Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3)

by Tammy Falkner

  “Oh my God,” Ethan says again. “I’ll never be able to look her in the face again.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. Then I let out a snort and follow it with “She’ll never want to look you in the eye anyway, now that she’s seen all that.” I lift my hands, moving them up and down indicating his body.

  “You suck,” Ethan says as he turns and walks into the bathroom.

  “Not yet!” I say. “But I’m willing!”

  He stops and slowly turns to face me, one eye closed and the other open. “Get your ass in here, then,” he says.

  I drop my sheet, he drops his pillow, and we close the bathroom door behind us and climb into the shower, where I prove that I’m most definitely not lying.

  33

  Ethan

  “He’s fine,” Jake teases from where he’s sitting on a fallen log by the end of the road. He rests there with his elbows on his knees, staring up at me, the late afternoon sun on his face.

  “What if he got on the wrong bus?” I ask.

  “He didn’t get on the wrong bus,” Jake assures me. “You called the school, right? Told them Mitchell would be getting off here with my kids? He’ll be here any second.” He holds up his hands like he wants to ward me off. “Chill, dude. He’s fine.”

  I pace up and down the side of the road. This is the first time Mitchell has gotten off the bus here, and I’m just afraid he forgot and he’s accidentally on the way to my mother’s house. My mom left this morning, after she took Mitchell to school, for a girls’ weekend with a group of her friends. She said she had margaritas in her future, whatever that meant.

  Finally, I hear the heavy whine of the bus as it tops the hill. “There they are,” Jake says with a grin. “Told you so.”

  “Just because the bus is almost here doesn’t mean he’s on it,” I mutter. I swipe a hand across my mouth in frustration.

  But the bus stops and I see three figures stand up. Jake only has two. Mitchell is the third. He bounds off the bus behind Trixie and Alex and flings himself at me. The bus driver glares at me and the bus pulls away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. “You’re here,” I say.

  “I know,” Mitchell says, beaming at me. “It’s great, right? I get to stay the whole weekend?”

  I nod, although I’m pretty sure that Mitchell isn’t going home on Sunday night. He’s going to stay, at least until he gets tired of me, which I hope is never.

  Jake walks away with his two kids, giving us a quick wave and a smirk in my direction. Kind of an I told you so look.

  Jake has been doing this dad thing a lot longer than I have.

  We walk toward the campground, and Mitchell stops and looks at me, his brow furrowed. “Where’s the tent?”

  “I packed it up,” I inform him.

  He hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder, so I reach over and take it from him. He must have brought everything he owns.

  “Where are we going to sleep?” he asks. He doesn’t look too pleased.

  “Well, that’s a surprise,” I say. I start toward the cabin the Jacobsons are letting me use.

  “There’s Abigail,” Mitchell says. Then he looks confused. “And an old Abigail.” He looks at me. “Who’s that?”

  Abigail and her grandmother do look a lot alike. They both have that same curly hair, although Mrs. Marshall’s hair is shorter and more salt than pepper at this point. But they have very similar features, and they’re built the same, both tall and willowy, although Mrs. Marshall has a noticeable stoop to her shoulders.

  “That’s Mrs. Marshall,” I explain. “Abigail’s grandmother.”

  “She’s really old,” he says, the way only a child can get away with.

  Abigail and her grandmother must have been outside watering flowers because Mrs. Marshall is holding a garden hose, soaking the bushes in front of the cabin. Mrs. Marshall turns the garden hose toward Mitchell, pretending like she doesn’t see him standing there.

  “Whoops!” she says when she pretends to notice him, as she almost sprays him. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Mitchell grins and looks up at me for guidance. “You don’t want to mess with her,” I say behind my hand. “The Marshall women are sneaky.”

  “We heard that,” they both sing out in unison, and then they both start laughing.

  Mrs. Marshall sets her hose to the side. “Who’s this young man?”

  “This is my son, Mitchell,” I say. I gently shove him toward her when he doesn’t say anything. “Say hello, Mitchell,” I tell him.

  “Hello, Mitchell,” he parrots.

  Mrs. Marshall guffaws and scruffs the top of his head.

  “Did you take the bus home, Mitchell?” Abigail asks. I’ve probably worried the fool out of her today because every time she saw me I was checking my phone to be sure of the time.

