by Freya Barker
Sofie had taken to camping right away, but it didn’t take long to conclude sleeping in a tent and cooking over an open fire was not Nicky’s idea of a good time. Come to think of it, it may have been around then I started to sense perhaps we weren’t as well suited as I convinced myself we were.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Maybe you should,” Lisa insists. “The end of this month the kids will be home for the summer.”
Well, shit. I haven’t really thought about that either. I know the past two years Nicky had Sofie signed up for some kind of day camp for most of the summer, while she kept Spencer at home. That won’t be possible with Taz starting her new job.
Jesus. Mark me down for another parent fail.
“I’ll talk to Taz this weekend, figure it out. I’ll let you know Monday.”
I walk out of the clinic—waving a distracted goodbye when Lisa wishes me a good weekend—wondering if I should contact my alma mater to see if there are any third-year students looking for practicum placements during the summer months.
“We need to talk,” I announce, walking in the back door to find Taz in the kitchen.
“We sure do,” she snaps, surprising me with her tone. “After the kids are in bed.”
During dinner Taz engages with the kids, but freezes me out completely. Very different from this morning, and I struggle to figure out what might have brought about the change.
Unfortunately, I have to sit through a Disney movie the kids wanted to watch, get them ready for bed after, and read Spencer a chapter from his book, before I turn off their lights and make my way downstairs.
Taz is sitting on the couch, clasping a manila envelope against her chest.
“Were you even planning to tell me you were divorcing my sister?”
I narrowly catch the envelope she tosses in my direction, but I don’t need to see the contents to know what it holds.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I tell her honestly. I’ve uttered that same line a few times today. Perhaps it’s time I start thinking about stuff.
The divorce papers I handed Nicky four months ago hadn’t even been on my radar, given how things turned out.
I’d filed the application, but only after a mutual agreement that our marriage was null and void. Heck, for the last year we’d been sleeping in separate rooms. For the sake of the kids we weren’t obvious about it, but every night I’d do my thing in the master bath before heading down the hall to the spare bedroom. Sofie had questioned us once, and Nicky quickly covered by saying Daddy sometimes snores. I don’t even know if that’s true or not, but it seemed to satisfy Sofie for the moment.
I sink down in one of the club chairs and rest my elbows on my knees, my eyes on an obviously angry Taz.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve. It was a mutual decision to end things.”
“Easy to say. She’s not here to argue it.”
That was a low blow, and I know she sees the impact it has on me when she briefly winces.
“Which is why I probably wouldn’t have brought it up.” I’m torn, on one hand I don’t want to say anything bad about her sister, but I’m also the one insisting on better communication. Transparency would be a good start. “A year ago, I discovered Nicky was having an affair.”
Taz’s eyes grow big and she blurts out, “Again?”
“Right. I discovered about her prior indiscretion a few days before she died. Which is another discussion we should have, but let’s stick with this one first. I’ve come to realize in this past year that her affair—although still not excusable—was not so much the cause of our differences, but rather a symptom.”
“Puleeze…” Taz rolls her eyes for good measure and I bite down a grin at the dramatics. “I didn’t get it the first time, I certainly don’t get it now. Why make excuses for her? She had everything. Why would she throw that away?”
She had everything.
I let those words burrow under my skin, giving me courage.
“Because she never really had me.”
Chapter Twelve
Taz
“Spencer.”
I think I must’ve imagined the whispered name until I feel a shift under the covers beside me. My eyes blink open, and I roll on my side, to find my nephew slipping from the bed and joining his father by the door. He hustles his son into the hallway, throws me a wink, and pulls the door shut, leaving me to get my bearings.
I’d been struck dumb after the bombshell Rafe dropped last night, and had simply sat there staring openmouthed until he finally filled the silence by talking about plans for the summer. It took me a few moments to catch up to what he was saying. Something about making plans for the kids’ upcoming summer vacation, and possibly taking them camping for a week. He asked for my thoughts, but with my brain still scrambled, all I could do was tell him I’d sleep on it.
Well, I didn’t exactly sleep, but lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, mulling over his words half the night. Then around three thirty my door opened and Spencer padded in, mumbling something about a nightmare. Before I could say anything, he’d crawled into bed, his little body curling into mine. I must’ve fallen asleep shortly after.
Now my mind is churning again until I finally flip back the covers and head for the bathroom. No way I’ll be able to get back to sleep.
Half an hour later, with my dreads twisted in a towel on my head, I walk into the kitchen, expecting to find everyone there, but it’s empty. My favorite mug is sitting on the counter with a note underneath.
Fresh coffee in pot. Don’t eat. Bringing home breakfast.
x R
My eye gets caught on the signature. More specifically, the X beside his initial. Is that a kiss? Is that his normal way of signing his name or is it intended for me? He probably signed that way by rote. I’m probably reading altogether too much into this.
Yet I’m still staring at the note when the kids barrel through the front door moments later. Rafe follows at a slower pace, carrying a familiar bag.
