Curiouser (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 3)

by Coryell, Christina

  “What was that? I think I’m hearing things.”

  “Very funny. I’m getting to the point now where I don’t even want to leave at night. It’s pathetic.”

  “You’re interested in her?”

  That’s a loaded question.

  “Well,” I stall, trying to decide how much information I want to divulge. “There would be no point in that because she’s too good for me. I’ve screwed her life up enough as it is.”

  “What do you mean, too good for you?”

  “She’s smart, funny, looks good without even trying, absolutely the nicest person I know.”

  “I agree then. She’s too good for you.”

  My eyes focus on the wall in front of me as I shake my head. “Didn’t realize how much I missed that.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “Brutal honesty. You want to know the kicker? She’s hung up on some guy she knew from high school that was an absolute jerk to her. And I can’t even make that argument because I’ve been a jerk to her in the past, too.”

  “Wow. I’ve never seen this side of you.”

  “What side is that?”

  “Set on a particular girl. How many women do you go out with in a normal month up there?”

  “A normal month?” I ask, standing and pacing across the room. “Let’s see, if I add two and carry the one… Zero? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “You’re not going out with anyone?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re spending all your free time with Alexis and Bailey?”

  “That would be a yes.”

  “You’re practically married already.”

  “You’re a comedian.”

  “Does she know?”

  “That you’re a comedian?”

  “No, that you’re interested in her. What does she think about it?”

  Roxanne’s cough sounds through the wall, and it makes me wonder if she’s got her ear pressed against it. “No way would I tell her that. I did get her flowers for Valentine’s Day. Lost my nerve and signed them from Bailey, though. I’d been planning it for a week, too. Even asked the florist what kind of flower would subliminally tell her that I liked her eyes.”

  It’s only after I hear his laughter on the other end of the line that I realize how ridiculous I sound.

  “This is why I can’t make a move on her,” I complain, leaning my back against the wall. “Thank God I haven’t said something stupid that made her laugh at me like that.”

  He clears his throat as he attempts to stem his chuckling. “Since when do you thank God for things? It’s like you’re living on another planet in Kentucky.”

  “For your information, I’ve been to church twice. I’ve been doing some remodeling for a couple neighbors of Alexis, and they asked me to go with them. It’s different.”

  “Different how? They’re not charming snakes or something like that?”

  “Nothing weird. For example, one of the group leaders is this guy named Duke who looks like a biker. He had a leather motorcycle vest on last time I saw him. Huge beard. Annie’s got half of her head in a buzz cut and the other half has a bunch of wild curls. Ryan has an overgrown mohawk and dresses like a heavy metal guitarist.”

  “Sounds like an interesting bunch.”

  “Exactly. Not a group of people trying to look the same and fit in. They just show up the way they are, wearing whatever they want.”

  He hesitates before he answers, so I sit on the bed and tug at the laces on my boot with my free hand.

  “They could be almost convincing,” I continue, pushing against the floor in an attempt to kick the boot off. “The social side of things they’ve got locked up. It’s the whole reason to be there in the first place that trips me up, you know?”

  “How’s that?”

  It’s to Cole’s credit that he’s never really pressed me on the religious angle. I know he’s into the God stuff, and he’s talked about it enough that it’s obviously not an act. For whatever reason, it seems to work for him.

  “I’ve been to just enough church to remember the ‘do this, don’t do that’ pointers. Pretty sure there’s some sort of limit on rules you can break and still be able to join the club.”

  “Nope.” His quick answer hangs between us as I loosen my other boot.

  “What do you mean, nope?”

  “Hang on, let me look something up. You have a Bible?”

  My eyes dart over to the red volume next to the bed. “Yeah, Gideon on the nightstand.”

  “Jake…are you in a hotel room?”

  “Yeah, I live in a motel.”

  “You’ll do anything not to have to clean up your own messes,” he jokes, rustling through some papers. “Alright, here it is. Luke 11. Just read Luke 11, okay? The prodigal son.”

