by Emilia Finn
“Then I can’t come.” I let my legs drop and release the weight from my arms. “I’m sorry, but it just won’t work out. Maybe in a few years… Ya know,” I clear my throat, “if you decide to keep me.”
“Like I said…” He watches as I reaffirm my grip and begin dangling again. “The women tend to stay home. I know for a fact that Kit and the others will be here. Kit, Tink, Tina, Britt. There are a lot of moms who know how to read a book and pour cereal. I already spoke to Kit, and–”
“Nope. I’m sorry, but that’s not gonna work for me.” I stand again, and battle the nausea that rolls through my stomach. “This isn’t about throwing attitude at you, coach. I swear it’s not, but there is no way in hell I’m leaving her. We’ve spent exactly one night apart. Ever.”
I look to my girl. Smile for her as she listens in and lets her gaze flip between us. “I didn’t like it one bit. And I have no plans to repeat the experience, especially when I don’t have to. I love Mrs. Kincaid, I really do. I trust her and the others to do right, but sometimes right isn’t enough. Accidents happen. Allergies are deadly in our world. And being away just so I can frolic in a river isn’t good enough for me. Ask me again in a few years, and we’ll see what happens.”
“That’s fair.” He lifts his hands, I surrender, and nods. “I wanted to run it by you, but there are no hard feelings. The rest of us will still go, it’s tradition, but you can continue training here. School will be in, and the gym will be pretty quiet while the rest of us are gone.”
“Who’ll run classes and stuff? You want me to do that?”
He bobs his chin in affirmation. “If you wanna help, you’re welcome to it. The ladies will pick up a lot of the weight – Kit and Iz, especially. They’ll run classes, keep things moving smoothly.”
“And yet, you wanted to put Lyss in her busy hands?”
“Lyss will be in class during the day. Kit will be at the gym during school hours, then she’d pick her up and go about her business exactly the way she did with our kids. Ya know, kids sometimes like to watch.”
“But your kids aren’t the same as mine. They’re not the same person. They’re not–”
“I get it, okay?” He sets his glass down and shakes his head. “You’ve been through a lot of change the past few weeks, and now I’m trying to plop more on your head. Like I said, no hard feelings. If you ever want a minute alone, we’re here and we’d be happy to play with Lyss. We’d keep her safe, and you could take a breather. But me saying so isn’t the same as you believing. That’ll come in time. You’ll learn to trust, but I’m not gonna tear you apart because you’re not there yet.”
“We’re practically strangers, coach. You’re talking logic, and it all sounds so sensible. But this…” I press a hand to my stomach, “I can’t convince my gut.”
“Eventually.”
He pushes off the stool and chugs the last of his water. Swallowing and setting the glass right beside Lyss’ just to make her smile, he winks and tickles the back of her neck.
“You’re already here,” he comes back to me, “and I know that took a leap of faith too. That’s a good first step. Eventually you’ll trust Britt to shuttle Lyss with the other kids, since she’s already at the school. She’s got Charlie, Em, and until the twins graduate, they still need a ride. Adding Lyss to that carpool – which comes right to the gym, by the way – will become second nature for you eventually. You’ll be sparring, and you won’t wanna leave while you’ve got that rhythm happening. You’ll nod at Kit when she says Britt’s on the phone and offering, and that’ll be the day your life changes again. Because… trust.”
“Maybe…” I hesitate. “Someday.”
“You gotta remember that I’m a father too.” He stops on his way to the door, turns, and stares right into my eyes. “I don’t trust easily, and I’m always watching. The fact they’re mostly grown now doesn’t change that.”
Finally, his eyes lighten, his lips quirk up. “Alrighty, that’s all I wanted to run by you. Oh, how was your first day, Lyss? I forgot to ask.”
“It was good.” She spins on her seat. “Miss Parker is really nice, and I got my own cubby for my bag.”
“That makes me happy.” He looks to me. “I remember my babies’ first days too. It’s seriously scary to trust people with the only thing we cherish more than our own lives.”