“You drove to Winona?” I bulge my eyes and smile up at him.
“We got donuts!” Spencer announces, quite unnecessarily.
There isn’t a person able to hold down solid food that has ever lived in this area, who wouldn’t know what that logo means. Bloedow Bakery has been around for almost a century and is legendary for making the best donuts.
“Grab some napkins, Sofie,” Rafe orders his daughter, dropping the bag in the middle of the kitchen table before turning to the coffeepot.
“Can we eat in front of the TV?”
The question is almost whispered by Spencer, batting his eyelashes at me. I smell a rat and dart a glance at Rafe. “What does your father say?” I can tell from the crestfallen look on his face he’d already asked and been given an answer.
“No TV until after breakfast, Son,” Rafe mutters, carrying his coffee to the table.
I wink at the disappointed boy. “Tell me you picked me out a blueberry donut.”
Spencer nods with a serious face. “We always do. It’s Mom’s favorite, but I guess you can have it.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with sadness and bend down to press a kiss on my nephew’s forehead.
“What’s that for?” he asks, and I can’t help smiling as he wipes his sleeve over the spot.
“Bonus kiss. Only special people get those,” I whisper, before giving him a little shove to the table. “Better hurry before all the good ones are gone.”
“We only pick the good ones,” Sofie informs me, her mouth already circled with powdered sugar.
I grab my cup and sit down across from Rafe, who looks at me as he puts the blueberry donut on a napkin and slides it to me across the table. Ignoring three pairs of eyes on me, I take a bite, and moan at the taste as my eyes close involuntarily.
“Is it good?” I hear Sofie ask and I turn to her.
“The best.”
I’m trying to make my way to the checkout lane, with an overflow
ing cart on a wonky wheel, when my phone rings in my pocket. Rafe calling.
He said he would take the kids to see a litter of pups at one of the farms he visited earlier this week. I immediately have visions of one them upsetting the mom by getting too close. I’ve seen too many ugly injuries left by feral dogs in Central Africa.
“Are the kids okay?”
A brief silence follows before he responds, sounding amused. “Why wouldn’t they be? We haven’t even left yet.”
“Oh.” The air audibly deflates from my lungs.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up, I just got off the phone with Mom. They’re planning to come by tomorrow. She says she’ll bring dinner.”
“I’ll cook,” I blurt out, not entirely sure where that came from.
“Are you sure?”
I don’t need to think about it. I want to. “Positive. Can you let her know? I need to pick up a few more things.”
The soft chuckle on the other side instantly warms me. “Sure thing. I’ll do it before we go. We shouldn’t be too long. See you in a bit.”
“Okay. See you,” I mumble distractedly before ending the call. My mind is already planning tomorrow’s dinner.
I’m not sure what suddenly drives my need to cook for my family, but it seems important to make a good impression. Maybe it’s because it’s the one thing in which I take after Mom, my skills in the kitchen.
Growing up there was never room in the kitchen for anyone other than Mom, so neither Nicky nor I ever felt the need to learn. In college I mostly ate out, but there aren’t any restaurants in the unpopulated areas of central Africa where I worked. If you wanted a decent meal, more often than not you had to prepare it yourself. Cooking was both a necessity and a hobby.
For some reason, I’m eager to show my mother that contrary to popular opinion, perhaps the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree in that respect.
Maybe I’ll introduce them to Moambe Chicken, a Congolese national dish. If I don’t make it too spicy, the kids will probably like it too. The biggest challenge will be to find the proper ingredients in the single grocery store in Eminence, Missouri.
“Excuse me,” I approach a woman wearing a store smock with Manager embroidered on her chest.
She looks up and smiles. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. By any chance do you carry palm butter?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” she says apologetically. “In aisle three you’ll find peanut butter, almond butter, and even sunflower seed butter, but I doubt you’ll find palm butter.”
“I could probably use peanut butter,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “What about cassava leaves?”
She seems to study me, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head to the side. “You’re not from here, are you?”
I can’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Actually, I am. Originally. Born and raised.”
“You’re shitting me.” She leans a little closer and whispers conspiratorially, “I’ve lived here for four years and was convinced there weren’t any interesting people living in Eminence. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be wrong.”
“Well, I guess…thank you?” I grin at her, sticking my hand out. “Natasha, but most people call me Taz.”
“Meredith,” she says, taking my hand. “Now tell me, what on earth are you cooking?”
When I walk out of the store half an hour later, with enough groceries to last us a month, I do it with a giant smile on my face.
It looks like I made a new friend. One who seems satisfied taking me at face value instead of judging me based on an old reputation or a different appearance.
It gives me hope that perhaps I will be able to make a life here.
Rafe
It’s a lot later than I anticipated when I pull the truck in the spot beside the CRV.
A quick glance at the kids in the back seat puts a smile on my face, despite the niggling concern I may have jumped the gun.
