Misty and the Single Dad

by Marion Lennox

  He made his sandwiches. He carried them outside, plus a bottle of not home-made lemonade, and he watched as Misty and Bailey munched and Ketchup woke a little and accepted a quarter of a sandwich and retired again.

  ‘This is the best place for a dog,’ Nick said. He’d settled himself on the veranda steps, not bothering so much about distance now but thinking more of view. If he leaned back at the top of the stairs he got a full view-of Misty.

  And of Bailey and Ketchup, he reminded himself, but he was forgetting to remind himself so often,

  ‘It’s the best place for anyone,’ Bailey declared. He’d eaten two more sandwiches on top of his lunch. For a child who’d needed to be coaxed to eat for a year, this was another thing to be amazed at.

  Teddy, Nick noticed, had been set aside.

  ‘It’s pretty nice,’ Misty said, but suddenly her voice sounded strained.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Bailey asked.

  ‘Yes.’ But she didn’t sound sure.

  ‘Where else would you like to live?’ Nick asked.

  ‘In a yurt.’

  He and Bailey both stared. ‘A yurt?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What’s a yurt?’ Bailey asked.

  ‘My mother sent me a postcard of one once. It’s a portable house. It’s round and cosy and it packs up so I can put it on the back of my camel. Or my yak.’

  Bailey was intrigued. ‘What’s a yak?’

  ‘It’s a sort of horse. Or maybe it’s more like a sheep but it carries things. The yurt on my postcard had a camel in the foreground but I’ve been reading that camels bite. And yaks seem to be more common in Kazakhstan,’ she said. ‘That’s where yurts are found. Probably in lots of other places, too, but I’ve never been there to find out. Yaks seem pretty friendly, or at least I think they are. I’ve never met one, but some day I will. That’s my dream. Me and my yak will take our yurt and head into the unknown.’

  ‘In term vacations?’ Nick asked before he could help himself. Bailey did not need his new-found teacher to be heading off into the unknown.

  ‘I’d need more than term vacation,’ she retorted. ‘To follow the dreams I have…’ The lightness in her voice faded a little and she gave a wry smile. ‘But of course you’re right. Term vacations aren’t long enough. It’s only a dream.’

  ‘And you have a really nice house,’ Bailey said placatingly. ‘It’s big and comfy.’ Then he looked at Misty’s face and maybe he could see something there that Nick was sensing-something that was messing with his domestic harmony as well. ‘Could you buy a little yurt and put it in the backyard?’ he asked. ‘Like a tent?’

  ‘Maybe I could.’ The lightness returned but it was determined lightness. ‘Maybe I could buy a yurt on the Internet-or maybe we could build one as a school project.’

  Bailey’s eyes widened with interest. ‘My dad could help you build one. He’s good at building.’

  ‘Could he?’ Misty smiled, but Nick saw a wash of emotions put aside and thought there were things here he didn’t understand. But then… Why should he want to understand this woman?

  He did. There was something about her… Something…

  ‘Can you, Dad?’ Bailey asked.

  ‘I’m not sure…’ he started.

  ‘Well, I am,’ Misty declared. She tossed off her blankets in decision. ‘I think Ketchup needs to stand on the grass for a bit and then we need to remember why you came. We need to look at spare beds-I counted them last night and we have ten. Then I’m going to make a list of everything else you need in your house while you and your dad draw me a picture of a little yurt we could build in the school yard.’ She rose and hugged her little dog tight against her. ‘A little yurt would be fun and we can do without yaks. We don’t need anything but what’s in Banksia Bay, and why would a woman want anything but what’s right here?’

  They searched the Internet and learned about yurts. They drew more and more extravagant plans and then Nick got serious and sat down and designed one they really might be able to construct in the school yard. Then they explored the muddle of furniture in the largely unused house.

  Misty was right-the place was huge. It had been a big house to start with, and she told him her great-grandparents had built an extension when her grandparents married. She had two kitchens and three living rooms. She owned enough furniture to cater for a small army, and she was offering him whatever he liked.

