by Nicole Deese
The man had dramatic pause down to a science. “I’ll let Penny know I’m leaving.”
“Great.” I beamed. “Then I’ll meet you out front.”
By the time Davis greeted me outside, I’d already collected the thin cardigan I’d worn earlier this morning and tied it around my waist, eager to expose my pale skin to some much-needed summer lovin’. Several bobby pins stuck out from my lips as my hands made quick work to secure my hair atop my head. “Hey,” I said through clamped lips. “You all set?”
“How do you do that without a mirror?”
“Do what? My hair?” I laughed at his awestruck tone. “I’ve been doing it my entire life. One of those second-nature things.”
After I stabbed the last bobby pin through the mess, we began our stroll. My airy peasant skirt was a perfect complement to the warm day, both breezy and light. Past the library and post office sat a strip of shops—the antique store where I’d purchased my potter’s wheel, a flower shop with an outdoor market, and a children’s clothing boutique that was made to look like a castle from a fairy tale. Really, this entire town looked like it could be featured on a reality show for romantics. As we strolled, Davis tended to migrate to the shaded areas of the sidewalk while I soaked up every moment of sunshine I could. I was a sucker for the natural endorphin booster of vitamin D.
“Have you always kept your hair that long?” he asked.
Caught off guard by his question, I touched a hand to my head. “Uh, hmm. Pretty much, except for a phase I went through right after my parents . . . divorced.” Crazy how a dozen-plus years could pass and the word divorce could still evoke pain when I spoke it aloud.
“And when was that phase?”
“Middle school,” I said, the memory pushing past my filters. “And believe me, it was the ugliest haircut you can imagine.”
His gaze sideswiped me. “How short?”
“Well, let’s just say, when my sister found me after I chopped it off in the bathroom, she literally screamed.” Clem’s face would forever be burned into my subconscious—her hands covering her mouth, eyes bulging from their sockets. “After her shock wore off, she was pretty angry at me. Tried to make me promise that I’d never cut my curls off again.”
As an unstable biker rounded the corner, Davis tugged me toward him.
“Gotta watch the bikers this time of year,” he said. “They’re everywhere.”
“Thanks.” I shot him a grateful glance and remained close to his side. “And just in case you were wondering, I never did promise her. But I also never went all Edward Scissorhands again either. So”—I shrugged—“I guess she got her way.”
“You two must be pretty close,” he said. “You talk about her often.”
“We are . . . usually.” I slowed my steps as we approached an outdoor flower market. Dozens of brilliant colors and varieties competed for my attention as the sweet scent of hydrangeas and lilies drifted toward us. Inhaling the energizing aromas, I bent to admire a tropical display of bird of paradise.
“Usually?” Davis asked, his soft question bringing back the foreboding I couldn’t shake whenever I thought of Clementine.
Righting myself, I sighed and twisted to face him. “I love my sister more than anyone in this world, but”—I rolled my bottom lip in, thinking about how to put words to my sisterly sixth sense—“something’s off with her this summer. I have my suspicions as to what it could be. It’s just . . .” I thought for a moment more. “It’s like we both have these designated roles to play in our family, and no matter how old I get, or what kind of life experience I’ve had, Clementine will forever see me as her baby sister. She won’t let me help her—won’t tell me the deep stuff even though I’m right here, begging for her to let me in.” On a long exhale, I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m probably not making much sense at all.”
“Actually, you’re making great sense.” The tender quality in his voice struck a chord of empathy inside me. Was that how he felt with Brandon, too? Like he was being shut out? Like he didn’t know how to fix what was broken between them?
Before I could ask, he hit me with “I know relationships can be tough to navigate—especially when those relationships are family, but younger sister or not, Callie, you’ve got a unique perspective into her life. A unique influence, too. You shouldn’t discount that.”