It’s not like me to make spontaneous decisions, but there’d been something about the way the kids had buried their unguarded smiling faces in the soft fur of the wiggling pups in their arms. The words had flown from my mouth before I realized perhaps I should’ve included Taz.
Too late now.
As usual, Spencer is first through the door, this time with Sofie close on his heels. My hands full of bags, I kick the door shut behind me and freeze at the sight of Taz on her back on the living room floor, giggling like a loon with the two puppies crawling all over her face and biting at her hair.
Any concern I had flies out the window.
“You’re a pushover,” she teases me when I drop the bags and sit down on the coffee table.
“I’m not the one on the floor covered in puppy spit.”
She grins at my retort and the light in her eyes feels warm on my skin. I was concerned over nothing.
“Do they have names?” she asks the kids.
“Lilo and Stitch.” Of course it’s Spencer who’s the first to answer, even though Sofie was the one to come up with the names. Given that was the title of the movie the kids watched last night, Spencer immediately agreed. “That’s Stitch, he’s a boy,” my son quickly ads, pointing at the puppy sniffing a spot on the rug.
Shit. Before I can even react, Taz is up, scooping the pup up and running to the back door.
“Grab Lilo, Sofie. She may be ready for a pee too.”
With the kids following the exploring pups around the yard, I sink down beside Taz on the steps.
“What are they?”
I shrug. “Who knows? I’m guessing some English Shepherd, maybe some beagle, it’s hard to tell when they’re this small.”
“So barnyard mutts.”
“Pretty much.”
“They’re adorable. I think they’ll be good for the kids.”
I turn my head and find her eyes on me. “I’m hoping. It’s the happiest I’ve seen them in months.”
“I get it. The love of a dog is unconditional, much like the love of a parent…” she seems to hesitate a moment before she adds, “…should be. No limitations or expectations.”
It’s not a stretch to know she’s talking about her own experience, and my heart goes out to her. Things can’t have been easy on her since she came back to Eminence. Not only for the obvious reasons, but also because of the way she was welcomed home, and I use that term lightly. It wasn’t only by her parents but me as well, until Nicky set me straight a few days before she died.
“So you’re okay with this?” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “I probably should’ve checked with you first. Especially since I’m pretty sure your sister wouldn’t have approved. Sorry about that.”
“They’re your kids, it’s your house; it should be your decision. It just so happens I adore dogs, so you won’t hear any complaints from me.”
“Phew.” She smiles when I wipe imaginary sweat off my forehead, and I have a hard time looking away, until I hear Spencer yelling.
“He’s pooping!”
“Good,” I call out. “Wait ‘til he’s done and then tell him what a good boy he is.” I watch as my boy does exactly that. “That’s great, Spencer. Now go inside and grab that box of little bags we bought at the store.” When he hands me the box and starts walking away I stop him. “Hang on, Son.” I rip open the box and hand him a baggie. “It’s your dog, so your job to clean up after him.”
“Ewww.” His face is scrunched up, but he takes the bag from my hand.
Taz’s amused eyes sparkle up at me. “Bet he didn’t see that one coming,” she mumbles under her breath. “But that does bring up a practical question. The kids are in school during the day, and I start work on Monday, so who’s going to look after the puppies then?”
“I will. They can come with me to the clinic.”
She looks at me dubiously. “You will? You mean Lisa will.”
I figure best would probably be not to say anything to that, so I keep my mouth shut. Apparently T
az isn’t done yet.
“And who gets up when they cry during the night?”
This I had not exactly thought all the way through, so I throw Taz a winning smile I hope will earn me some goodwill.
“I thought we could take turns?”
She tosses her hair back and bursts out laughing. The sound—like the woman—is carefree. She’s gorgeous and I can’t take my eyes off the silk column of her exposed neck I’d like to run my lips along.
Chapter Thirteen
Taz
It was me who ended up sleeping on the couch last night.
After what had been an exciting day, with the addition of the new family members, the kids had been exhausted. While Rafe went up to put them to bed, I waited for him outside, finishing my glass of wine while keeping an eye on the pups.
An hour later he still hadn’t surfaced. I went to look for him and found him fast asleep with both kids on the big king-sized bed in the master bedroom. I didn’t have the heart to wake him so I backed out of the room, went to put my pj’s on, grabbed a pillow and blanket from my bedroom, and curled up on the couch.
The dogs were up a few times during the night; whimpering and crying until I finally picked them up and let them cuddle on the couch with me. As far as puppy training goes, probably not the best idea, but at least I got some sleep.
The wiggling of a pair of small warm bodies curled up against my stomach wakes me up, and the first thing I see is Rafe crouched beside the couch, his blue eyes inches from mine.
“I was about to let them out.”
“Okay,” I mumble, stretching my body the moment he picks up the dogs. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
Padding into the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of Rafe bending over one of the dogs, probably praising it for doing its business. It isn’t the first time I’ve noticed his firm ass, especially in those well-worn jeans, but what holds my attention is how low they ride on his hips. There’s a wedge of pale skin visible instead of the customary waistband of his boxer briefs.