  With Bailey’s approval, Nick chose two beds, two couches, a table and chairs. He chose wardrobes, sideboards, armchairs. So much…

  ‘Why don’t you want it?’ Bailey asked, intrigued.

  ‘There’s only me,’ Misty said. ‘And Ketchup,’ she added. She was carrying the dog along with her. He seemed content in her arms, snuggled against her, snoozing as he chose, but taking comfort from her body heat. ‘I’ve tried to rent out the other half but no one wants to live this far out of town. So now I’m closing rooms so I won’t need to dust.’

  ‘Won’t it feel creepy when it’s empty?’ Bailey asked. ‘Like our place does?’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve forgotten, I have a watchdog now. Ketchup’s messed with my plans but now he’s here I can make use of him.’

  ‘Were you thinking of moving somewhere smaller?’ Nick asked, and she gave him a look that said he didn’t get it.

  ‘I told you. I want a yurt. But I’m amenable. Is this all you want? If we’re done, then how about tea?’

  ‘You can’t be hungry again.’

  ‘How can you doubt it? It’s four hours since my sandwich.’

  Four hours! Where had the time gone? In drawing yurts. In exploring. In just…talking.

  ‘I’d like a picnic on the beach,’ she said and visions of gingham baskets rose again-to be squashed before they hit knee height.

  ‘There’s a great pizza place in town,’ she said. ‘I bribe them to deliver all the way out here.’

  ‘Pizza,’ Bailey said with joy, and Ketchup’s ears attempted to rise.

  ‘We’ve hit a nerve.’ She grinned. ‘Picnic pizza it is. If that’s okay with you, Mr Holt?’

  ‘Nick,’ he said and it was almost savage.

  She made him take three trips to her favourite spot on the sand dunes, carrying cushions, rugs and food, because she was carrying Ketchup.

  They ate pizza until it was coming out of their ears. Ketchup ate pizza, too.

  ‘I have a feeling Ketchup’s met pizza in a former life,’ Misty said, watching in satisfaction as he nibbled round the edges of a Capriccioso.

  ‘He looks like he might be a nice dog,’ Nick said-cautiously. He was feeling cautious.

  He was feeling strange.

  Ketchup and Bailey were lying full length on the rug. They were playing a gentle boy-dog game that had them touching noses, touching finger to paw, touching paw to finger, then nose to nose again. They were totally absorbed in each other. Bailey was giggling and Ketchup seemed at peace.

  The evening was warm and still. The sun was sinking low behind the sand hills and the outgoing tide sent a soft hush-hush of surf over the wet sand. Sandpipers were sweeping up the beach as the water washed in, then scuttling out after the waves to see what had been washed bare.

  Misty’s house looked out over paradise.

  How could a man want adventure when he had this?

  And this woman… She was watching Bailey with contentment. She seemed secure in herself, a woman at peace.

  She was so different from Isabelle. A woman like this would never need adrenalin rush, danger.

  A woman like this…

  ‘Why don’t you have a dog already?’ he asked and Misty stopped squashing pizza boxes, glanced at Ketchup and looked rueful.

  ‘We had a surfeit of dogs.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘My grandparents and me.’

  He thought about that. It seemed safer than the other direction his thoughts were taking. Actually, he wasn’t sure where his thoughts were taking him, only that it seemed wise to deflect t
hem. ‘Not your parents?’

  ‘My mother didn’t live here.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Not since she was eighteen. She left to see the world, then turned up only for brief visits, bringing things home. Weird people, artwork, dream-catchers. One day she brought me home. She didn’t stay any longer than the time she brought the dream-catchers, but she left me for good. Gran and Grandpa kept the dream-catchers and they kept me.’

  ‘That sounds dreadful.’

  ‘Does it?’ She smiled and ran her fingers the length of Ketchup’s spine, causing the little dog to roll his eyes in pleasure. ‘It never seemed dreadful. Sad, yes, but not dreadful. We saw her world through postcards, and that gave me a presence to cling to. An identity. And, as for needing her…I wasn’t deserted. Gran and Grandpa did everything they could for their daughter, and they did everything they could for me.’

  ‘But you stayed, while your mother left.’

