"No," I say, shaking my head. "Maybe they weren't on."
"They were on," she says. "I always leave them on. The porch lights," she says, and I realize she has gone back to talking to Grammie. "I always leave them on," she repeats. "I know you say I shouldn't because it attracts bugs... I put in the yellow light bulbs... the yellow ones... They don't attract the bugs as much... We live in the middle of nowhere, Grammie, everything attracts bugs." She opens the door and steps over the threshold, reaching to the side to hit the switch positioned next to the door. I hear a click, but nothing happens. There are a few more rapid-fire clicks, but still nothing. "Damn it!"
I grab the phone away from Fiona's hand right as I see her pull back like she's going to throw it into the darkest recesses of the house.
"It seems the power's out," I say to Grammie as Fiona gives an impressive flail and stomps to the end of the porch to look out over the fading sunlight as if it will give her the answers to unlocking the universe. "The storm must have knocked it out... No, we weren't here. We had taken a few things to the dump and were actually driving back when the storm happened... No, I promise we're fine." I look over at Fiona, her head and her shoulders sagging under the weight of some unspoken pressure she seems to be under. An idea flashes into my head. "Everything's OK. I'm sure they'll get the power up and running again soon, but I'm going to take us somewhere else in the meantime, just in case. We'll let you know when everything is back to normal. Don't worry, Grammie. You just keep focusing on your therapy, and we'll see you when you're ready to come home. Oh, speaking of which, I wanted to ask if your doctor has mentioned any modifications we should make throughout the home to make sure you are safe and can handle living independently when you get back here. I could order you an elevated toilet. Maybe a walk-in tub? Do you need one of those chair lifts to help you get up and down to your bedroom without falling again? Actually, we could just convert the parlor into a bedroom, and then you wouldn't have to use the stairs at all. That would be nice."
Grammie's response is an astonishingly creative stream of words laced with profanity not suited for the potentially sensitive ears of a senior cruise. I turn my back to Fiona and cover my mouth so she doesn't hear me laughing. When Grammie pauses to take a breath, I say goodbye to her and end the call. Stepping up beside Fiona at the end of the porch, I offer her the phone. She takes it without looking at me.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
She tries to glare at me, but she’s so deflated she can't even muster an angry face.
"No," she says. She leans forward, her arms folded onto the rail as her forehead comes to rest on it. "This wasn't supposed to be like this."
"What was it supposed to be like?" I ask.
She hesitates for a few seconds.
"I don't know."
"Well, as long as you have a plan." Taking hold of her arm, I guide her until she is standing up straight again. "Look. This sucks – I'm not going to pretend it doesn't. All of this has become one big clusterfuck, but that doesn't mean you can just give up."
She sighs and stares at me with all the energy and enthusiasm of a teenager who has been asked to get up early on a Saturday and help clean the attic.
"I took all my vacation time to do this," she says. "Three weeks of vacation time I built up so I could…" her voice trails off, and it seems the words started coming out of her mouth without her wanting them to. "That was all the vacation time I had, and I took all of it to come out here to help Grammie, and she isn't even here, then you hired that creep, and then all of these projects have turned into a mess."
Taking her by her shoulders, I straighten Fiona up, giving her a gentle shake so she looks me in the eyes.
"Listen, Fiona, you need to stop complaining. It’s not cute."
She looks stung, her mouth opening and her eyes narrowing, but it's enough to wipe the simpering, self-pitying look off her face, and for now, I'll interpret that as progress.
"Excuse me?" she says.
"You aren't the only person who went out of their way to be here, or who changed their life to help someone else, but all you're doing is whining about it."
"I'm not whining."
"You've been bitching about it since the second I walked in the door, and I can only assume you didn't start then."
"I'm not a child, Cade."
She shakes out of my hands. I've been patient with her, and have tried to talk myself into understanding how she feels, but I've had just about enough of her complaints. I much prefer the strong, determined Fiona that helped me today.
"Then stop fucking acting like one, Fiona. You left Grammie here a long time ago. You’re an adult. That is, assuming you didn't show up somewhere and have someone take care of you and baby you through life since then."
"No, I've been taking care of myself."
"Exactly. I understand you took your vacation time to be here, and there are probably a lot of other places and things you would like to be doing, and there are probably other people you'd like to be with, but this is where you need to be. I put my life on hold to be here, too, and so did Grammie."
Fiona looks at me questioningly.
"What do you mean 'so did Grammie'?" she asks. "She lives here."
"She hasn't for long," I say. "She just moved back out here. The last time I saw her, she was still at the other house."
"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that," she says, suddenly sounding angry and defensive. "Why do you see her so much?"
"I told you, we have lunch."
"You say that like it's so normal."
"It is normal, Fiona. People who care about each other keep in touch. She was a vital part of my life growing up, and I didn't just forget about that."
Her body tenses up, and I decide the conversation needs to shift a little if I want the situation to remain under control.