  “I’ll say yes just to get you off my back,” I tell him, finally kicking off the second boot.

  “Fair enough. You better call me with updates on the Alexis situation. I’m a little in shock over this whole turn of events.”

  “I can do that.” Leaning back on the bed, my mind drifts to meeting Cole in the mornings for work at his Aunt Rosalie’s bed and breakfast. “You know what I could go for right about now? Rosalie’s peach cobbler.”

  “No doubt. Crunchy on the edges with a big scoop of homemade ice cream.”

  “Peaches still warm, right out of the oven.”

  “That’s probably what heaven tastes like,” Cole states with a laugh.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Grabbing the Gideon book from the nightstand, I stare at the gold lettering on the front. “Take care of yourself, man. Maybe we’ll get back that way sometime soon.”

  “You better look us up if you do. And take care of yourself, too. And that little girl.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I drop the phone onto the bed without setting the book down. The sound of a muted thump coming through the wall causes me to drop the book on my lap and stare at the random prairie landscape photo on the wall.

  “What do you think, Roxanne?”

  The fact that she immediately clears her throat tells me everything I need to know.

  Her voice comes across rather muffled, but I still understand her words.

  “I like peach cobbler, honey. And your lady friend doesn’t know how lucky she is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Alexis

  I’ve heard it said that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. There’s not enough personal experience in my memory to comment about that one way or the other. Here on Wonder Lane, though, March comes in like a dead woman sprawled across the corner of my yard.

  I pull the Mitsubishi up to the house, never taking my eyes off her still form. It’s a relatively mild day for this time of year, and she’s clad in a pair of black running tights and a bright green fleece jacket.

  Bailey takes a couple cautious steps in her direction when I release her from the car, but she won’t go any closer. Can’t say that I blame her, because I’m not looking forward to it myself. Holding Bailey at arm’s length behind me, I inch closer to the woman, until I’m just about a foot from her sneakers with the little green frogs on the side. Using the toe of my boot, I nudge her heel.

  Her eyes fly open as she tilts her head up, rising onto her elbows. “Oh! You’re not Josh.”

  “Not the last time I checked,” I answer, keeping a wary eye on her and one hand on my daughter.

  “You didn’t see a physically fit guy run by, did you? Tall, glasses, perfect olive complexion?”

  Bailey wraps her arms around my thigh, so I reach down and pick her up. Her puffy coat makes her extra bulky and difficult to hang onto.

  “Is there some reason you’re taking a nap in my yard?”

  “Josh’s yard,” she says, rolling up to one knee as she struggles to stand, pressing her hand to the ground in the process. “We were jogging and he wanted to log an extra mile. I figured I’d have a few minutes until he got back.”

&nbs
p; As she manages to stand in front of us, I notice her face is flushed and her breathing rather labored. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Josh runs a lot faster than I’m used to, but I didn’t want to tell him he was killing me.” She sucks in a noisy breath. “You live here? I should know the neighbors, but the past couple months have been a little hectic.”

  Her hands find their way to her hips for a few seconds before she reaches up to try to straighten her ponytail. Several strands of her auburn hair cling to her forehead, and her effort to move them away only serves to make her look more disheveled.

  “You’re my neighbor?” I ask, shifting Bailey on my hip.

  “Not anymore. I used to live here when I was taking care of Josh’s house while he was overseas. But he came home last month and kicked me out because he was in love with me.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and rocks back on her heels. “It’s kind of a long story, really. I’m Maddie, by the way.”

  “Alexis,” I add, trying not to smile. Another jogger rounds the corner, and Maddie immediately begins running in place.

  “I was never here,” she whispers, offering Bailey a smile before she meets the athletic-looking guy with glasses on the next driveway over. He lifts a hand in greeting when he sees me, and I do the same.

  “It’s not nice to sleep on the grass,” Bailey tells me quietly.