  ‘I loved my grandparents, and they loved me,’ she said, sounding suddenly uncompromising. ‘That’s something I don’t think my mother’s capable of. It took me a while to figure it out but I know it now.’ Her smile faded. ‘It’s her loss. Loving’s fine. Like I fell in love with Ketchup yesterday. I’m a soft touch.’

  ‘You’ve never fallen in love before?’

  ‘With other dogs?’ That wasn’t what he’d meant but maybe she’d purposely misunderstood. ‘Of course I have. Five years ago we had four. The last one died six months ago. He’s buried under Gran’s Peace rose in the back garden. And now Gran herself…’

  But something there gave her pause. She gave herself a shake, regrouped, obviously changed direction. ‘No. Gran’s okay. She’s had a couple of strokes. She’s in a nursing home but she’s only seventy-three. I thought… When she had the second stroke and our last dog died I thought…’

  Pause. Another shake.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘It’s right to get another dog. When you fall in love, what choice do you have?’

  ‘There’s always a choice.’

  ‘Like you could walk away from Bailey?’ Bailey looked up at that, and she grinned. ‘See? I defy you not to love that look.’

  ‘My son’s look?’

  ‘Your son.’

  ‘How can you compare a dog…?’

  ‘Love’s love,’ she said simply. ‘You take it where you find it.’

  Where he found it? He’d thought he had it with Isabelle. He’d been out of his mind.

  Bailey stretched out and yawned. The sun was sinking low in the evening sky.

  Misty sat and watched the sandpipers, and he thought she was such a peaceful woman. She was also beautiful. And the more he looked… She was quite astonishingly beautiful.

  He wanted, quite badly, to kiss her.

  And that was a really bad idea. This was his son’s schoolteacher. His son was two feet away.

  But not to touch her seemed impossible.

  Her hand was on the rug, only inches from his. How could he not? He reached out and ran his fingers gently over the back of her hand and she didn’t flinch.

  Her skin wasn’t silk-smooth like Isabelle’s had been. There were tiny scars. Life lines.

  The world was still. Maybe…

  ‘No,’ she told him and tugged her hand away.

  ‘No?’ The contact had been a feather touch, no more. But she’d said no, and even now he knew her well enough to realise that she meant it. And for him? No was sensible. What was he thinking of?

  ‘Parent-teacher relationships are disasters,’ she said.

  ‘Always?’ The word was out before he could stop it.

  ‘Always.’

  ‘You’ve tried a few?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  He smiled but it was an effort, and that was a puzzle on its own. What was happening here? He had to get this back on a lighter note.

  ‘I’ve told you about Isabelle,’ he said, in a dare you tone.

  ‘You want me to tell you about Roger Proudy kissing me behind the shelter sheds when I was eight?’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes, and it was sloppy.’ She was also striving to make this light, he thought. That was good. She had a handle on things, which was more than he did.

  ‘When Grandma kisses me it’s sloppy,’ Bailey said dreamily from where he was snoozing against Ketchup, and the conversation suddenly lost its intensity. They were back on a plane where he could keep his balance.

  ‘Do you have one grandma or two?’ Misty asked Bailey.

  ‘Two, but Grandma Holt cries, and she gets lipstick all over me.’

  ‘That sounds yuck,’ Misty said. ‘Do you see your grandmas often?’

  ‘Gran Rose and Papa Bill live on a boat like we used to,’ Bailey said. ‘They came to see me in hospital lots of times. They gave me computer games and stuff. But Grandma and Grandpa Holt only came once. Grandma said computer games are the work of the devil, and Grandpa yelled at Dad when he said we weren’t going back to Pen…Pennsylvania. Then Grandma Holt cried, and kissed me too hard, and it was really, really sloppy.’

  ‘Double yuck.’ Misty smiled, then turned to Nick, her eyes lighting with laughter. ‘Would Grandma Holt be the no risk grandma? Someone should tell her you can share germs with sloppy kisses.’

  And suddenly Nick found himself grinning.

