by Freya Barker
Then again, she's a teenager—it could be any number of things that has her hiding out.
But today I've run out of patience. Come hell or high water, I'm going to get her out of this house for some fresh air. It's not nearly as hot as it was earlier in the week.
"Come on, kid," I prompt her when she glares at me from the bed. "No is no longer an option. You've used all of those up in the past couple of days, so you might as well get your ass out of bed before I give you a hand."
"You wouldn't," she challenges me.
"Try me."
She scrutinizes me, trying to determine if I'm serious or not, and finally swings her legs over the side.
"I have nothing to wear since that stupid dog ate my shorts."
"First of all, you're the one who wanted that stupid dog, and secondly, you have half a drawer full of bathing suits. You can pick one yourself or I'll pick one for you." The hold on my patience is starting to slip.
"This is bullshit, Dad," she complains, tossing her iPad against the footboard of the bed.
"Mind your mouth, young lady!" I rarely lose my cool and my bark clearly shocks her. "And for the record, if that's the way you treat that thing—" I point at the discarded tablet on the mattress. "—I'll be confiscating your phone and your computer too."
By now tears are pooling in her eyes, and I immediately regret losing it on her. There are times when she can get under my skin, and I forget all she's struggling with. I take a step toward her, but before I have a chance to pull her close for a hug, she scoots past me to her dresser and blindly fishes out a bathing suit. When she turns back to me, she raises one eyebrow, blasting me with full attitude. I lift my hands in defense and back out of her room.
Five minutes later, she comes walking outside in a T-shirt I swear I just put in my drawer this morning, and the thing comes down to her knees. I'm assuming she's wearing a bathing suit underneath. I fully expect her to march past where I'm loading the tube on the stern of the boat—just in case I can convince her to have some fun—when she surprises me with a full body slam from behind, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.
"Sorry, Daddy," she mumbles, her face pressed in my back.
I drop the line and swivel around, cupping her face in my hands and leaning down so my forehead touches hers.
"So am I, baby, so am I." Planting a kiss on her head, I set her back, and ruffle her short hair. "Ready to make some waves?"
She doesn't need much convincing and spends most of the hour-and-a-half we're out on the water, hanging on for dear life to the tube, while I do my best to shake her off.
By the time I pull her out of the water one last time, my T-shirt she was wearing is a dripping wet pile at the bottom of the boat, and the sun-kissed smile on her face is wide.
"We've got visitors," I point out, when I spot two figures walking toward the dock.
"It's Jordan," Millie announces.
Jim is right behind him, and when we pull up, I throw each of them a line to tie us off. "Just in time for a beer," I tell Jim, who tilts his head to the house, while throwing a surreptitious glance in the direction of his son. Clearly he's got something on his mind. Leaving the kids to muck about in the water, I lead him into the house.
"Beer?" I dive into the fridge and hold out a cold one.
"Not for me, thanks. I've got some shit I have to deal with. Would you be able to watch Jordan for a couple of hours?"
"Sure thing. You okay?" I notice him casting looks out the back door.
"Hammered out of her brain and she shows up at my work. Jordan's with me in my office, his eyes like fucking saucers when she starts yelling and screaming out there, demanding to see him. She gets into it with the officer manning the front desk. Scratches his face. Now I have her in lock-up for assaulting an officer, screaming and hollering bloody murder. What a fucking mess. I rushed Jordan out of there. Kid's seen enough of his mother's antics."
"Of course," I offer, feeling for the guy. Not the first time either of us has had to deal with displays like this in our line of work, but having it be your family at the centre is a different matter. "He's welcome here for however long you need. I even have a spare bed he can crash in for the night. You go do what you need to do." I follow him to the front door, where I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about your boy."
"Thanks, man." He lowers his head, shaking it. "Can't get over the fact I was able to block the shit out for so long. Subject Jordan to it. That kid ends fucked-up like his brother, I own that shit as much as his mother."