  “No, it doesn’t seem like a wise choice, does it?”

  “Silly.”

  Bailey trots off toward the front door, and I walk back to the Mitsubishi to grab the little pair of pink fairy wings from the car. It never dawned on me before that Bailey having little friends would result in her being invited to endless birthday parties. Four so far since we’ve been in Louisville, and all for people we don’t know. More specifically, people I don’t know. Bailey always informs me that the kid on the random invitation is her friend from daycare, and I always assume she’s correct. How would I know the difference, really? The last kid was all of two years old and didn’t seem to care that Bailey was present, so I’m fairly certain they aren’t hanging out on a daily basis. I didn’t think to invite her daycare friends to a party for her back in December. It was just the two of us, celebrating alone.

  Tomorrow’s party is for Jemma, but this time I got wise and asked Lana whether she’s really Bailey’s friend. After being told that the two of them play together quite a bit, and Jemma is turning four, we located the nearest dollar store and bought a pair of pink wings. What’s a single mom on a tight budget supposed to do, after all?

  With a sigh, I lift the key for the door and smile down at Bailey. She doesn’t know that birthday parties are a struggle for me. I’m sure they seem magical to her, because she’s not sitting in the corner wondering who will finally talk to her, if anyone does. Back home I wouldn’t either. If there was a stranger in the room, I’d walk right up and introduce myself.

  The problem is, I’ve never been the stranger myself, and it’s starting to wear on me.

  “I’m hungry,” Bailey announces, just like she does every day when we get home. I’m pretty sure I could set my watch by her stomach rumblings.

  “Me too. Jake’s going to bring us dinner tonight, remember?”

  “Yay!” She puts both feet together and hops through the door that I just pushed open. “Hoppy and Zippy and Bailey.”

  It’s really impossible not to laugh at her over-exuberance. Not only has Hoppy continued to talk using me as his own slightly unhinged, funny voice, but Zippy has decided to join in on the lunacy borrowing a low, husky voice with a slight Australian accent that Jake graciously provides. We really are quite the ridiculous pair together, but Bailey laughs like the two of us are the funniest comedians in the world.

  “Jay is my Gump.” Bailey drops her coat on the ground, but then looks up at me and picks it up. As she’s placing it on the hook behind the door, I draw my eyebrows together.

  “Jay’s not your Gump, baby. Only Gump is Gump.”

  “Yes he is. Gump’s Mommy’s dad, and Jay’s my dad.”

  A couple of the protective layers I’ve built up around my heart crack and begin to crumble, leaving behind a raw, tender burn. One day soon I planned to explain everything to Bailey. I’ve spent countless hours searching for just the right words. Looks like I won’t need them now.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I whisper, blinking back irrational tears. “Gump is my dad, and Jake’s your dad.”

  “They’s both good ones.”

  For probably the first time in her four years on the earth, I can answer that statement without telling a guilt-inducing fib. “Yeah, sweetie. I think you’re right.”

  She asks for a cookie and momentarily forgets the trajectory of our conversation, which causes me to breathe a sigh of relief. I was already imagining her asking why Jake doesn’t live with us, and I know I’m not prepared for that conversation in any way, shape, or form. I’m barely comfortable explaining that one to myself.

  A knock sounds behind me on the door, and Jake steps in, holding a brown bag in his fist with a drink carrier balanced on his arm. He’s taken to letting himself in without waiting for me to answer the door, which admittedly doesn’t bother me the way it should.

  “Jay!” Bailey yells, abandoning her quest for the cookie and going straight for whatever fast food Jake has in the bag. When he sets the food on the table and Bailey recognizes Chinese takeout containers, she wrinkles her nose. “Where’s my chicken nuggets?”

  The pouty state of her bottom lip is enough to make me unsuccessful in holding in my laughter, but I manage to pull it back in fairly quickly.

  “There’s chicken,” Jake says calmly. “Orange chicken, chicken teriyaki, and chicken fried rice.”