  He nods. And it hits me that she just called my cabin home. It makes my insides warm, and a lump forms in my throat.

  Mrs. Marshall reaches into the pocket of her old housecoat and pulls out a piece of candy for him.

  Mitchell looks at me. “Can I have it?”

  “I don’t see why not.” I walk over and kiss Abigail on the cheek. “I’m going to go show Mitchell the cabin.”

  She nods and stands watching us with a smile on her face as we walk over to the place that’s now ours.

  “This is our house?” Mitchell asks.

  “Yep. It’s all ours. At least for now.”

  He rushes through the front door as soon as I open it. “Where’s my room?”

  I point toward his little space. This morning I moved the bunk bed away from the wall and gave his space a fresh coat of paint. I still have to finish the rest of the house, but I figure I can let Mitchell help me with that. But his room—I wanted that to be perfect.

  He walks in and squeals, “I get a bunk bed!”

  He’s up the ladder and flopped on the top bunk before I can even walk through the door. “You think this place will do?” I ask him. I hold my breath while I wait for him to reply.

  “I love it,” he says firmly. I added a bookcase earlier today, and the toys I’ve been bringing over slowly from my mother’s house line the shelves. I open the closet so he can see his shoes lined up on the floor and his clothes hanging on the rack. The room is small, but it’s more than big enough for him and his things. “Dad, can I sleep on the top?”

  “Do you think you can keep from rolling off?”

  He nods his head in quick jerks.

  “Then you can sleep on the top.” I added a rail just this afternoon, and I painted it so it would look like the rest of the bed, but I don’t tell him about that.

  He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. I added stars to the ceiling, too, but he won’t really be able to see them until after dark. I guess that’ll be a surprise.

  “Where will Wilbur sleep?” he asks.

  I pinch my lips together. “Wilbur will be sleeping with his new friends,” I say. Last night I went back to the tent, but Wilbur wasn’t there. I pull out my phone and show Mitchell. “But we can see where he is. I put a tracker on him so we can see where he’s going and where he has been.”

  “Cool,” he says, as he climbs down to come study the app. It’s really an informative little tool, kind of like the ones that pigeon keepers use to track where their birds travel. When I put the little band on Wilbur, he didn’t even notice. “So if he flies south, we’ll be able to see where he lands?”

  “I suppose we will.” I already miss Wilbur, but keeping him with me would be wrong when he could have a perfectly good life as a normal duck.

  Mitchell walks into the living room and drags his fingers down a row of books. I filled the lower two shelves with kid books, a few comic books, and I figured we could buy some books together after I find out what he likes to read.

  He looks at me and grins. “I like this place.”

  I swallow hard. “I like it too.”

  I hear the crunch of tires on gravel and
look out to see a car pull into Abigail’s drive. Two women get out, and there’s a lot of squealing.

  “Girls are weird,” Mitchell says as we watch through the screen door.

  I say nothing, but I kind of agree with him.

  “So is Abigail going to be my new mom?” he suddenly asks.

  I freeze. “What?” I try to buy myself some time. “What do you mean?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re in love with her.” He sings out the words “in love.” He clasps his hands together and bats his eyelashes at me.

  I try to bite back my grin, but it’s impossible. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “I know, but when you get married, will she be my mom?” He watches the four ladies like he’s suddenly very interested in knowing what’s going on over there.

  “Well,” I say, “she wouldn’t be your mom. But if I asked her to marry me and she said yes, then she would be your stepmom.”

  He stares up at me. “That’s kind of the same thing, right?”

  I rock my head from side to side and try to come up with the right answer. “Sort of,” I hedge.

  “I think it might be nice to have a stepmom,” he says quietly. “Especially if she’s nice like Abigail.” He looks at me. “One of the kids at school has a stepmom and she makes him take baths and stuff.” He looks warily out the door. “Is Abigail going to be that kind of stepmom?”

  I honestly have no idea if Abigail even wants to be a mom. We’ve never talked about it. “I don’t know,” I reply.

  He suddenly opens the screen door and runs out, his little tennis shoes flying across the front yard. He stops in front of Abigail, and all four women are startled by his sudden appearance. I follow him slowly, wondering what he’s about to do, terrified he’s going to say something he shouldn’t.