His words were rich with a validation I didn’t even realize I craved. Between the two of us, Clem had always been the advice giver, me the advice taker. But maybe it was time to reverse our roles. Sure, it would feel as unnatural as trying to reverse the tides—at least at first—but Davis was right. Clem was as much my sister as I was hers. And that meant asking some hard questions . . . even if I was afraid of the answers.
“Thank you,” I said, mulling over the encouragement as we continued down the sidewalk, saying nothing more as we passed a young family, ice-cream cones in hand. Somewhere in the distance a melodic “Pop Goes the Weasel” played from a food truck—our destination was just around the corner. Matching Davis’s long stride, I realized for the first time that he hadn’t mentioned his son all afternoon.
“Where’s Brandon today?” Last night, I’d dropped off a plate of homemade dog bones—Corrie’s first attempt at canine cuisine—but neither Davis nor Brandon had been at home.
“He’s with my mom today, at her garden club.”
“Ah. Poor kid. That sounds brutal.”
The tick in Davis’s jaw was the only sign that he’d heard me.
“I just mean, I doubt many adolescent boys enjoy planting flowers with their grandmothers. But, what do I know? Maybe he totally loves it! Maybe he enjoys gardening and crocheting and fancy card-game playing. Now that I think of it, the list of possible fun feels endless. Bake sale planning, holiday craft fairs, mending holes in old socks—”
His sideways glance cut my words short. “You about done there?”
“Sorry, I was on a roll.”
“I could tell.” He gestured to the curb, a nonverbal watch your step here. “And you’re right, he does hate it. But I don’t have a better option for him.” We turned the corner and meandered to the right of the street. The tinkling of ice-cream-truck music grew louder, the pied piper of tourists. “Do Your Ears Hang Low?” beckoned us closer.
“Why not?” A question I’d wanted to ask a million times over the last two weeks. “Is he still grounded for sneaking away from day camp and hiding out at Collin’s house, because—”
“No.” His features hardened. “That stunt was just the tip of a very complicated iceberg.”
I bumped his arm gently, working to restore the same lightheartedness as before. “Come on, Davis. What teen boy isn’t complicated? Isn’t that just part of the whole raging-hormones-mood-swing thing? It’s like the very definition of teenagerism.”
“He’s not a teenager yet.”
“Pretty sure kids start referring to themselves as ‘teens’ the instant they turn double digits now. At least, that’s what Corrie tells me.”
Though this wasn’t the best conversation to hold before ordering ice-cream cones on the most glorious day of the year, I couldn’t let it go. Clem might choose the Butt-Out-Callie option more times than not lately, but I secretly hoped Davis would confide in me.
I lowered my voice, leaning into him to shield my projection. “Did you catch him with drugs?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Stealing?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Oh. I stopped and tugged at his short sleeve until he turned. “You caught him with a girl?”
He reared back as if I’d just assaulted him. “Callie, no—he’s twelve.”
“Okay, then what happened to make things get this way between you two? What did he do to lose your trust?”
We stood face-to-face now, two roadblocks in the middle of the sidewalk. The sun shone hot behind me, soaking into the skin at the back of my neck and causing Davis to shield his eyes with his hand. I waited for him to respond a
s the world around us passed in slow motion.
“Over the past six months he’s morphed into a completely different kid—and I don’t believe it’s just because of his age, or because of middle school. It’s more than that. It’s . . . he lives inside his head so much. I don’t know what he’s thinking half the time, and the other half he’s making poor choices and I’m getting calls from the school counselor. My, and I quote, ‘highly intelligent and gifted child’ went from getting all As to barely making Ds. And that’s not to mention the trouble he’s caused with the district.”
I could hardly imagine Brandon causing trouble anywhere. Sure, the kid had an attitude at times, but he wasn’t aggressive by any stretch of the word. “Trouble? Like . . .” I couldn’t even think of an example that matched his personality.
“Like vandalism.” Davis gave a quick shake of his head. “He tagged the back of the school’s gymnasium.”
My mouth dropped opened. “Oh.”