"She didn't come out here just because she misses Gramps. I know that's part of it, but it's because of you, too. You have to realize that. You aren't just her granddaughter, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"You're her only son's only daughter. You're all that she has left of her kid. Raising you was her chance to be with him again after your parents died. She came back here for Gramps, but also for your father, and you, too. This whole situation might not be the easiest thing for you, but it isn't for any of us, and you're not making it any better by acting like the entire world is subjecting you to this because of some cruel conspiracy against you."
I wait for her reaction. It could go either way. I'm fully aware she could completely melt down, making all of this so much worse. A few seconds pass before she finally gives an almost imperceptible nod.
"Alright," she says.
It’s a start, I suppose.
"Alright," I say. "So, we are in a pretty shitty situation right now. As we've established, there's a tree currently taking up residence on the roof of the porch, and it seems the storm has knocked out the power. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not interested in reconnecting to the roots of the house and doing the no electricity thing."
"No, me either," she says distastefully.
I smile at her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, starting toward the door.
"Good. Then let's go."
"Go where?" she asks.
"Upstairs to pack. I think we both could use a break."
Chapter Eleven
Fiona
Two hours later…
Cade is already out of the truck and opening the door behind him to take our bags out of the backseat, but I haven't moved enough to unhook my seatbelt. My eyes are locked in front of me, and my mouth hangs open slightly. The door slams and Cade appears at the open window beside me.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Sitting here until you get back in the car and bring us to our actual destination," I say.
He laughs and opens the door. I was leaning against it enough that I tip to the side and brush against him. I reluctantly pull away to sit up str
aight but don’t make any moves to release my belt.
"Come on," he says. "This is where we're going."
"This may be where you're going, but I'm waiting for something with a bed and walls."
"If you hurry up and get out, we'll get the tents set up and then you'll have both."
His grin gives me a momentary glimpse into the first summers we spent together as he makes his way toward the back of the truck. I sit in place, staring through the windshield at the weaving dirt path leading into the woods ahead of me for a few more seconds before I come to terms with the fact that Cade isn't kidding. This was actually his plan. He seriously formulated the concept of camping in his mind and thought it was a fantastic idea.
Damn it all to s'mores.
Unlocking my seatbelt with the biggest sigh I can manage, I climb out of the truck and walk toward him.
"I thought we talked about the 'woe is me' thing," he says.
"No, we talked about the complaining about being at Grammie's house thing. You didn't include a camping clause in that."
Cade releases a lock on the side of the hardback cover over the bed and removes it. A selection of camping equipment nearly fills the space.
"Fine, but that was your last sigh. You're going to pass the fuck out if you keep doing that. Where's the Fiona I used to know? You used to love camping and the outdoors."
He reaches into the bed and pulls out a package I recognize as a tent.
"I was a teenager, and I had nothing to do with putting the camp together. You and Gramps did all that. I sat by the fire with Grammie and drank hot chocolate and ate marshmallows."
"I'm sure you can handle it," he says. "As soon as we get camp set up, you'll remember how much fun we used to have."
I grab one of the sleeping bags and yank it up over the side of the bed.
"When did you have the time to pack all this in the truck, anyway?"
Cade drops the tent and pulls out another.
"When you were debating how much of your makeup you should bring with you."
"Well, all that has gone right to hell, hasn't it? I somehow doubt there's going to be a lighted mirror mounted on a tree out here anywhere."
"You never know," Cade says. "There might be a very particular bear who wants to look his best before fishing in the stream."
I flash him a mocking glare and yank another bag out of the bed. Finally, we've gotten everything, and Cade starts down the path. He's carrying three-quarters of what we brought, and I'm feeling much less productive with only my duffel bag thrown over my shoulder and a navy blue sleeping bag in my arms. The mud on the path is slick beneath my feet, and I'm thankful for having on a pair of thick-soled tennis shoes rather than the sandals I had been tempted to wear when I thought this venture was going to end at a hotel.
"You know," I call to Cade as his long strides bring him far in front of me, "when you said you thought we both needed a break, I really didn't think that was going to mean primitive camping out in the middle of nowhere."
"I thought you said Grammie's house was out in the middle of nowhere."
"It is."
"Then this can't possibly be."
"You are just so funny.” I slip on leaves and struggle to right myself instead of ending up on my ass in the mud. "I thought neither of us wanted to deal with the no electricity thing," I point out. "How exactly is coming out here avoiding that?"
"I said I didn't want to deal with being in the house without power. This is something else altogether."
"Exactly. Now we’re without a house and power."
"It's going to be fun. Just try to relax, will you? Not everything has to be so dramatic."
I know he doesn't mean anything by it, but the comment cuts me. I don't want to think about the pain or the drama that has actually happened between us. But, every time those eyes meet mine, and I see his full, soft lips smile, my heart goes right back to the time when I thought he would be mine forever, and then the night I knew he wouldn't.