“Yeah…” I press my lips together and nod. “It really is. Driving away today might’ve been the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“But you did it anyway, and then you got to pick her up and know that everything was fine.” He turns and taps his fist to the wooden frame that surrounds the doorway. “I heard your first day was good too. Smalls run you ragged?” He stops to peek over his shoulder. “She make you puke?”
“She sure tried.”
He barks out a laugh and continues toward the door. “She’ll try harder tomorrow. Welcome to the family, Iowa. It’ll get easier from here, I promise.”
“Thanks.” I put Lyss on her feet when she reaches out, and follow Bobby into the foyer with her hand in mine. “I appreciate it. Truly. We don’t know this world where people actually have our backs. We don’t…” I shake my head. “I honestly had no clue it existed.”
“It does here.” He opens the door and grins for Lyss. “See ya, beautiful. When you get a minute, ask Daddy to come visit us. I have something at my house that I bet you’ll like.”
“Like a present?” she asks. Her body vibrates with excitement. “For real?”
“Sure.” He laughs. “But only if your dad is okay with it. No pressure.”
“You didn’t have to buy anything.” I frown. “That’s not necessary.”
“I didn’t buy it. I know people who know people, and those people like to gift us stuff sometimes. This thing; I suspect Lyss would love it. But like I said, no pressure.”
Routine.
That’s how Lyss and I have always lived. We thrive on routine, on the alarms in the morning, the waking up, the same breakfast, the same stool at the same counter. We thrive on knowing what’s next, on the packing of school bags, the drop-off, the pick-up, and then the afternoon snacks and reading while I work out.
When we do step out of routine, we make our way into the forest surrounding the estate, and go in search of things that help me work out. Lyss wanders behind as we walk deeper into the trees, and with her colorful commentary as she tells me of the books she’s currently devouring, I lug heavy logs back to the house so I can train even when I’m at home – where I have no gym equipment. I could work on body weight, plyometrics, maybe. But I like lifting things too, so we explore, and Lyss makes a game of picking out the heaviest logs that I can safely lift.
Her first week at school passes us by without incident; my first week in the gym, same. I have friends now, and that’s something new and weird for me. I was always friendly enough with the guys I worked with in our old place, but I sure as shit didn’t gossip with them. I didn’t eat lunch with them, or sit at their dinner table the way Kit Kincaid consistently invites us to do.
Of the two weeks we’ve been here, I think Lyss and I have eaten alone maybe three times. And surprisingly, I don’t hate it as much as I expected.
The Kincaids are a loud bunch. Obnoxious, overwhelming, and most of them demand to be heard over each other. But Mrs. Kincaid – Kit – and the Mrs. Kincaid before her – Bobby’s mom – are so welcoming that it makes it hard to say no. Most of the family congregates at the same table by the end of the day, even those who don’t live on the estate, like Ben and Evie, and Lucy and Mac. They live across town, but still, they’re in the gym during the day, so it’s only natural for them to migrate over this way to eat.
Brooklyn Kincaid isn’t one of the usuals. It’s her home, and she walks around like she knows she belongs, but she’s almost like a ghost passing through. She wanders through the kitchen around mealtimes, takes a kiss and hug from whoever is offering – her dad, mostly, but also her uncles, her aunts
– she grabs something to eat, then moves along with a slim laptop clutched under her arm, or a pen and paper.
Strangely, no one says anything about it. They accept her for who she is, they let her meander, and because I’m at their dining table, I keep my eyes to myself and definitely don’t follow her out to ask where she’s going.
Lyss and I are six years into knowing to pre-pack and bring food with us wherever we go, but as time passes, I find the offerings are changing at the Kincaids’ table. Much of the same remains, but the choices for Lyss are growing. Potato salad for everyone, but also potato salad made special, without milk or butter. Mac and cheese – but without the cheese, without the milk, without anything that’ll make her sick. Lyss swears that even without the contraband substances, it still tastes delicious. Salads are served, and though many are elaborate for the adults, others are much simpler and always set near where Lyss sits.
And on pizza nights, the women get together and cook Lyss’ from scratch so the base is appropriate, and the toppings are delicious and healthy. And not once have we walked away with Lyss complaining of hunger or a sore stomach.