“Yeah. That was a great phone call to receive from the guidance counselor while in surgery.”
“Not the best, I’d imagine.”
As a cloud stretched lazily across the sun’s intense rays, Davis dropped his hand from his face. The play of shadowy light cast across his features caused me to pause, to take an inventory of how the muted tones brushed across the hard planes and angles of his jaw. His exquisite bone structure was an artist’s dream.
“What?” he asked, his brow rumpling further. “You think I’m not doing enough for him? That I’ve missed something?”
I worked to clear the you should really consider letting a class of artists observe your face thought from my mind and hooked my arm through his. “No, I’m thinking you deserve an extra scoop of ice cream, Davis Carter. And probably a topping or two as well.”
Not surprisingly, Davis ordered vanilla. Two scoops on a waffle cone. No frills or toppings, despite my encouragement.
I, of course, took forever to decide on a flavor, trying no less than six samples before choosing a new one: Choco Cherry Deluxe. Giant chunks of cherry and chocolate brownie pieces, layered in swirls of smooth fudge. Basically heaven packed into a waffle cone. Davis pointed to a park bench across from the mobile truck. We headed toward it in contented silence.
“Mmm . . . this is so, so yummy. You should really branch out sometime and try this one. I think you’d like it.”
Davis chuckled. “I doubt that.”
A challenge rang in my head. “Try it, then. Take your spoon and dig in here. Get one of these big chunks on the side.”
He did that eyebrow thing my sister did sometimes, as if I’d crossed some kind of invisible social boundary.
“What? I don’t have any communicable diseases.” I rotated on the bench and tucked my skirt around my legs, bringing my knees up. “Come on, I’ve been to your house, hung out with your son, picked up doggie unmentionables from your backyard, and I just told you about my insecurities regarding my sister. I think we can share a bite of ice cream.”
With a playfully resigned look, he dug his spoon into my waffle cone and retrieved the chunk I pointed to. He popped it into his mouth. Holding my breath, I inched closer, waiting for his verdict. He moved his head side to side, a smirk tugging at his lips. I could have kissed him right then. And likely if he had been anyone else—I wouldn’t have held back. But Davis wasn’t the casual-dating-kissing-on-a-park-bench type. He was the long-term-commitment type.
So Davis would be my friend. Albeit, a highly attractive, somewhat broody friend that I could imagine kissing on a park bench under rays of glorious sunshine. But still, only a friend.
I waited for him to swallow. “Go on, tell me how right I am. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
He bobbed his chin once. “It’s good. I’ll give you that much.”
I gasped sarcastically. “Did I just get Mr. Vanilla to admit to liking Choco Cherry Deluxe? Somebody should record this moment.”
“I said I liked it. Not that I’d buy it. Vanilla is still the best flavor.”
“Don’t you dare try and dull my victory moment.”
He mockingly shoved another bite of his vanilla into his mouth, and a delightful warmth filled the center of my chest as I watched him. Sugar was a faithful buffer to nearly every conversation. Hopefully, even this next one.
“So . . .” I snapped a piece of waffle cone and scooped a chunk of cherry into my mouth.
“That so sounds awfully loaded.”
I carried on smoothly. “You said your mom’s been the one staying with Brandon during the days? While you’re at work?”
“Yes, he refuses to come to the clinic, and I don’t trust him enough to allow him to stay at home alone.”
“Then let him hang out with me.”
Davis huffed comically.
“I’m serious. I’m with Collin and Corrianna nearly every day. They’re good kids—no, they’re great kids. Foolish at times, sure. But so am I. Brandon loves the art studio, and Collin misses his friend. He’s too cool to tell me in those exact words, of course, but still, I know he does.”
“I have nothing against your nephew or niece, Callie.”
“Okay, then let him hang out with us.”
“That’s too much to ask. It’s been hard enough for me to ask my own mother. You’re not going to babysit my son.”
I planted my elbows on my knees, careful to avoid a near ice-cream drip. “You know, I don’t recall you asking me a thing. I’m offering. Big difference. And besides, I owe you, remember?”