Trying to push the unpleasant memories from my mind, I continue to follow him down the winding path and deeper into the woods. As we move further into the trees, the canopy of leaves overhead becomes thicker. The cover had kept much of the rain from hitting the path, and there is less slick mud under my feet compared to before. I'm able to cover some of the space between Cade and me, and I'm only a few steps away from him when he stops and lets out a resolute breath.
"Here," he says. "It's perfect."
I step up beside him and survey the area in front of us.
"Really?" I ask.
I see little more than a clearing, but he's looking at it like he just discovered the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
"Yeah," he says. "There's plenty of space for the tents, and I'll be able to make a fire without worrying about the trees. I did promise we were going to grill out tonight."
"Yes," I say. "Grill. You said we were going to grill our supper tonight. You know what that requires?"
"What?"
"A grill."
"I have a camping grill in one of the bags," he says.
"Of course, you do."
Cade looks over at me with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"Do you want to go ahead and get started putting up the tents, and I'll start building a fire?"
"Putting up the tents?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says. "Unless you want to build the fire."
I shake my head. I have never in my life started a fire. At least, not intentionally. I don't think putting my curling iron down on what was supposed to be a motivating sticky note on the bathroom counter imbued me with the skills necessary to create a campfire.
"No," I say. "I'll do the tents."
"Good," he says. "The creek shouldn't be too far from here. I'm just going to go down and look for rocks to make a fire ring. I'm going to need as much space as possible around the fire, so try to keep the tents away from the center of the clearing."
"No problem," I say, trying to sound as confident as possible.
I wait until Cade disappears further down the path before I drag one of the tents a few feet further into the clearing and start to pull the pieces out. A few seconds later, Cade walks back up and finds me standing over the tarp spread over the ground, and the variety of poles arranged across it.
"I thought you were gathering rocks," I say.
"I figured I should bring something to put them in, so I don't have to make so many trips. What are you doing?"
"Contemplating the poles," I say.
"What about them?" he asks as he pulls what looks like a folded canvas bag out of one of the equipment bags.
"Why there are so many." I reach down and gather a few of the poles. I shove the ends into plastic-reinforced holes around the perimeter of the tarp and try to pull them toward each other. They almost immediately snap apart. "Son of a bitch! Why are there so many?"
"How many do you think there should be?" he asks, obviously amused by my plight.
"I don't know, three? It just doesn't seem like there needs to be this many of them just to make a triangle."
"I think you're thinking of a tipi."
My eyes slide over to him. Finally, I shake my head and reach down for the poles again.
"Go away," I say.
I hear him chuckle as he takes his bag and heads back down the path toward the creek, but I'm too focused on battling the poles into position to care.
I'm holding two poles in one hand, a third in the other, and am reaching for a fourth when I start to see the flaw in my approach. Rearranging my position, I shuffle how I'm holding the poles, and reach down for another. This causes one to slip out of each hand.
"Damn," I mutter as I try to re-evaluate.
I'm almost making progress when I realize the next step will require at least two more hands. In my attempt to rearrange, my hand slips just enough for the poles to pop away from each other, and I throw myself to the ground, covering my head in hopes of not being impaled. When the sound o
f the poles clattering to the ground dies down, I cautiously sit back up and survey the current state of what, in theory, should be a tent.
"This is the worst game of Twister I’ve ever seen."
Damn it.
* * *
Cade
Fiona was carrying on a fairly obnoxious argument with the tent the last time I walked through the clearing to drop off rocks, but she suddenly falls silent. I'm not sure if this is a good sign, or if I should be worried, and I pick up the pace. Once finished refilling the bag with the smooth, polished rocks from the water, I make my way back to the camp, unsure of what I'm going to find.
I'm not prepared.
"What are you doing?" I ask, staring down at what looks like a blue nylon tube with Fiona's head sticking out of one end.
Her eyes are closed, and it looks like she's practicing meditation.
"I'm nailing camping, obviously," she says. “That's what I'm doing."
"That is not what a tent is supposed to look like. Where are all the poles?"
"I put them away. I'm going to sleep under the stars."
"You are going to sleep under the stars?" I ask. "You? You the girl who still sleeps with a nightlight?"
"I do not sleep with a nightlight."
"That light that's plugged in beside the sink in the bathroom? Or the one I know I saw in your bedroom?"
"Those are not nightlights. Those are night safety devices."
I scoff. "OK, whatever, crazy girl. So, you are going to sleep out under the stars. You? You the girl who insists on sleeping with night safety devices?"
Fiona suddenly rolls to her back and looks up at the sky.
"Yes. The stars. Besides, I will be under the greatest night safety device of them all. The silvery moon."
I have the feeling if she currently had control over her arms rather than having them pinned to her sides by the tent, she'd fling them open to encompass the evening sky above her.
Unexpected Daddies Page 39