The EpiPens I always carry weigh a little less as the days pass.
That thing Bobby said he had that Lyss might like… books. A whole set of books from the same author that wrote the story with the fish-friending bear. Early editions, he proudly said, and all Lyss’ if she promised to take care of them. Which means now we have a special bookcase in her room, with the books stacked securely, carefully, on their own shelf so the world knows they’re special. And every day over breakfast, I hear about the newest adventures of the forest animals in their quest for world domination.
Each afternoon while I work out in the yard and Lyss does her thing, every single day, my attention is stolen when Brooke moves through the estate without words, without fanfare or anything more than a hello – and that greeting was given only once. She carries a little bag over her shoulder, her eyes and mind already focused on her task, as she lets herself into the yard across from ours – the Jackhammer’s – through the gate that leads into the backyard, and then through the gate in his yard so she emerges into the forest.
The first time she did it, I assumed she was going to visit with her uncle or cousins. The Great Dane that tends to hang in her yard – Twain, I’ve heard them call him – follows on her heels like he’s her security detail. I figured maybe she and Twain were going to visit the elderly Labrador, but after the second and third day in a row, I noticed that no one was home when she went over, and the loud click of the perimeter fence echoed in the silence when the estate only consisted of me, Lyss, and the silent ghost.
Everyone else is at the gym at this time of the day, even the kids that are in school with Lyss, so apart from Brooke’s quiet movements, we have the whole place to ourselves.
Which makes Brooke’s movements that much more intriguing. She’s not rude as she walks, but she’s not open to discussion either. She’s in her own world, in her own routine, I suppose, and who the hell am I to think that I get to watch her walk, or wonder where she’s escaping to for hours at a time?
More often than not, she doesn’t return until dark – because, yep, I keep watch to make sure she comes home safe. She meanders back through the estate, though her facial expressions, what I can see of them in the shadows, are as animated for this walk as they are stony on her way out. Sometimes she’s sporting a goofy grin, other times, I wonder if she’s working on math problems, and times when it’s neither of those, I wonder what’s troubling her. She looks like the whole world is sitting on her shoulders, and not just her little bag.
But the beautiful woman that makes it so I forget how to speak is none of my business, so I stick to myself and head inside when she moves through her front door.
“Daddy?” I turn away from my study of… well, nothing. I’m supposed to be building on my back squats, but my mind is wandering, my concentration long gone. “Hey, Daddy?”
I drop my heavy log and feel a little guilty when it digs into the manicured lawn that that Rollers meticulously maintain. I turn to find Lyss sitting on the porch steps with a feather-topped sparkle pen in her left hand, and a spiralbound notebook in her lap while she doodles.
“Yeah, babe?”
“How do you spell ‘magician’?”
“Put it in a sentence.” I grab a towel and drag it over my face to clear the sweat from my eyes. October is just days away, but the heat is holding on. “You have to give me a sentence first, baby. Prove to me that you’re using the right word.”
“Okay…” She pauses to think. “A magician likes to shuffle cards and play tricks on people paying to watch.”
I laugh into my towel, then toss it down to land on my backpack. Unlike Lyss’ ballerina bag, mine is green with dinosaurs, and filled with bags of water. I do what I have to do to build the weight on a budget. “M-A-G-I-C-I-A-N. Are you writing a story?”
Tongue resting on her bottom lip, feather moving as she writes, she pens the letters that I gave her, and nods when she’s done. “I’m writing a story about a circus.”
“Is Daddy in your story, baby?” I leave my things on the lawn and walk closer to peek at her scribbles.
The page is filled to the brim with sloping words. Some of the letters are mixed – a b where a d should be – and some capitals where they needn’t be, but she’s six, and there’s no fucking way I was writing any damn thing when I was six.
“Yup, you’re the tiger tricker.”
“The tiger tricker?” I frown and try to speed-read what she’s got. “Do you mean the tamer? The person that helps them do their tricks?”