"You see it now, and you're handling it. Your boy is smart, he sees that."
"Fucking hope so," he mutters under his breath as he ambles to his car, evidently not in any hurry to deal with his drunk wife.
I should probably go and check on the kids, so I grab a few bottles of water for them, and head out to the dock. The kids are sitting side by side, feet dangling in the water. Both heads turn the moment my feet hit the planks.
"Is Dad gone?" Jordan asks when he spots me.
"He just left. Brought you guys some water." I hand each of them a bottle and sit down so Jordan is wedged between Millie and me, dropping my feet in the water as well.
"Did he tell you?"
"That your mom showed up and made a scene? Yeah, he told me." I glance at Millie who doesn't seem surprised. I guess Jordan must've told her something.
"Is she gonna go to jail?"
"Nah..." I ruffle his hair, throwing Millie—who is paying close attention— a reassuring smile. "Your dad just wanted to give her a chance to cool off."
"Oh. I guess that's good. My dad was really upset, though."
"That's probably because he was worried about you," my sage, fourteen-year-old daughter puts in before pulling herself up on the dock and announcing, "I'm hungry, anyone else want something to eat?"
"Not for me, Sweet Pea, I was gonna throw some burgers on shortly."
But my daughter is no longer looking at me, she's looking down at Jordan, who appears to be focused on the tops of Millie's exposed thighs, where white and pink lines criss-cross her skin. A blush creeps up her face.
"On second thought, why don't you get that bag of Doritos from the top of the fridge, and while you're there, grab me a cold one?" I hold up my empty bottle. "Please?"
Her eyes come up to meet mine and I throw her a wink. Snatching the bottle from my hand, she turns and runs.
"Did she do that?" Jordan asks when Millie slips inside the house.
"Yeah."
He turns and stares out on the water for a while, a frown between his eyes. I don't say anything, because I frankly don't know what to say. Is it my place to talk about this with him? The kid's just been through enough trauma of his own. I don't need to add to it.
I hear the sliding door open and turn to see Millie coming toward us with the bag and my bottle, dressed in another one of my shirts hanging down to her knees.
"Nice shirt," I quip, when she gets closer.
"Thanks," she says, cocky as all hell. "I found a whole drawer full."
I chuckle; glad she's decided to come back out with a little attitude. It's mostly a shield, since she flicks her eyes at Jordan, who's still staring at the horizon. I grab the bottle and twist off the top, as she sits back down where she sat earlier. She opens the bag, takes a couple of chips and hands it to Jordan, who takes a handful before passing it on to me.
"So," he says, his mouth full of Doritos, "I guess we're all a bit messed up."
Millie giggles and bumps his shoulder with her own.
"Pretty much."
Freddy
"Hey."
Millie's greeting is a bit tentative when she gets out of the car.
"Hi, honey. You've got someone dying to see you up on the porch." I point at Bijou, who's standing up against the gate on her wobbly back legs, yipping to get attention. The girl smiles when she sees the dog and heads straight over. I turn back to where Newt is standing beside the Jeep, looking after his daughter,
a pair of coffee cups in his hands.
"That for me?" I indicate the cups when I step closer.
"One of them," he says with a grin, offering me a cup.
"You know I'll be expecting this every Saturday morning now, right? The taste of fresh Timmies?"
"I don't have a problem with that." He leans close enough so I feel his breath against my skin and adds, "Only thing I have a problem with is that I can't sneak a taste of you.
"Millie," I warn on a whisper.
"I know," he returns, "which is the only reason why I don't already have my mouth on you."
"Can I go see George and Timber?" Millie calls from the porch, and I swing around at her voice.
"Go right ahead, I haven't fed them yet. I'll be right there."
