I roll my eyes, for my own benefit apparently since Gran couldn’t see me. “He only punched Charles because Charles kicked his duck.”
She snorts. “You can lie to yourself, Abigail, but you can’t like to a grandmother. We know things.”
“Speaking of which,” I say, “how did you find out about the punch?”
“Charles’s mother called. She was very upset. Said you’re not taking her calls, that she has left messages for you and you haven’t called her back.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her you’d call back if you had anything you needed to say to her.”
“Did she say what she wants?” I can honestly say that I haven’t even listened to the voice mails she’s left.
“She wants to talk you into taking Charles back, I think.”
“Gran,” I remind her, “Charles has no desire to be taken back by me.” Not that I would have him back at this point.
“Well, his mother is adamant that he made a mistake, and that if the two of you go to counseling, you can make it through this.”
“I think we’re already through this,” I say quietly. And that statement doesn’t hurt my heart nearly as much as it would have last week. “We’re coming out the other side.”
“How did that Sandra look?” Gran makes her name sound like the ugliest of curse words.
“Pregnant,” I say. She had a small bump under her maternity top. Either she really likes being pregnant and wants everyone to know about the baby, or she was sleeping with my husband even longer than I’d thought. “And glowing,” I add at the last minute.
“His mother told me that she took her shit and moved out tonight. Apparently, Charles was all upset about it.”
“He’s probably confused about why she’s not stroking that big old ego of his.”
“Or his big old anything else,” Gran mutters.
I cover my chuckle because it never helps to encourage Gran. “It really wasn’t that big,” I admit. “I’ve had better.”
Gran cackles loud and long. “Why did you stay with him so long, Abigail?” she finally asks, as soon as she sobers up enough to get words out.
“It was…comfortable, I guess,” I admit. I had gotten so used to what we were doing that I overlooked all the things that made me unhappy. “So, Sandra really wanted his mother’s approval?” If one thing stood out to me tonight, it was that.
“Then she needs to go and get it,” Gran says.
“Do you think they’ll stay together, Gran?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No. I think they’ll break up as soon as his needs aren’t being met, and he’ll move on to someone else. I think he’ll see that kid only on the obligatory birthdays and holidays, and that’ll be the end of it. And I think she’ll be better for it in the end.”
“She thought he was only sleeping with her,” I tell her.
“Have you gone and gotten tested yet?”
I sit up straight. “Tested for what?” But fear has already settled in my heart.
“For sexually transmitted diseases, dear,” she clarifies.
“Oh, God,” I breathe. “You’re right. I need to go and get tested.”
“As soon as possible,” Gran says quietly.
Tears immediately sting my eyes. The idea that he might have given me something absolutely breaks my heart. “Oh, Gran…”
“It’ll be fine, Abigail,” she replies, her voice calm and soothing like when I used to get a fever and she’d rub my temples. “Go to the doctor, get checked out, and then you won’t have to worry about it ever again.”
“I wonder if there’s a doctor down here.”
“There’s a hospital about twenty miles from there,” she reminds me. “While you’re there, you can see about a job.”
“Why would I look for a job around here?”
“Well, that man isn’t going to follow you home, and the last time I checked, you don’t have a home to come home to. Unless you count here,” she rushes to add. “And you know you’re always welcome here.”
Going home to my grandmother’s as an adult feels like defeat. That’s the last thing I want to do.
“Besides, that young man who hasn’t even kissed you isn’t going to leave Macon Hills, not while his kid is there. Not if he loves him as much as you believe he does.”
“He loves him, Gran.” I smile even though she can’t see me. “You should see him when they’re together. It’s like the sun starts shining all around him.”
“Based on what the Jacobsons have told me, he has some serious feelings of guilt surrounding what happened.”
I stick my finger in my ear and yell loudly, “La la la la. Don’t tell me. I want him to tell me.”
She laughs. “I won’t say a word.” I can picture her zipping her mouth shut. “You like him, huh?” she finally asks, her voice quiet like it’s a whisper, and I can hear the joy in her voice.
“I really like him, Gran.” Which feels weird, because just a couple of weeks ago, I was happily married. “I like him a lot.”
“How gratifying was it when your Ethan ran up to Charles and bumped chests?” Gran asks.
“How did you know that?”
She sniggers. “Apparently, Charles did a reenactment for his mother while he was ranting and raving about you sleeping with some strange man.”
“And what did she tell him?”
“That he’s the cheater, not you.”
I always did like Charles’s mother. She was smart, strong, and she didn’t take a lot of crap.
“I think she’s feeling a little guilty.”
“For what?” I ask, truly astounded at the idea.
“Because she raised a cheating asshole with an inferiority complex.”
I shake my head. “Not sure you can raise a cheater.” Some people just become cheaters, no matter how they were raised. In the South, your upbringing is what determines the trajectory of your life, or so people think. But I have always felt that we, as human beings, are made to build on our upbringing, and we become our most authentic selves while using bits of how we are raised, rather than because of it. We adopt some of the family customs, and we note the ones we can do without and work to eliminate those. It’s not your upbringing that defines you, it’s what you do with it.