“Uh huh!” And because of her newfound knowledge, she crosses out a word that looks like ‘tricker’, and replaces it with ‘tamer’. “You play with tigers all day long, Daddy. And they’re a little bit scary, but they’re friendly too.” She flashes a grin that plays on Karla’s features from when we were in school, and lifts a brow that reminds me of me. “But now I’m up to the part of my story with the magician. He’s tricking people with his cards. He’s not being honest.”
“Oh dear.” I sit down beside her and chuckle when my sweaty arm touches hers and she makes the ick noise. “The magician is your villain? Cripes, baby. I hope he’s stopped before he hurts anybody.”
“He will be.” She closes the book with a smart snap, slides her pen into the spirals, and peeks up at me. “Are you done?”
“Yup. I’m done for today. Wanna run inside and have a shower? Then maybe we can go out for dessert.”
“For real?” Her eyes light up. “Sorbet?”
“Uh huh. You’re such a smart girl, you’re doing so well in school, and you’re being very patient with Daddy while he learns his new job and stuff. So I wanna treat my best girl to dessert. This is how I say thanks.”
“Yes!” She bounds to her feet and spins on a dime. Her floating skirt brushes over my arm as she spins, and the lights in her sandals flash as she runs to the front door and pushes it wide open.
I sit for a moment in the silence, stare into the darkening sky, but then I get up with a groan, because she left the door open, and no matter who is paying our electricity bill, I can’t waste.
I leave my things where they lay in the yard, vow to pack them away before the sun comes up in the morning, then I head through the door and close it so the cooling can’t escape.
Twenty minutes later, we come down again in fresh clothes – me in jeans, and Lyss in her pyjamas that don’t look completely like pyjamas. She can wear them out, and it’s unlikely anyone will ask if she’s on her way to bed. My hair is wet, my chest still pumped full of blood from working out, but fresh socks and underwear can turn around just about any mood.
We leave through the front door and lock up, slide into the car, and double-check Lyss’ seatbelt, then we head to town and pull up outside the ice cream parlor. The llama stands guard, his polka dot bikini keeping him cool in the last remnants of the summer heat. I tap
his worn nose as we pass, and wonder how many other people do the same.
“Miss Brooke!”
Aw shit.
Alyssa races ahead of me into the black and white tiled shop, darts straight for the glass display that Brooke stands in front of, and because she’s a little girl with zero spatial awareness, she places a hand on Brooke’s denim-covered ass. She just places it there without thinking, while she presses her nose to the glass to peek at the treats inside.
“Oh, hey, Lyss.” Brooke presses her hand to the back of Lyss’ hair, a gentle caress, and smiles as the girl serving her places a heaping scoop of chocolate ice cream onto a cone.
“Oh that looks goooooood,” Lyss groans.
“Where’s your…” Brooke turns, and flashes a wide grin when her eyes lock onto mine. “I knew he’d be nearby.” She looks back to Lyss. “No way you drove here by yourself.”
“I can maybe drive, Miss Brooke. It doesn’t look so hard.”
“Maybe when you’re seven. What kind do you want, Lyss?”
“Chocolate, like yours?” My daughter plays up her biggest smile, her most cunning weapon, and sets Brooke up for a test that makes my stomach dip. “Pretty please.”
“Sure!” She looks to the server and nods. “Another scoop, but maybe in a cup?”
It takes her a minute, but she catches on, and shoots her narrowed gaze back to my daughter. “You bamboozled me. You’re not allowed chocolate.” She looks back to the girl behind the counter. “Sorry, cancel that one. Strawberry sorbet? And make sure the scoop is clean.”
She fusses with her watch for a moment as Lyss slyly grins back at me, then steps aside as I approach. “What do you want, Miles? Order up while she’s going.”
“Uh… Cookie Crumble, maybe?”
Like my choice means something to her, Brooke’s eyes light up with approval, and perhaps a little mocking, as the girl starts scooping, and Brooke hands Lyss her cup and a spoon. “Are you guys eating here, or heading out?”
“We’re gonna eat here.” Lyss races across the shop on her flashing shoes, and dives into a booth in the far corner.