I’d got him there. Observing his mental scramble made me crack a smile. “Listen, you don’t have to decide anything right this minute, but at least think about it, okay?”
Davis held my gaze, and I wondered how often the man allowed people into his inner circle. Who did he trust enough to ask for help when he needed it? How often did he allow himself to just let go and take a breather? And when was the last time Brandon had seen that side of him? If that side of Davis existed at all.
“Also . . . ,” I ventured.
He lowered his cone.
“I have another question.”
“Is this you asking my permission to ask it?”
“Not really. More like a considerate warning.”
“I’ll brace myself.”
I took advantage of his teasing tone and swooped in for a landing. “If you’re the boss of your clinic—why not take a few weeks off? Or at least cut back your hours? Brandon’s only home for the summer, and spending some quality time together might make a big difference.”
His expression fell. “That’s not possible.”
“But you have a partner now—Dr. Julie, right? And I assume you’re the one who approves the schedules . . . I mean, look at you right now? Eating ice cream on a park bench midday on a Thursday?”
“Today’s a very rare exception.” He sighed and stared off into the distance for several seconds. “It’s not that I don’t want to take some vacation time, Callie, it’s that I can’t.”
Did he hear the lack of conviction in his voice, or was it just me?
Before I could open my mouth to challenge him on it, the content of Davis’s pant pocket chimed a low beeping sound. When he pulled out his phone, I noticed the name on the display screen.
Vivian Lockwood.
With a tap to the side of the phone, Davis silenced the volume, but his gaze lingered on the screen, his face hinting at a story I doubted he would share.
Vivian Lockwood was someone important to him.
Was she an ex-girlfriend? Or perhaps she was even more than that . . . his ex-wife? The question fluttered through my mind like a kite tail in the wind.
“If you need to take that, I’m happy to wait for you. I could walk back to the antique store until you catch up with me?”
Davis rubbed at his forehead as if considering his option. Finally, he sighed. “I’m afraid this won’t be a short conversation. It never is with her. I’m sorry, Callie.”
So she was someone t
o him, then.
“Oh, yeah, no. That’s okay.” But the pang in my gut said otherwise.
He stood and tossed the remainder of his cone and napkin into the trash.
Obviously, we were done here.
He faced me. “Thanks for the ice cream. Why don’t I walk you back to your car?”
“Nah.” I dabbed at my lips and popped the last of my cone into my mouth, content to stay put and enjoy the sunshine. “I think I’ll hang out here for a bit longer. It’s a gorgeous day.”
A distinct tingle climbed my neck as his gaze roamed my bare arms and shoulders. He pressed a finger to my flushed skin. “You should probably cover up soon. I think you’re starting to get a sunburn.”
I laughed him off. “I’m Irish. I only have two shades. Ivory and pink.” Without waiting for his response, I closed my eyes and tilted my face to the sky. “Happy summer solstice, Davis.”
Chapter Thirteen
DAVIS
Staring at the plant sprawled atop my kitchen counter like an uninvited houseguest, I scrubbed a hand down my face and offered up a prayer for strength and patience. I had known what would be waiting for me on my front porch even before I pulled into my driveway. The same way I had known the exact words Vivian had inscribed onto the bereavement card staked into the dark potted soil.
Like all the other bleeding heart plants that had taken over my yard, this one, with its fernlike branches and namesake blooms, would be just one more reminder of the wife I’d lost and the family I’d gained. For better or for worse.
Remarkably, I’d been so consumed by a certain ostentatious woman and her love of Choco Cherry Deluxe ice cream that I’d allowed myself to forget about the scheduled phone call. But no surprise, Vivian had not forgotten.
On the tail end of a cleansing breath, I did what needed to be done and pressed the phone to my ear. The line rang only once.
“Hello, Davis,” a syrupy voice crooned through the receiver. “I trust you received our gift?”