I wait until she disappears into the barn before grabbing Newt's hand and leading him around to the side of the house, where I hook my free hand around his neck and plant a kiss to his lips. Don't ask me what I'm thinking, ‘cause I don't know if I can tell you. All I know is that everything I've told myself over the past few days just flew out the window. I'd all but convinced myself it wouldn't be fair to Newt, but especially Millie, to let myself get further involved with him.
Yet here I am, licking at the seam of his firm lips just to get a deeper taste of him, while his daughter is not fifty feet away in the barn. I forget all when he deepens the kiss, slick and almost frantic, his large hand grabbing my braid to pull my head back further. His hot mouth releases my lips, glides down to my neck—where he nips at my skin—before dropping his head to my shoulder.
"Jesus, Freddy. Gonna need a bucket or something to cover me so I can walk back to my car."
A giggle bubbles up when he presses his hard-on in my belly. I'm forty-six years old, sneaking around the side of my own damn house, in broad daylight, to make out with a guy I have no business touching.
"This is ridiculous," I mumble, stepping back from Newt who, I'm ashamed to admit, I had pinned to the wall. "I should go before Millie comes looking for me."
"Hang on—" He stops me, grabbing my arm, and swinging me around. "You know we can't put the genie back in the bottle, Freddie."
"I know."
"I'm going to talk to my daughter. She already suspects something's going on," he hurries to say when he notices my shock. "She's said as much to me. I didn't say anything at the time, but I promise you it won't come as a surprise."
"But what if..." I let my voice trail off, but Newt doesn't need to hear the words to know what I mean to say.
"We'll deal with it then. The truth is, whether or not you and I are involved, Millie will be affected if your cancer is back, regardless. Her relationship with you has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all."
He bends in for a hard kiss before I have a chance to react, and then he gives me a slight shove in the direction of the barn.
"Go. I'll see you when I come get her this afternoon."
-
Millie is unusually quiet while we muck out the stalls and groom the animals. On previous occasions, I would find her talking softly to them, but today she seems solemn. Even Chester notices, nudging her side with his soft nose as she combs the tangles from his mane.
"Want to give Chester a walk around the field?"
Her head swivels around, eyes wide.
"You mean like...ride him?"
"Sure. He's an old man, but he won't mind giving a sprite like you a little spin. It'll have to be bareback because I gave the saddle away a while ago. Let me go grab his lead. I'm sure the other guys won't mind coming along for the hike."
"How do I get on?"
"I'll show you." George and Timber trot ahead when I lead Chester to the gate. "Climb on the gate and swing one leg over his back." The horse knows the drill. It's how I climbed on when I used to ride without a saddle.
He butts right up close and stands perfectly still while Millie carefully climbs on, looking a little unsure. I put my hand on her knee and give it a pat.
"Sit back a little, so your back is straight, and squeeze your knees to hold you in place. Not too hard, but just enough to keep you balanced. You can hold on to his mane too."
"Won't that hurt him?"
"Nope. Now when he starts walking, at first it'll feel like you're on a rocky boat. The easiest thing to do is just go with the movements, like sitting in a rocking chair. And if you start sliding, just squeeze those knees." She nods at my instructions. "You ready?"
"I think so."
I keep my hand on her leg the first couple of steps, just to see how she does. The look of apprehension on her face is fast replaced with a little smile, and by the time we hit the far end of the field, she's grinning from ear-to-ear.
"You're a natural," I compliment her when we return to the stable.
"We're done?"
"For today." I grin at her enthusiasm. "Trust me, you want to ease into this. Your butt will thank me. You'll feel it tomorrow."
With Chester back in the field and the other critters in the barn, we're walking back to the house when Millie suddenly asks, "Do you think it's worse to have a mom you hate, or miss a mom you love?"
I force myself to keep moving, as if the question doesn't throw me for a loop.
