by Freya Barker
As I suspected it might, the smile disappears.
“You mean they’re coming home? Like…now?” She immediately scrambles to her feet and starts wiping her hands on her well-worn jeans. “But I’m not ready. I—”
I grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Breathe, Taz. The kids just want to come home. They’ll be thrilled to see the dogs and sleep in their own beds. There’s nothing to be ready for.”
Even as I try to reassure her, I can tell the panic is winning. She twists out of my hold and runs inside, tripping over the dogs who’ve apparently been waiting right behind the door. I follow inside at a more sedate pace, hearing Taz mutter to herself as she tears upstairs. Stitch and Lilo sit at the bottom, staring up with equally woeful expressions.
I’m tempted to go after her, but decide instead to get those burgers on the grill. Maybe it’s better to let her do what she thinks she needs to do without interfering.
I get it. Things have changed from when the kids left for Kentucky in a major way. It’s been good to have this time alone to find our footing, but that’s about to change.
I suspect a good part of her panic has less to do with the kids, and more with her parents, though, and if I’m honest, I’m not exactly looking forward to that confrontation either.
“I can’t eat,” she announces half an hour later, after having taken one bite of her burger.
She came down a few minutes ago, her face washed and dressed in a navy pair of shorts and some flowery top I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Nicky wear before. Her hair is tied back at the nape of her neck and she doesn’t look like herself, but I wisely keep my mouth shut.
“Eat a little more,” I urge her, but her eyes shoot fire in response. I ignore it and take another bite, both dogs sitting in the grass, eyes glued to the food.
“I don’t get how you can eat at all,” she snaps. “They could be here any minute.”
“You’re getting worked up over nothing, Taz.” I try to be reasonable, but I can tell right away that doesn’t exactly go over well.
“Nothing?” She jumps up from the steps where we were sitting. “You won’t call it nothing when Mom sniffs out what we’ve been up to while they were gone.” She leans close and hisses, “And trust me she will.”
Right. Time to get this under control.
I get up, set my plate next to Taz’s on the railing—to the great disappointment of the pups— and put my hands on her shoulders, backing her against the brick.
“If she does, we deal. The state you’re in, I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t cotton on. You need to settle down.”
“Don’t tell me to settle down!”
I slide my hands up her neck and rest them on either side of her face, leaning in close. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens, we handle it together. You’re not alone in this, Sweets. I’m right beside you.”
Her face softens a fraction, but she’s not quite done yet. “But—”
I don’t let her finish and head straight for the last resort, shutting her up with my mouth on hers. Her body immediately goes rigid, but with a little coaxing her lips part, letting me in, and her hands fist in my shirt.
Then the dogs start barking as a voice sounds from inside.
“Daddy! We’re home!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Taz
I feel my mother’s eyes scrutinizing me as she joins me in the kitchen.
Rafe is upstairs, putting the kids to bed. They’ve been glued to him ever since they walked in half an hour ago. Spencer announced within minutes of getting home that he was ’starving’ so I pulled out some cheese and crackers, which both he and Sofie devoured in no time, regaling us with excited stories all the while. It didn’t take long for them to burn off their energy and were half asleep when their dad announced bedtime.
I left Mom and Dad to finish the drinks Rafe poured them, to tidy the kitchen. Hiding out, more accurately. Not just to avoid them, but to come to terms with my father’s appearance.
He’s not doing well.
I’m a nurse, I understand the stages of Parkinson’s, and it’s clear to me sometime over the past week and a bit, Dad has deteriorated. He’s been pretty lucky so far, the first stages of the disease having been slow in progressing, but it’s obvious things are changing.
His face is almost expressionless. That wasn’t the case before. Sure, he had a few tics and twitches, which is common, but those muscular spasms have been replaced with lack of muscle movement altogether. I also noticed his hand missing his glass several times because of the increased tremors. When Mom finally picked it up and put it to his lips, I had to look away.
It’s clear this last adjustment in his medication is not working effectively.
Parkinson’s may be incurable, but in and of itself it’s not necessarily fatal. It’s the complications in the more progressed stages of the disease that can be lethal.
“You noticed.”
I turn to face Mom as she glances over her shoulder into the living room before stepping closer.
“Hard not to,” I admit. “Does he?”
She nods. “I wanted to come home right away, but he insisted on staying until today as planned. I need to take him to see the neurologist in Springfield. I already called for an appointment on Friday.”
“When?”
She looks at me questioningly. “Friday. Why?”
“Because I want to come.” There isn’t even a conscious thought involved when I blurt that out, and I’ve clearly surprised Mom.
She pauses before she responds. “You want to come?”
“I thought I might be helpful,” I scramble, suddenly not so sure. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, so I forge on. “I have a decent understanding of the disease and have read up on treatment options since Dad was diagnosed.”
She looks disbelieving, which I can’t blame her for, all she knows is that I disappeared. She has no idea I’ve kept up as best I could through Kathleen.
