Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  “Buddha?” Deena shouted. “Daddy, you’re a Methodist! What’s all of this pagan talk?”

  “I’ll do it,” Bunny said. “I’m in. Daddy’s right. Life is too short. I’ll say it, and...” The next part was harder to say. “I’ll mean it.”

  Deena’s lips pursed again. She looked back and forth between Bunny and their father.

  Finally, Daddy held up three fingers for Deena to see. “Three syllables sweetheart. ‘I’m sorry.’ And I’ll say it first: I’m sorry.”

  It took a while, but Deena finally relented, apologies were made, and they all agreed to forget the past and move forward without grudges.

  By the time Bunny had drained her cup of tea, Deena had actually laughed a genuine laugh.

  Driving back to work, Bunny wondered how long the truce would last, but she decided to be optimistic rather than pessimistic. Daddy was no dummy, though. He loved Deena, but he knew the protection order had sent her a clear message.

  She spotted Tate’s truck the minute she pulled into the gravel lot. Her stomach did a little flip-flop, and she couldn’t suppress a smile. She had to restrain herself to keep from running through the front doors of the Nature Center.

  She wanted to appear interested and concerned, but not eager or needy. Calm. Reserved.

  “How did it go?” Olga asked when Bunny set her purse on the desk.

  “Great. The judge granted the order. Thank you for covering for me.” She looked down the hallway to the back offices. “Um, did Tate make it back today?”

  “Oh, he make it back, alright. Comes up here every ten minutes pretending like he needs this thing or that thing. Has big story about he needs to ask you about a ‘message.’” Olga mimed finger quotes in the air. “He’s got the puppy love, alright.” She hopped off the chair and shook her head, but then grinned at Bunny. “You both got the puppy love, yes?”

  Bunny put an index finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I mean, not that there’s anything to tell.”

  “Don’t tell anyone? Everyone knows, Bunny. We just all waiting for you two to, you know, get things going.” She winked and then scampered silently down the hall in her nurse’s shoes.

  Bunny fanned her burning face. Had she been that obvious?

  After that discussion, there was no way she could waltz into his office to say “hi” because everyone would know she had ulterior motives. Mortified, she snatched her empty water bottle from the desk. She needed a refill badly.

  Thankfully, she found Tate in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. She needed water, he needed coffee. No office gossip there.

  “Hi,” she said, her heart pounding. He looked good. A little tired maybe. He had light circles under his dark eyes, but to her, he always looked good. So, so good.

  He smiled at her. “Hi. Olga said you were at the courthouse?”

  “For Daddy. It’s a bit of family drama, but everything worked out surprisingly well.” She felt the need to move closer, but couldn’t make her feet budge. “How is your dad? Is he back at home now?” She reminded herself that she was here to get water. She stepped to the cooler and started to fill her bottle.

  Tate leaned against the counter. “He is.” He seemed eager to change the subject. “Hey, so your son and my daughter, huh? I’m not sure I’m happy about this.”

  Bunny was confused. “Happy about what?”

  “Charlie and Willow going to the prom.”

  “Hmm.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “Sorry, I assumed you knew.”

  “Oh, I’d find out,” she laughed. “The day before. When he needed a tux.” Some hair fell in her face and she tucked it behind her ear.

  Tate turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “I need to be getting over to Morton’s soon.”

  “Oh.” She wanted to ask him more about his father, but he’d made it clear he didn’t like to discuss that subject at work. Suddenly, Bunny didn’t know what else to say. She panicked until she thought about the play. “The sets are coming along really well, and Ms. Steffler is actually happy. Stop by sometime and see them if you want. We’re moving everything to the school theater in another week or so.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’d like to do that. Are you going to be around tonight?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be home. They’re not working on the sets tonight.” Her mouth was dry as a bone, and she really wanted to take a drink of the water, but she feared she’d dribble down her chin. She kept picturing Tate making love to her and remembering the gentle touch of his lips on her neck and...other places.

  “But stop by anyway,” she said. She wanted him to stop by. If they saw each other alone, they could talk about the night. But he might not want to talk about the night. Then she’d feel terrible.

  For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and although he didn’t speak, Bunny felt sure Olga was right.

  Abigail walked into the kitchen, humming a little tune. She’d been humming a lot since her date with George. She opened the refrigerator door and peeked in.

  “Tate, I forwarded you an email from Rupert Long.” She pulled a soda can from the fridge and popped it open. “He and some other Association board members had some concerns about the paths in the North Woods. I don’t know why he emailed me—it’s your area. Can you handle him?”

  Perfect timing, Bunny thought, to make a graceful exit. “I should, uh, get back to the phones.” She wanted to send Tate an extra little smile, but didn’t dare.

  By four o’clock, Bunny was re-hydrated and was reasonably focused on her job. Michael was on her mind though, because it was Friday afternoon. She was surprised that he hadn’t called asking to spend the weekend at Richard’s.

  She fully expected the request, but had decided to take Daddy’s advice and not react negatively. He was a teenage boy who needed his father in his life. She would be supportive of that, no matter how much she hated the creep.

