“Yes, Alex and Mitchell are on the same team. I saw your mom at practice, and we got to talking.”
“About?” I stare at her.
“Before you can take custody of Mitchell, you’re going to need a real home. A tent is fine for weekends, but you can’t bring a kid to live in a tent.” Every time she says the word “tent” her face puckers.
“We’re not talking about custody yet, so I have time.”
Katie looks surprised. “You don’t want him?” She immediately looks like she wishes she could take that back.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s best for him.” I don’t want what’s best for me. I want what will be best, long term, for my son. Right now, that’s him staying with my mom, where he has been for the past five years. It’s the only life he probably remembers. He was two when the accident happened, when I got locked up. For five years, he’s been with Mom, and I think it’s best if he stays there.
“That’s noble of you, but—”
I cut her off with a snort. “It’s not noble. It’s just smart. I’m not ready to be his full-time caregiver. I know that much.”
“Children just need for you to love them,” she says quietly, like she’s telling me something I don’t know.
“They need more than that and you know it.” I pick up my hammer and prepare to go back up on the roof. “If I leave my duck walking around on the ground, is your dog going to eat him?”
She shakes her head. “No. Sally won’t hurt him.”
I gently bump the duck away from me with the toe of my boot so he’ll go play in the grass. The dog sits completely still as the duck walks over and pecks at his feet. He just sits there, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
“Mitchell is a good kid,” Katie says.
“I know.” I climb slowly up the ladder, halfway watching my duck with the dog.
“So you’ll think about taking one of the empty cabins, right?” she calls up to me. She’s a little breathless, like she’s frustrated by my lack of cooperation.
“Nope.” I start to arrange the few shingles I have left to lay, and I begin to hammer them into place.
“You’re really not even going to think about it?”
“Nope.”
“Are you always this hardheaded?”
“Yep.”
“Your parole officer called us,” she says.
I freeze. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to confirm full-time employment and confirm that your domicile is part of our agreement.”
I grunt. I didn’t know that he was going to call them.
“I hate to lie, so you’ll have to take one of the cabins.” She lifts her hand to shield her eyes and grins up at me.
I look down at her. “You told him I’m living in a cabin?”
“No, I don’t like to lie. So I just told him that a cabin is provided as part of your employment agreement.”
“So you skirted around the fact that I’m living in a tent.”
“He didn’t ask about a tent. He just wanted to know about housing.”
I grunt at her, because I feel like she’s waiting for a response that I don’t have.
“You know,” she says, her voice a little quieter, “you tormenting yourself by living in a tent isn’t going to help you any in the long run.”
“I’m not tormenting myself. I like my tent. It’s mine.” Actually, it was my dad’s. I picked it up from my mom’s house the day I got the job here.
“But you can have a cabin,” she yells at me, and now she’s obviously frustrated.
Jake walks around the corner just then, heading straight for Katie, and I’ve never been so happy to see anybody in my life.
“Katie,” Jake says, a warning in his voice. “If he wanted to live in the cabin, he’d live in the cabin. He’s a grown man, he can live wherever he wants. So leave him alone about it.”
“I just want to be sure he knows it’s there for him.”
“I know it’s there,” I call down. “Thank you.”
Katie punches her hands onto her hips and glares at Jake. “He’s so stubborn.”
“Hello, pot,” Jake says with a chuckle. “Meet kettle.” I hear his voice get quieter. “Leave the man alone. He can decide where he wants to live.”
“I know, but I thought I could help him see reason.” They’re obviously having what should be a private conversation, but I can hear every word from up on the roof.
“Leave it be, Katie,” Jake says, a warning in his voice now.
“Leave it be, Katie,” she says, mocking his deep voice. She throws her hands out to the sides, and my duck takes a flying leap to get away from her apparently frightening flailing arms. Sally the dog just lies down and rolls onto his side, where he basks in the fall sunshine. “I don’t want to leave it be!” she hisses at Jake. “I want to fix it.”
“It’s not yours to fix,” he hisses back.
“When you get over being stubborn,” Katie calls up to me, “there’s an empty cabin for you to move into.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I tack down my last shingle and climb back down the ladder. I say nothing to either of them as I collect my tools. Then I address Jake. “Did you have anything else that needs doing? Or do you want me to go mow the field like we talked about?”
“You can mow the field,” he replies. He keeps glaring at Katie, and she glares right back. “Stop it,” he says, as he points his finger and jabs it in her direction.
“I will not stop it,” she replies. But she does turn on her heel and walk away, the big old dog walking along behind her. My duck stands at my feet, watching the great beast walk in the other direction.
“She’s determined she’s going to get you moved into a house.”
“I can see that.”
“She’s pigheaded,” he adds.
“I can see that too.”
“You got a little bit of that pigheaded thing going on too,” he says.
“I know that.”
“She’s used to getting her way.” He shrugs. “Except with Pop. He usually wins.”
“He always did.”
Jake chuckles. “So you really don’t want to move into one of the cabins?”