  The decision to bring Bailey to Australia had been made under all sorts of constraints. If he’d returned to the States, his parents would have given him a hard time. They’d give Bailey a hard time. But if he’d stayed in England…

  Isabelle’s parents were based in England. They loved Bailey desperately, but loving had its own challenges. They’d smother Bailey, he thought, and maybe Bailey would react as Isabelle had reacted.

  Since Isabelle’s death, he’d been in a haze of grief and self-blame. Banksia Bay offered a new start. Here, they were away from Isabelle’s parents, with their indulgence. They were away from his own parents saying the things they’d always said, only this time with the rider: ‘I told you so.’

  Moving to Banksia Bay meant Bailey was spared sloppy kisses.

  He looked at Misty and he thought…kisses equal germs?

  His grin faded.

  ‘We need to go home,’ he said, and he knew he sounded harsh but he couldn’t help himself. What he was feeling was suddenly pushing him right out of his comfort zone. This was his kid’s schoolteacher. He’d touched her. He shouldn’t have touched her.

  He shouldn’t want to touch her.

  But she was right beside him, and she was warm, open and loving in a way he could only sense. She was smiling a question at him now, wondering at the sudden change in his tone.

  She wouldn’t react with anger, he thought, flashing back to Isabelle’s moments of fury, of unreasonable temper. Here was a woman who saw everything on an equable plane. Who moved through life with serenity and peace.

  And beauty. She really was beautiful, he thought. Those eyes…those curls…

  No. He had to leave.

  ‘We need to get moving,’ he told his son, rising too fast. ‘Let’s get this gear up to the house and go.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home.’ Bailey’s voice was slurred by sleep. He was nestled against Ketchup, peaceful now as he hadn’t been peaceful for a year. Or more. Maybe never? ‘Why can’t we stay here?’

  ‘We can’t sleep on the beach.’

  ‘I mean in Miss Lawrence’s house.’ It was as if Bailey was dreaming, drifting into fantasy. ‘I could sleep in one of her big, big beds. Me and Ketchup. I could see Ketchup every morning.’

  What the…? The idea took his breath away. ‘Miss Lawrence doesn’t want us here.’

  ‘Ketchup wants us here.’

  ‘No,’ Misty said, sounding strange. She also rose, and she looked just as taken aback as he was. ‘That’s not a good idea, Bailey. You have a house.’

  But suddenly Bailey was fully awake, sitting up, considering
his suggestion with care. ‘Our house is horrid. And we could help look after Ketchup.’

  ‘I can look after Ketchup on my own.’

  ‘He likes me.’

  ‘I know he does,’ she said. She stooped and hugged Bailey, then lifted Ketchup into her arms. ‘But Ketchup’s my dog. Your dad’s paid his bills and that’s all the help I’ll ask. I look after Gran and I look after Ketchup. I can’t look after anyone else. I’m sorry, but you and your dad are on your own.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE needed to visit Gran. She needed to find her balance.

  Once Nick and Bailey were out of sight she settled Ketchup back into her car. He’d be best off sleeping in his basket at home, but every time she walked away he started shaking.

  She could worry about Ketchup. She couldn’t worry about Bailey and his father.

  She couldn’t think about Bailey’s father.

  Was it only yesterday she’d been celebrating Adonis arriving in her classroom? One touch and her equilibrium was shattered.

  Think about the dog. Much, much safer.

  ‘You’ve sucked me in,’ she murmured. ‘Where did you come from, and how exposed have you made me? Oh, Ketchup.’

  But he hadn’t made her exposed-he’d simply shown her what life was. Yurts were fantasy. Ketchup was real.

  Bailey was real.

  She was a total sucker.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you and your dad are on your own.’ She’d watched Bailey’s face as she’d said it and she’d seen him become…stoical.

  She’d been stoical at six. For all her bravado about not needing her mother…surviving on postcards had hardly been survival at all.

  She’d ached to go with her. Other kids had mothers. She’d got postcards in the mail.

  Bailey got nothing.

  He had his dad. It was more than she’d ever had.

  No, she told herself sharply. She’d had grandparents who loved her. But grandparents never, ever made up for what a mother was supposed to be. She had a clear idea of what was right, even at six.