  She decided to give a quick call home just to check in.

  The phone rang five times before Michael picked up. “Yeah?”

  “Hi,” she said as chipper as she could manage. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Nothin’.”

  She tried to imagine exactly what kind of nothin’ he was doing. You can’t do ‘nothin’. Even if he was sleeping, he was doing something. “I get off in an hour,” she said, “and I thought I’d stop by the store. What would you like for dinner?” This was the moment. If he was going to bring up Richard’s, it would be now.

  “You know what I really want?” he asked.

  Crap. Here it comes.

  “Your macaroni and cheese,” he said. “Not the stuff from the box. That kind you make in the oven. You haven’t made that in forever.”

  “Oh.” Bunny thought she might cry. She choked back the emotion, but her voice cracked a little. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Macaroni and cheese it is.”

  “Can we have root beer floats, too?”

  “Sure. Ice cream and root beer on the shopping list.” She decided to see how far she could push his good mood. “Michael, could you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Put the dishes in the dishwasher away for me.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Is Charlie home?” She knew he didn’t have rehearsal, so she figured he must be.

  “Yeah. I think he’s sleeping.”

  “Good. Dinner for three then. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She hung up the phone, a happy mother. Maybe she’d have a whole night with both of her boys. It had been a long time since they’d spent a Friday night as a family. She tapped her finger on the desk, thinking.

  She had invited Tate to come see the sets. She sighed and rubbed her temples. Well, if he came by, and she was having family time, she knew which would take priority. True, Tate gave her goosebumps and bellyjumps, but nothing was more important to her than her boys.

 
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  APPARENTLY, TATE MISSED THE FUN.

  Samuel and May were standing beside May’s car in the driveway when he pulled up to Morton’s house.

  “How long did it take him to kick you out?” he asked, slamming his truck door.

  Samuel looked at May. “A minute?”

  She looked at him like he was crazy. “A minute? Not even close. Twenty seconds, maybe.”

  Figuring Morton might need some calming down, Tate stepped toward the house. “I should go in and check—”

  May shook her head. “Hold on there, cowboy. You’re banned too. He just disowned us all except Willow.”

  “Willow’s in there?”

  Samuel nodded. “Willow and the nurse.”

  Tate noticed circles under Samuel’s eyes, and now, more than ever, he saw how much his brother resembled their father. “Are you okay?”

  His brother folded his arms and leaned on May’s car. “I expected it. We gave it a shot, right?”

  “He’ll calm down and tomorrow—”

  “No,” Samuel said. “Not tomorrow.”

  May put an arm around Samuel. “Tate’s right. He’ll cool down overnight.”

  Samuel didn’t seem convinced. “It was a bad idea.”

  Tate pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt.

  “What are you doing?” asked May.

  “Texting Willow to come out.” He tapped away on his phone keyboard. “I’m hungry. Let’s table the Morton discussion for now and get to know each other today. Where do we want to go for dinner?”

  May had a painting on exhibit at a small gallery in Old Town Alexandria that she wanted to show them, so they went there first and then chose a seafood restaurant just two blocks away.

  They ordered fried calamari as an appetizer, Samuel and Tate drank beer, May drank merlot, and Willow had raspberry lemonade.

  And they talked. And laughed. Reminisced. Tate’s spirit was lighter than it had been in a long, long time. He felt as if a large boulder had been lifted from his chest.

  Halfway through dessert, Tate thought about Bunny. He had said that he would try to stop by her house to see the sets. No firm plans had been made. Still, he wanted to call.

  He stepped out onto the street for better reception and less scrutiny from his daughter or his siblings.

  Bunny answered. “Hello.”

  “Hi. It’s Tate.”

  “I know,” she said. “Caller ID.”

  “Right. Listen...” For a brief moment, he thought about telling her what had happened. He considered opening up and sharing some of his own family drama. She’d be happy to listen, he was sure. But he couldn’t. Something about her scared him. Or maybe he was scared of himself around her. “I’m not going to make it over there tonight after all.”

  “Is everything okay? It’s not your father, is it?”

  “No. He’s the same.” Tate wasn’t lying. Morton was the same. “Just things came up.”

  Tate heard a man yelling in the background, something about annihilation and ammunition. “Everything okay over there?” he joked, assuming her father was killing animated aliens.

  She laughed. “Yeah. We’re having a family night. Daddy and the boys are teaching me how to play online video games. I’m a lost cause, I’m afraid. My fingers don’t move fast enough.”

  Tate imagined her working a video game controller and smiled. “I’ll let you get back to the killing and mayhem.”

  “Oh, it’s mayhem alright,” she said. “Quick thing before you go—I don’t know if it will help at all, but did you know that Daddy and your father knew each other years ago?”

  “No. I had no idea.”

  “They played golf together. Before your mother got sick. Daddy would like to see your dad—Morton.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Tate was being nice. He thought it was a very bad idea, especially after today.

  “Think about it. Maybe seeing an old friend would, I don’t know, brighten him up a little or something.”

  “Morton? Bright? You haven’t met the man.”