I heave in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Jake…” I don’t know how best to explain it. “I spent five years locked up in a small room with bars on the windows and doors. They let me out to walk around twice a day. I got to work out, and I read books. I didn’t get to do much else. So for right now, I’d like to be in charge of my own life. When I want a house, I’ll either get my own house or I’ll come and ask you for a cabin.” I stare hard at him but there is no animosity, just a desire for understanding. “Does that settle it?”
“So it’s not because you don’t feel worthy?” he asks. “That’s what Katie’s afraid of, that you’re feeling so guilty about what happened that you refuse to do anything nice for yourself.”
“Self-flagellation is really not my thing,” I say.
Jake grins and scratches his head.
I laugh out loud. “I don’t live in the tent so I can torture myself because I’m unworthy of comfort,” I explain. “I live there because I like the freedom. I like doing whatever the fuck I want. And right now, today, I want to live in a motherfucking tent.” I smile as I say it, and he does too, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t offend him.
“Doesn’t get much plainer than that.” Jake dusts his hands together like he’s done with this.
I close up my ladder and hitch it over my shoulder. “I’m going to mow that field now.”
He nods. But he’s still staring at me.
“If it makes her feel any better, you can tell her my happiest memories are from times spent in a tent. And when I finally do spend time with my son, he’s going to love that tent as much as I did at that age. And no, I don’t plan to make him live in a tent full time. But it’s not going to hurt him to vacation with me in a tent.”
“S
o you do plan to bring him here.”
“I’d like to.”
“The boys have a game this weekend.”
“I heard.”
“Are you going?”
“I’m still thinking about it.” I don’t know if the kids on Mitchell’s team know that his dad killed his mom in a tragic accident that was all his dad’s fault. If they don’t already know, I don’t want to throw it in their faces as a tool they can use against him.
“He already told all the kids on the team that you’re coming to watch his game this weekend,” Jake suddenly blurts out.
“Did he, now?”
“He did. So if you want to ride with us, you can.”
I smile and shake my head. “I can get myself there just fine. But thank you.”
“Katie’s going to try to mother you,” he warns. “She mothers everybody.”
“I already have a mother. And she’s nosy enough for two Katies put together.”
Jake laughs, then he suddenly sobers. “You do good work. I’m glad you’re here. The place is more than Katie and I can take care of on our own. And Pop doesn’t put in as much effort as he used to.”
I smirk. “Better not let him hear you say that.”
Jake looks over his shoulder like Mr. Jacobson could be stalking him. He relaxes a little when he sees that he’s not there.
“Why’d you take a chance on me?” I ask, suddenly curious.
Jake shrugs. “You looked like a man who could use a chance.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, and I sincerely mean it.
“Did you apply anywhere else?” Jake asks, like he’s suddenly curious too.
“Only everywhere.” Nobody wanted to hire a felon, particularly not one who killed the town’s favorite daughter.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” he says again.
“Me too.” I point toward the field. “I’m going to go take care of that grass, unless you need something else done.”
Suddenly Katie reappears and marches up to both of us, and she’s spitting mad. “I just have one question for you,” she says, her hands on her hips as she glares at me.
“Okay, shoot,” I say. I adjust the ladder on my shoulder, since it’s still resting there.
“Are you eating okay? Do you have blankets? Are you getting enough rest?”
“That was three questions,” I inform her.
Her face softens. “I know. I’m just so worried about you. Your mom is too, and we can’t help it.” She stomps her foot in the grass, and it’s all I can do not to laugh at her. But I think she’s genuinely sincere, which is also hilarious to me.
“I’m eating just fine. I go to the store when I need to.”
Her brow furrows. “They treat you okay there?”
“They treat me fine.” At least they do at the tackle shop. I get most of what I need there.
“I have blankets if you need them,” she rushes to add.
“I have plenty.” I nod at her. “But thank you for worrying about me. You’re doing my mama proud.”
She grins. “Thanks.”
Then she marches off back in the direction she came from.
“Pigheaded,” Jake mutters. “I told you.”
I can’t bite back my smile. “I think it’s sweet.” And aggravating as fuck, but still sweet.
He chuckles. “That’s generous of you.”
I nod toward the field as a reminder, and I head off to put my ladder up. My duck follows, his noisy little mouth talking the whole way.
“So now I get shit from you too?” I ask him, but his cute little waddle and the way he runs honking after me make me laugh. Genuinely laugh, not from something witty or amusing, but from sheer joy.
That’s something I haven’t done in a really long time. It feels almost foreign, but it feels right at the same time.
9
Abigail
The tackle shop sells cake. Or at least they sell cake mix. I peruse the aisles slowly, taking in the eclectic mix of products from one side of the shop to the other. On the left, they sell all-and-sundry goods, meaning anything you might need to buy on the fly, like toilet paper, bread, peanut butter, sardines—though all the sardine cans are dusty because not that many people like to eat tiny fish that can look you in the eye as you eat them—and fruits and vegetables in cans. On the right, there are life jackets, fishing rods, tackle, and anything you might need while camping.