“Have you heard of DBS?” she asks.
“Deep Brain Stimulation? Yes. Is that an option?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we’re hoping to find out on Friday. Maybe it’ll be good if you come, half the time I don’t understand what his doctor is talking about. Maybe you can interpret for us.”
“Be happy to, Mom.”
Before things get uncomfortably close to a sappy moment, Rafe walks in, cocking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Dad’s half asleep on the couch, want me to get him back in the RV or should I give you a ride home in the Honda? We can drop off the RV tomorrow for you.”
“Yeah, I should get him home. If you wouldn’t mind driving, that would be great. It would be easier for him to get in.”
“Of course.”
I touch Mom’s arm. “Why don’t I give you a hand getting what you need from the trailer?” I offer.
“Sure,” is her somewhat hesitant response.
It takes us only a few minutes to move their stuff into the back of the SUV. By the time we’re locking the RV back up, Rafe comes walking out, supporting Dad. I’m a little concerned at the jerky way he moves, but fatigue can be a factor there too.
When my father’s buckled in the front seat, Rafe holds the back door open for Mom to get in, while turning to me.
“Kids are already asleep. I won’t be too long, Sweets.”
I freeze when the endearment slips from his mouth and is followed by a sharp hiss. My eyes instantly dart to my mother as her head snaps around, her face showing confusion, as Rafe swings the door shut.
“Wave, Taz,” he says under his breath before he jogs around to the driver’s side.
I force a smile on my face, raise my hand, and watch them drive off.
Fucking hell.
I turn my head and look at the alarm clock on my nightstand.
Three in the morning and I’ve done nothing but stare up at the ceiling since I went to bed almost five hours ago. I went up after quickly letting the
dogs out and locking them safely in their crate after Rafe left.
I heard him come home shortly after and listened to him move around downstairs until I heard him come up. His footsteps stopped outside my door and I waited with bated breath, but then they moved away down the hall.
My mind has done nothing but churn on that slip of the tongue, Mom’s reaction, Dad’s condition, the kids, and no Rafe in my bed. Not that I expected him here; we’d agreed on sleeping in our own rooms. Still, this new bed is massive with only me occupying it.
It would’ve been nice to ask him if Mom said anything—gave him any indication she heard what he said—but that’s my own fault. I’m the one who panicked and hid in the bedroom.
Stupid.
I check the clock again, three fifteen.
Shit.
There’s a rustle in the hallway and I freeze, my eyes focusing on the door. Even in the dark, I can see the handle move before it slowly opens and Rafe’s familiar form slips inside. He takes a few steps and I hear a thump, followed by a whispered litany of very creative swearing.
“Rafe?” I shoot up in bed.
“Shit. Did I wake you? Sorry.”
I feel the mattress dip when he slides under the covers. He pulls me back down and tucks me with my back to his front, his body curved around me.
“What’s going on?”
“I stubbed my toe on the damn bed.”
“Yes, I figured that when I heard the cursing. I mean why are you here in the middle of the night? I thought we’d agreed—”
“I can’t sleep,” he interrupts in a low voice.
“Neither can I,” I admit. “I can’t get my mind to shut up.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“God, don’t get me started. There’s that slipup I think my mom heard.” I turn in his arms so we’re face-to-face. “Did she?”
“Fuck. It slipped out. I was waiting for her to say something, but she just looked at me funny. I figure maybe she’s not sure what she heard.”
“I hope so. Otherwise it would make the drive to Springfield on Friday very uncomfortable.”
“Springfield?”
“Dad has an appointment with the neurologist.”
“Yeah, he seemed a lot worse.” He strokes the back of his fingers over my cheek. “So you’re going with them?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll see if Kathleen can take the kids for the day.”
His smile is warm as he leans in for a soft brush of his lips, then another, before he slants his head and takes my mouth in a sweet, lazy kiss.
“Get some sleep, baby,” he mumbles when he finally lifts away, and I turn so we’re back to front again.
“What if the kids—”
“I’ll be up before them.”
I close my eyes and with his breath brushing my shoulder, and the secure weight of his body wrapped around me, I feel myself finally drifting off.
“Rafe?”
“Hmm?”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I missed you.”
Rafe
“Puleeze, can we have a horse?”
I look over at Spencer. “Son, we’ve had this talk.”
In fact, we’ve had this talk every morning over breakfast since the kids got home. The animals vary; he’s asked for a goat, a potbelly pig, and this morning’s horse is a repeat of Tuesday. What has been consistent, and a bit puzzling, is he always seems to turn to Taz and asks her.
I have a sneaky suspicion Sofie is putting her brother up to it. She’ll whisper something to him and then intently observes the interaction with special focus on her aunt. This morning is no different.
It’s not the only thing I’ve noticed. Since coming back her behavior toward Taz has changed. Short monosyllabic answers and when I catch her looking at Taz, she seems almost hostile at times.