  “Chicken yucky, chicken nasty, chicken ew.”

  She crosses her arms over her abdomen, and I shoot Jake an apologetic glance. Not that it does any good, because his attention is focused completely on Bailey.

  “Kudos for thinking up so many ways to tell me chicken is gross, but I don’t accept complaints about food you haven’t tried yet. Maybe you can tell me how much you dislike it again after dinner.”

  “I not eating that.” She sits at the table and plops her chin onto her fist, giving him a pitiful expression. Gump would fold like a giant house of cards, and I’m fearful Jake is a goner this time.

  “That’s a shame, because only people who eat dinner get to partake in these M&Ms I brought. They’re all pink, too, because I know you like pink.” He pauses to withdraw a clear bag full of the pink candies he just described, and Bailey cranes her neck to see if he’s telling the truth. “Oh well. More for your mom and me, right?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he places the candy on the counter behind him and takes three plates out of the cabinet to his left. As he’s closing the cabinet door, he focuses on me just long enough to offer a slight smile. “Hey, Alex. Nice wings.”

  His eyes dart down to my hand by my side, and I realize as I glance down that I’m still holding Jemma’s birthday gift. With a shrug, I place them to the back of the counter where they’ll be safe. “Birthday gift for one of Bailey’s friends,” I explain.

  “And here I thought you really were an angel after all.”

  “As if we both don’t know that’s a joke.” Instead of looking at him, I take the plates from his hand. I’ve decided in the last couple weeks that it’s not good policy to openly stare at Jake. At best, he catches me noticing that he’s good looking. Not cool. At worst, he tries to read me with that piercing gaze. Too intimate. Somewhere in between we wind up in a kind of awkward state with my body undergoing odd chemical reactions that make me feel all sorts of uncomfortable.

  Avoidance of overt eye contact seems to be the best medicine.

  “I guess I’ll try it,” Bailey says almost imperceptibly from the table. Jake lifts his eyebrows at me before he turns to the table and pulls out a chair next to Bailey.

  “Thanks munchkin.” He winks in my directio
n, and for a split second, it almost does feel very Gump-like.

  “She finally dozed off,” I whisper to Jake as I round the corner from the end of the hall, finding him sitting at the edge of the couch with his foot propped up on one knee. Somehow we’ve made it all the way to “take your shoes off and stay a while territory” without having made any mention of it. Not that I necessarily want to comment about his wearing of shoes or lack thereof, but his level of comfortableness in my home isn’t lost on me.

  Normally I have time to change before Jake gets here, but since I stopped for the fairy wings tonight, I’m still rocking my sweater dress/tights combo that I wore to school today. Too formal to go plopping myself on the couch all crazy-like, so I try to sit like a lady on the other end of the sofa.

  For his part, Jake’s not wearing the normal construction company getup that he normally sports after work. He obviously went home and showered, because his light blue polo shirt and dark jeans smell like fabric softener and there’s a hint of masculine body wash emanating from his skin. If he were sitting any closer, I might be willing to admit that it’s clouding my brain. As it stands now, I’m only in a normal state of befuddled-ness.

  “Annie called you while you were with Bailey,” he states, draping his arm across the back of the couch. It looks almost enticing enough to slide under, but I remind myself not to scare him away and remain put.

  “You answered my phone?”

  “No. When you didn’t answer, she called me. Wanted to know if you were interested in coming over tomorrow afternoon. Some sort of girl thing.”

  Annie’s kind of like the Cheshire Cat of Wonder Lane. Always popping in when I least expect her, leaving me confused when she leaves. She certainly makes life more interesting, though.

  “That’s sweet of her, but Bailey has a birthday party tomorrow. The wings, remember?”

  He nods as recognition passes over his features. Then he leans his head against the back of the couch as he stares in my direction. “Why don’t I take her?”

  “You want to take Bailey to a birthday party?”