"Tough one." I throw that out there just to buy some time while I wrack my brain, trying to figure out how to answer this. I have a pretty good idea what, or rather who she's talking about, which is why I have to be so careful. "I'm not sure one or the other is worse or better. I'm sure it's horrible to have a parent you don't get along with or don't understand. Or even one who maybe mistreats or hurts you. I can't imagine that, because I have no experience with it. I do know what it feels like to lose and miss a parent you love, so I can only speak to that." I open the front door and let Millie pass, following her into the kitchen where I pull a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. "I still miss my mom, every day, but I'm not angry about losing her anymore. I just feel blessed I had her in my life, and that I was an important part of hers."
I purposely avoid talking about Millie's loss of her mom, even though I know she was comparing her situation to Jordan's. Maggie filled me in on the scene at the station in full detail last night. I've been tempted to call Jim and ask if I could be of any assistance, but our history makes that a bit difficult.
"Jordan told me his mom did something really bad yesterday, but he didn't get angry like last time. He just seemed sad."
"Understandable. I think I might be angry or sad too. Maybe even both."
Millie takes a sip of her drink and looks at me from under her lashes.
"That's what Dad said."
"Well, I agree." I'm pretty sure she's looking to see if I have a reaction to her mention of Newt.
"I thought you might," she says smiling a little. Smartass. "You have a lot in common." When I raise my eyebrow at that, she hurries to explain. "You listen to the same music. You laugh at the same things. You like the same beer. You're both getting grey hair. And you both like me." She says the last with a big smirk on her face.
"Is that so?" I'm biting back a grin of my own. It never ceases to amaze me how resilient and flexible kids can be; one moment she's talking about some pretty heavy stuff, and the next she smiles and is teasing me about her father. It seems a big jump, or is it? For her it could be opposite sides to the same coin.
"Yup." She nods firmly. "I see how you look at each other the whole time."
I don't bother denying anything. Circumstances have made Millie wiser than her age, and she's far from stupid to begin with.
"You two should just date."
NINETEEN
Newt
"By the way, your daughter thinks we should date."
I sit up straight in my bed, my phone to my ear.
"When did she tell you that?"
"Yesterday." Freddy's warm chuckle sounds in my ear. "I didn't want to tell you with her there, because I didn't know what your reaction would be. She's apparently been watching us closely."
"W
ell...maybe she's got a point." I lie back down, folding an arm behind my head as I smile up at the ceiling. "It's becoming almost impossible not to touch you every chance I get."
"That's why I stayed on the porch when you came by to pick her up," she confesses, her voice soft. "I clearly have little restraint myself. I feel like a hormonal teenager. A little unnerving after living for decades as a sensible adult." She snorts, mocking herself.
"What are you doing this afternoon?" The question is out of my mouth without needing a minute to think about it.
"This afternoon? I have laundry to do. I was going to try and give Alex and Jane a call. Maybe throw something on the grill?"
"The laundry can wait. Come here; bring the dogs. Let me make dinner for you. We'll make a bonfire, roast some marshmallows. It'll be like a proper date."
"And Millie?"
"This was technically her idea, so I'm not gonna hide anything from her."
"I don't know." I can hear the hesitation in her voice. "This would be different than before."
"I sure as hell hope so. Like I said, I'm done hiding, and that includes having to sneak kisses behind her back. Look, if you're concerned, Millie has plans this afternoon, she won't be back until after dinner."
"Jordan?"
"No. New neighbours. Across the lake. They arrived yesterday and are renting that small yellow cottage with the bunkie on the water's edge? Anyway, we were out on the boat after dinner last night and one of their kids—a girl about Millie's age, maybe a bit older—had drifted almost all the way to this side of the lake. Her air mattress had ripped on a log in the water, and she was stranded so we brought her back across, and I got to talking with the parents. Nice people. Apparently they come here every summer for four weeks, but had to drag their oldest daughter along this time. They were thrilled to see another girl her age and invited Millie along to some music festival in town."
"Music by the Lake," Freddy fills in. "Yes, it's an annual event. Music everywhere, food stands, fireworks. Lots to do, she'll have fun."