“Sofie, can I have a word with you?” I tilt my head in the direction of the living room and watch as she gets up from the table and drags her feet out the door.
The clinic will have to wait; my daughter and I need a talk.
“Finish your breakfast, Spencer,” I hear Taz tell him when I follow my daughter into the living room.
“I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” Sofie challenges the moment I walk in.
“You can finish it when we’re done.”
I ignore the scowl on her face and pull her down on the couch with me, my arm around her shoulders firmly anchoring her in place.
“What’s going on with you, Pipsqueak?” I ask gently.
“Nothing.”
Yet I can feel her go rigid under my touch at my question.
“It’s not nothing. I know my girl.” I give her shoulder a squeeze. “This business with your brother every morning, that has to stop.”
She looks at me with those pretty brown eyes, so much like her mother and her aunt, and innocently blinks at me. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Not buying, Sofie. I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but it’s not fair to Spencer. Are you upset about something? You seem angry. At Aunt Taz, especially. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” This time she drops her head as she mumbles the word and I can hear her voice crack.
I move to sit on the coffee table across from her, so I can look her in the eye. Leaning forward, I put my hands on her legs. “Did something happen in Kentucky?” She shakes her head, but I notice a tear rolling down her face. “Did someone say something? Come on, Pipsqueak, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“She’s just going to leave us too,” she hiccups.
“Who is? Aunt Taz?”
“Yes.” With that she bursts into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
I slide to my knees in front of her and pull her shaking body in my arms. “Oh, baby. Aunt Taz isn’t leaving. Who told you that?”
Over her shoulder I can see Taz in the door opening, worry sketched on her face. I shake my head and mouth, “I’ve got this.”
My little girl is sobbing inconsolably. I move to sit on the couch, pulling her on my lap, and wait patiently for the crying to subside.
“Why would you think Aunt Taz is leaving, Sofie?”
“Be-because I huh-heard Grandma and G-Grandpa fight. Grandma said sh-she wouldn’t be able to handle us, that she wasn’t gonna stick around once she understood how much work raising kids is.”
“Grandma is wrong,” I say with enough conviction she lifts her head from my drenched shirt and looks up. I struggle to control the rush of anger at the look of devastation on my daughter’s face.
“But…”
Cupping her jaw with both hands I brush my thumbs at the wet on her cheeks. “She’s not leaving, Pipsqueak. There’s nothing you can do that would make that happen.”
“Promise?” she whispers, hope replacing the sadness.
“Cross my heart and hope to… I promise.” I hug her close and bury my nose in her soft hair, before loosening my hold so I can look at her sternly. “Now what’s with all these barnyard animals?”
She has the good sense to look a little sheepishly from under her eyelashes. “I dunno.”
“No? You and I both know you were testing your aunt, Sofie. That stops now, okay? The short snippy tone you’re taking with her, the dirty looks, and most of all enlisting your brother to be at his most annoying.”
She giggles at that, and I have a hard time keeping the stern look on my face. “Okay, Daddy.”
“Good. No more barnyard animals.”
I’ve been behind the eight ball since this morning’s late start.
I never even had a chance to brief Taz on my conversation with Sofie. Luckily she said she’d drop the kids off at Kathleen’s on her way to her parents’ place.
My first patient of the day had been a badly injured dog, hit by a car as the young animal took off across the street. The owner walked in, carrying the poor thing in a blanket, and of course I took him straight to the back. Everyone else in the reception area
would have to wait.
I managed to patch him up, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on him so he’s staying the weekend.
Although most were understanding; I had a few disgruntled owners come in with their pets. The last of whom I sent on their way, when my cell phone rings.
“Hey, you,” I tell Taz when I see it’s her.
“Hi, I wanted to check in with you. Dad’s doctor had an emergency and is running behind.”
I snort. “That seems to be a theme today. I’m running behind myself.”
“Oh shit. I should probably call Kathleen then. At this rate I may not be home in time to pick up the kids and get dinner on the table. We may end up eating on the road. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll take care of the kids and call Kathleen,” I assure her. “You have other things on your mind.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go. See you tonight.”
The last is full of promise and spoken very softly, putting an immediate smile on my face. I drop my voice an octave when I answer.
“Yes, you will.”
Lisa is staring at me slack-jawed when I tuck my phone back in my pocket.
“What?”
“I’ve thought it, I’ve hoped it, I’ve sensed it, but until now I wasn’t sure. Now I know.”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” I lie, looking at her smug face.
“I bet. Happy for you, Rafe.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Taz
“How are you getting along with the kids?”
I lift my eyes to the rearview mirror, where I find Mom looking back at me from the back seat.
We’ve been on the road for an hour and this is the first direct question she’s asked me. For the most part it’s been quiet, with occasional exchanges between her and Dad about day-to-day stuff.
I’m instantly alert at her question.