  “Well, Daddy asked, so I told him I’d try.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll let you know if he seems up for it, how about that? Have a nice night.”

  “You too.”

  Tate hung up. She and her dad were something else. Their hearts were in the right place, but in a million years he could never see Morton wanting to see an old golfing buddy.

  Back inside, after he sat down, Willow slid him a sneaky grin. “Who were you talking to? Ms. Bergen?”

  “Oh!” May’s eye lit up and her long earrings jangled as she danced in her chair. “Ms. Bergen? Who is Ms. Bergen? Wait. Bergen...” She leaned closer to Willow. “Isn’t that Charlie’s last name?”

  Willow nodded, and Tate rolled his eyes.

  “Brother,” Samuel joked. “You’re on the witness stand, and I think these two ladies are about to do some cross-examination.”

  Tate sat back and crossed his arms. “I plead the fifth.”

  Morton refused to see Samuel on Saturday.

  So instead, without Morton, they all went to a Nationals game, ate too many hot dogs, and watched the baseball team lose badly.

  That night Tate dreamed of Bunny. In the dream, he had taken Morton to the doctor for some shots, and Bunny was his nurse.

  The doctor told Bunny to give Morton the shots, but when the doctor left the room, she said all Morton really needed was to play some video games.

  Tate wanted to argue, but he couldn’t, because she was just so beautiful, and she seemed so certain the video games would make him better.

  She wheeled Morton to a room filled with old men hooting and hollering in front of a giant, wall-sized television, controllers in their gnarled hands.

  Then, she pulled Tate aside and started nibbling on his ear and kissing his neck. He moaned and begged her not to stop.

  When his eyes opened he was aware that the sun had come up. It didn’t take him long to realize that the sun wasn’t the only thing that was up.

  He took a cold shower and decided to pay Morton a visit.

  “Don’t bring that man’s name up again,” Morton said the minute Tate walked into the room. “I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

  Tate wanted to shout at him and ask him who the hell he thought was paying for this twenty-four hour nursing care. Did he really think Medicare was that generous?

  He wanted to shake some sense into the old man. Instead, he decided to try the more flies with honey approach. Mort didn’t want to see Samuel? Fine. Maybe he would want to see an old friend from the past. “Don’t worry, Mort. I’m just here to see if you need anything.”

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “No worse. No better. Hanging in there.”

  “The nurse says you’re eating a little better.”

  “Maybe.” He clicked the remote control, watching the TV situated on top of the tall dresser drawers instead of looking at Tate. “Hey,” he said, still clicking, “you know what I’d like?”

  “What Morton?”

  “Papaya. You think you could get me a papaya? Haven’t had one in years.”

  Tate couldn’t have walked into a segue better if he’d planned it himself. “A Papaya. I’ll try. Hey, speaking something you haven’t done in years, I met someone the other day who says he used to golf with you.”

  “Who’s that?” Click, click.

  “Douglas Hobbs.”

  “I remember Doug.”

  “He says he’d like to see you. Maybe stop by and say hi.”

  Morton’s gaze fell from the television down to the remote in his hands. He stopped clicking, but he didn’t answer.

  “What do you say?” Tate prodded.

  Morton clicked the remote, powering the TV off. “I’m tired. Ask the nurse to come in here on your way out, would ya?”

  Tate wondered why he even tried.

  He sent the nur
se in and dialed Samuel on his way out the front door. “Hey. When do you leave tomorrow?”

  There was hesitation in Samuel’s voice. “I was just getting ready to call you. I’m heading back today. Business to handle.”

  Tate didn’t expect that answer. He was going to suggest a hike in Great Falls. The cool March air was fresh, crisp, and invigorating. It was a perfect day for hiking. Tate found that he couldn’t manage a response.

  “I’ll keep in touch though,” Samuel said. “And you do the same. Let me know how he’s doing.”

  Tate felt like he should ask if Samuel had plans to return when Morton inevitably took a turn for the worse, but he didn’t. They all knew Morton’s prognosis: he might survive another week, a few weeks or maybe even a few months. If Morton didn’t want to see Samuel now, was he really likely to have a change of heart at the very end? So, all he said was, “Sounds good.”

  “You and Willow and May should come out to Seattle sometime.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Tate wondered if they were just exchanging pleasantries now. The words might make them feel better at the moment, but as time passed on, they could easily become just that—words. He plowed ahead because...because he wanted Samuel in his life. “Morton will be buried next to Mom in North Carolina. Just family attending. It’s already been discussed.”

  Silence.

  He pressed. He wouldn’t chicken out this time. “Please come.”

  “I will,” his brother said. “I will.”

  He was halfway back to his house when his cell phone rang.

  Someone had viewed Morton’s condo at Whispering Pines and put in an offer for the asking price. It would be a cash sale. The buyers were ready to sign papers as soon as possible.

  So much for a relaxing Sunday.

  Tate had half wondered if he’d run into Bunny or her father at Whispering Pines. He never did, despite the fact that he was there off and on throughout the day and into early evening tying up loose ends.