So I’m really surprised when I find cake mix. And candles. I toss both into the little red plastic basket that’s hanging over my arm. Then I also get a tube of frosting, and a can of frosting, because…well…frosting. Then as I walk through the aisles, I see a novelty t-shirt that says: my duck is bigger than your duck! He needs that shirt.
I’ve seen him walking through the complex with his little duck following along behind him. It’s a-freakin’-dorable and I’ve wanted more than once to go over and ask him if I can pet it. But he’s avoiding me. He knows he’s avoiding me. I’m aware that he’s avoiding me. Now everyone is aware that he’s avoiding me, so I feel like it’s best to let him do his thing.
But I can’t do that today, because today is his birthday. I know it’s his birthday because his birthday is on the same day of the month as mine, but it falls one month before. He spent a full thirty days teasing me about being a baby, when he was thirteen for a whole month while I still had to be twelve.
I don’t know if he has plans for his birthday, but I do know that I’m not going to let it go by with no one the wiser. I’m going to make him a cake, and I’m going to deliver it to him with a poorly sung song, and he’s going to smile at me, and then he’s going to blush, and I’m going to love every second of his discomfort.
I go to pay for my purchases, and the guy at the counter stares at me hard. I look down at myself to be sure there’s no huge stain on me from breakfast, but I’m clean. “What?”
He smiles and leans his torso on the counter, resting on his elbows. “You’re not from around here,” he says.
I smile back. “You don’t remember me, do you?” I lay my hand on my chest. “Abigail Marshall? Maimi Marshall is my grandmother.”
His grin grows. “I do remember you. You were always with Ethan.” He looks toward the parking lot. “Speak of the devil,” he says softly.
Suddenly the door opens, and I look up when I hear the bell over the door. It’s Ethan. I quickly try to hide my purchases by shoving them back into the basket. I cover the cake up with the shirt and also make sure that’s unreadable.
The guy frowns. “You don’t have to worry about him, Abigail,” he says. “He’s harmless.” He glares at me. “He’s honestly one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. I can’t figure out why the people in this town can’t get over their hatred for him.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly.
“I need to get a few more things,” I say, as I dash back down the aisle to hide.
“Morning, Shy,” I hear Ethan say. “Everything going your way?”
Ethan walks right past me, and I stare at the shelves in front of me and try to make myself look small and unassuming.
Suddenly, he stops right next to my ear. “If you didn’t want me to know it was you, you should have put some of that hair away,” he says. He tugs a lock of my hair, which makes me chuckle.
“You suck,” I reply. I shove my basket behind my back. “Don’t look at my purchases,” I warn, as I shake my finger at him.
“Oh, see, now I want to see what you have in that basket,” he says, as he tries to look around me. I volley from side to side blocking him. “Abigail Marshall!” he sings out. “Are you buying porn?”
I gasp out a laugh. Shy barks out a laugh, too. He’s full-on leaning on the counter now so that he can watch us.
“Shy, I bet you didn’t even know who she was, did you?” Ethan calls out.
“Soon as I saw you two together, it came right back to me,” Shy calls back.
“She’s nosy and she smells like lemons all the time, but
she’s pretty nice.”
I stand up a little taller. “I do not smell like lemons,” I mutter.
“You always have,” he says. He rubs his hands together like they’re cold. “So, what are you buying?”
“None of your business,” I reply as I lift my nose into the air a little.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He nods. “Okay. Fine.” He grabs a shopping basket from a nearby stand of them. “But don’t you look in my basket.”
He’s being playful and funny, and he’s so damn cute. He looks really good with the haircut, but I can see that he hasn’t shaved since I shaved the thick beard from his face, and his cheeks are covered in stubble.
“I like the new look!” Shy calls out to him.
“You can thank Abigail for the new me,” he says with a mock bow in Shy’s direction. “She hooked me up with a pair of scissors.” He paws the top of my head, his fingers spread wide as he gives me a scruff. I try to duck away from him, but he’s so cute now that he’s playing, I don’t want him to stop. “She told me she was tired of looking at my ugly face. Then she set out to make me brand new. And pretty.”
Shy guffaws. “Well, we have her to thank, then. It’s a mighty big improvement!”
Ethan walks over to the grocery aisle and throws a few things in his basket. He hides it behind his back, so I won’t look inside. Now I’m curious as all hell about what a man like him needs from the store.
The door chimes again, and Ethan sees who it is, walks straight to the counter, says something quietly to Shy, who rings him up quickly and lets him pay. Then he dashes out the door as quickly as he arrived.
I walk up to the counter. “What just happened?”
Shy looks toward the couple that just walked in. They’re staring out the front window toward where Ethan is backing out of his parking spot, looking angry. “He doesn’t care much for people talking about him,” Shy says softly, his eyes still cutting over to look at the pair.
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 6