“Well, she’s afraid she did raise a cheater, and she’s feeling mighty guilty about it.”
“She should be happy she’s getting a grandchild. Heaven knows I was never going to give her one.” And I was damn tired of hearing about it at every family event, every barbecue, every holiday party.
“You’ll make a good mother one day,” Gran says.
“I’m almost forty, Gran. If I don’t jump on it soon, it’ll be too late.”
I’ve never really thought much about kids. I’ve never dreamed of a nursery or pored over baby books, preparing for my life with kids. I never get dreamy-eyed when I see a baby at the mall. And I damn sure never volunteer to babysit my friends’ kids.
“Speaking of jumping on it,” Gran says slyly, “did you bring any pretty lingerie with you?”
“Gran, I didn’t even bring regular clothes. I bought t-shirts at the tackle shop on the corner.”
“You wore a t-shirt from the tackle shop on your date?”
“I sure did.” I smile to myself. “And it was the best date ever.”
“What made it so fantastic, Abigail?”
It’s hard to explain. “I don’t know,” I say slowly, taking the time to think. “We just talked, and we laughed, and we never ran out of things to say. I made that special chicken you taught me to make.”
“What did he think?”
He didn’t say. “He ate it all and then finished what was left on my plate.”
“See, he’ll be the man that’ll finish your party mix pickings. I’m telling you.”
I hear a knock on my front door and tell Gran really quickly, “Somebody’s at my door.”
“It’s him, and he’s come back
to get that kiss he forgot.” She laughs. “Call me if you need me,” she says. Then she hangs up.
I pad on my bare feet to the front door. I’m wearing one of the tackle shop t-shirts and a pair of my old shorts I found in a drawer. They are about four inches too short, so I reach down and pull them out of my crotch. I open the door and find Ethan standing there.
“Hi again. Did you forget something?” I cross my arms in front of my chest because I’m not wearing a bra.
“I did. I forgot to say thank you,” he replies as he leans there in the threshold, one shoulder propped against the jamb. His eyes do a slow slide down my body that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “Thank you for dinner,” he says, and he grins. And he’s so damn cute that I lose my breath for a second.
“You’re very welcome,” I reply.
Wilbur waddles past him and into the living room, where he starts to wander around, quacking all the while. “Wilbur’s going to get himself a girlfriend tomorrow,” Ethan says.
“A girlfriend?” I look at Wilbur and back to Ethan.
“There’s a girl duck that’s hanging out in the lake. He was very interested in her today when I took him swimming.”
“Do you think he’ll throw you over to go get the girl duck?” That will break Ethan’s heart. I know he pretends like the duck is a nuisance, but he loves his little nuisance.
“I figure she can teach him to be a duck, since he seems to think he’s human.” He shrugs. “Plus, he needs to learn how to fly south or do whatever it is they do during the winter. I figure the duck can teach him better than I can. That is, if he can make friends with her. He might be socially awkward, go on a first date with her, and be too scared to kiss her before he leaves for the night.”
I grin, aware that we’re not talking about the duck. “You think he’s too scared?”
“I know he is. He’s so scared he can’t even think. It’s been a long time since he’s held a woman in his arms.” He reaches a hand toward me and tucks that wild lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s been ages since he’s felt soft skin, or warm lips, or had anybody’s hair tickle his chest.”
“Are we still talking about the duck?” I whisper. All the hairs on my arms are standing straight up, so I lift my hands to run them up and down my forearms.
“We’re not talking about the duck,” he says, his words succinct. “Thank you for dinner.” He leans forward and hovers, his mouth just barely above mine, his breath mingling with mine, but his lips not touching me. “I want to kiss you so bad,” he says. Then he pulls away with a groan. He runs a hand through his hair. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I told myself I was just going to come over here and thank you for dinner.”
“How’s that working for you?” I can’t bite back my grin.
“Not working worth a damn,” he says, and he grins too. Then he does it. He presses a quick kiss against my lips. It’s over far too soon, and I lean forward so I can chase him with my mouth. He groans, grabs my shoulders, and pushes me away. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“When?” I ask. I am absolutely filled with…need.
“When you know everything there is to know about me, and you get a chance to choose whether or not you still want me.” He suddenly loses his grin. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me, like everyone else does. And I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you hate me too, Abigail.” He tucks that flyaway lock behind my ear again.
I grab it and lift it in front of my eyes. “I’m going to chop this lock of hair off.”
“Please don’t.” He smiles. “It gives me an excuse to touch you.”
“You could just tell me whatever I need to know. Right now. I don’t think you could say anything that will change my mind about you.”
He shakes his head, a small frown worrying his features. “As I’ve told you before, I want you to be in like with me for a little bit longer. I’m not in a hurry to give that up.”
I reach out to touch his face, but he catches my hand, places a swift kiss on my palm, and then pushes it down between us.
