’ll be right over.”
“Amy?” he called before I could say good-bye, ring off and race over to his house (without looking like I was racing, obviously).
“Yes?”
“Bring a nightie.”
My knees wobbled, my belly dipped and my heart soared.
“Okay, Mickey.”
“See you in a minute.”
“You will. ’Bye.”
“Later.”
We hung up.
I dashed to get a nightie.
I shoved it in my purse with my phone, a small travel bag of facial cleanser and moisturizer, as well as an extra pair of panties.
Then I went over to Mickey’s.
Chapter Eighteen
Path That Was Dark and Forbidding
“Baby.”
I kept working Mickey’s cock.
“Amy.”
That was a growl.
I kept bobbing and sucking.
Soaring (9781311625663) Page 33