He gives me a sincere look, as if opening his soul. “I’ve never needed anyone to like me, not the way that I need you. I’m so scared you’ll hate me. It was a stupid mistake, but there were so many consequences.”
I step forward and press my body against his, just as I lift my lips to his. I kiss him, and he kisses me back, his lips soft but firm, and he wraps his arms around me, his hands roaming my back, where they explore in circles as I kiss him.
Suddenly, he growls and sets me away from him. My eyes come open slowly, like I’m lifting from a daze, and my body rocks back toward him. “Thank you for dinner,” he says again. He grins and tucks that errant lock of hair behind my ear.
Then he turns and walks away. I stand in the doorway, startled only slightly when Wilbur knocks into my shin in his haste to follow Ethan out the door.
“You’re welcome,” I call out, finally finding my wits. He lifts a hand to wave at me, but he doesn’t turn back. I continue to watch long after he disappears from my sight.
16
Ethan
On Saturday, I walk down to the little free library that no one has used since the campground cleared out. I have two romance novels to leave in it for Abigail. I shuffle through what’s in there, just in case there’s something new that someone has left. I smile to myself when I find two comic books. I know she left them here because no one else I know would leave a comic book in a little free library. I grab them and stuff them into my back pocket, and I leave the romance novels for her. I drop the comic books off at my tent so I can read them later.
Today is game day, which means it’s “I get my kid for the first time in a really long time” day too. That means I have to feed him, but I have no idea what a seven-year-old will want to eat. I figure that if I pick up some random food, something will sing to him and he’ll be happy. The only place I know where I can shop without facing the town’s judgment is at the tackle shop, so I head in that direction. The bell tinkles over the door as I walk in.
I smile as I walk in and see Abigail leaning against the counter, shooting the breeze with Shy. She makes friends so easily. People love her, and I can see why. She’s friendly and she’s outgoing and she’s just damn-it nice.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me, and her cheeks get immediately rosy. She looks at Shy and he ducks his head trying to hide his grin. But when she turns her head back to me, he lifts his brows at me in question. I give a tiny shake of my head and try to brush him off, but he’s not having it.
“Hey, yourself,” I say. “I’m actually really glad you’re here.” I look around the store, a little lost about where to start. I look at Shy. “Can I steal her for a few minutes?”
“That would be up to the pretty lady.” He throws up his hands like he’s feeling a little defeated. “But why she would pick you over me, I have no idea…”
“I promise I’ll give her back.” I grab her shoulders and spin her in the direction I want her to go.
“What are we doing?” she asks over her shoulder as I guide her to the grocery section. “And why are we doing it?”
“Today’s Saturday,” I say. I’m feeling all out of sorts, and I’ve felt that way ever since I woke up this morning. I feel like my skin’s about to itch off and I can’t sit still. I know it’s nerves. And there’s more than one reason why my nerves are on edge. One is the game and the knowledge that I’m going to have to see the townspeople who hate my guts, and the other is that Mitchell is coming for his first sleepover.
“Okay,” she says slowly, her eyes narrowing at me.
“So that means Mitchell is coming to spend the night.”
She grins. “I know. Aren’t you excited?”
I nod. “Terrified would be a more accurate word.”
Her brow furrows. “Why are you terrified?
“What if he doesn’t like me?” I whisper-yell. Then I hide my face behind my hands and growl into them. “I hate feeling like this.”<
br />
Her face softens. “You’re worried he won’t like you?”
I hold my finger and thumb about an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”
“He adores you,” she says, like she’s trying to remind me. “Stop worrying.”
“He doesn’t even know me.” I wince at the truth of them even as I say the words.
“He does know you. He knows you’re his father and that you adore him. I’ve seen you with him. That bond is already there.”
I heave in a breath. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeats, like she’s coaching a baseball team. “So what did you need from me?”
“What do I feed him?”
She looks surprised. “What do you feed him?”
“Stop looking at me like that,” I grouse. “The last time I had him with me, he was still eating soft food that came in jars.”
“Did you ask your mom what he likes?”
Why didn’t I think of that? “I should do that, huh?”
She waves her hands. “Don’t even worry about it. Just pick up some staples.”
“Staples? What…?” I stare at her.
She shakes her head in mock annoyance. “Some fruit, some of those fishy crackers, some cereal and milk for breakfast, maybe some hot dogs and marshmallows you can roast over the fire…” She lets her voice trail off, expecting me to get the gist.
“Do you think it’s safe to have him around a fire?”
“Mitchell is seven, right? I think he can safely roast a marshmallow with parental supervision.” I must stare at her too long because she adds, “That’s you, dummy. The parent.”
“Oh. Right.”
She grabs a basket and walks around tossing random things in. She gets some fish-shaped snack crackers in case he gets the munchies during the night, some cereal and milk for breakfast, and she gets some hot dogs and buns for dinner. “He might like roasting these,” she says. She walks around some more, grabbing random fruit and kid snacks that I didn’t even know existed, and then she walks to the tackle section of the store. “Does he like to fish?”
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 11