  But he just sticks his hand in Abigail’s and looks up at her. “Hi there,” she says, looking to me for guidance. I shrug, and she looks back down at Mitchell. The other three women all wear similar expressions of curiosity as they wait. “Did you need something, Mitchell?” she finally asks.

  “No, I was just curious.” He bends his leg and catches it at an odd angle, standing there like a flamingo balanced on one foot.

  “About what?” She shoots me a quick glance again.

  “If you marry my dad and you become my stepmom—that’s kind of like a mom, but I didn’t come out of your hoo-ha—then I think you should be the kind of stepmom that doesn’t make me take baths.” He raises his dark eyes up to her so innocently. “Is that okay?”

  Abigail doesn’t even blink. “No, I’ll definitely make you take baths. But how about we compromise, and we let some of them be taken in the lake when the weather is nice?”

  He grins. “Deal.”

  She holds up her hand to high-five, and he drops his foot back to the ground long enough to slap her palm with his.

  “You have any other requests?” she asks.

  He shakes his head. Then he looks at me. “Can we go fishing?”

  I’m still trying to hold back my laughter. “Sure,” I croak. “Go get your pole out of the closet. Then we’ll need to dig up some worms because I forgot to buy some.”

  He takes off toward the house, and he leaves us all standing in complete and utter silence. Then Abigail breaks it with a loud snort and then a loud laugh. “He just talked about my hoo-ha.” She gives me what I know is meant to be a fake intimidating glare. “We’re going to have to teach that boy to use the word vagina.”

  “Only if you want to hear it every five seconds,” Mrs. Marshall warns.

  “He’s adorable,” one of the other ladies says.

  “Thanks,” I reply shyly. I’m not ready to address the idea of marriage, not in front of all these people, even though my son just tossed it right out there.

  Abigail introduces me to Camille and Rachel, who can’t stop grinning. “It’s nice to meet you,” Camille says, and Rachel sticks out her hand to shake. I take it, and she suddenly jerks me to her and hugs me.

  “Hey,” Camille pretends to complain.

  “Oh, hush,” Rachel says. “You know he’s not my type.” She cautiously pokes around on my neck, shoulders, and chest with her fingertips. “I just wanted to feel him, not sleep with him.”

  I look to Abigail for help, but she’s just grinning.

  “He’s so hard, Abigail,” Rachel says. “My God, I bet he’s gorgeous naked.”

  Mrs. Marshall raises her palm. “He is. I can attest to that.”

  My cheeks are filled with heat.

  “If you guys don’t quit it,” Abigail warns, “he’s going to spontaneously combust.” She walks over and peels Rachel back from me. She points to Camille. “Yours is over there,” she says. “This one is mine.”

  Camille rubs her hands together. “Can we go fishing too?”

  I shrug. “I don’t see why not.”

  Mrs. Marshall says, “Abigail, go get my pole.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abigail says as she walks away. Camille and Rachel go with her.

  Mrs. Marshall turns to face me, looking more serious than I have ever seen her look. “If you let her fall in love with that boy and then you take him away, I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply, understanding completely.

  “You’re going to ask her to marry you, right?” She eyes me up and down, like she’s looking for the truth.

  “As soon as she’s free, I plan to make her mine, yes. That’s my plan.” I can’t imagine my life without her at this point.

  “Good.” She pats my shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Ethan,” she says quietly. “I’m very proud of the life you’ve made for yourself.”

  Emotion suddenly clogs my throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Marshall,” I say. I never thought someone saying that out loud to me would strike me like a physical blow, but it does.

  I take a deep breath. “Do you think she’ll even want the job?” I ask. “Being Mitchell’s stepmom?” I hold my breath while I wait for the answer.

  She nods her head toward the road, where Abigail and Mitchell are already walking toward the dock, pulling a little cart filled with fishing poles, tackle boxes, and a couple of folding chairs. Abigail turns back and yells, “Y’all coming or what?”

  “I’d say she’s already applied for the job. Now you just need to man up and hire her.”

  I grin, and I take Mitchell, Camille, and Rachel to dig worms under the rocks by the bathhouse, where there used to be an endless supply, while Abigail sets up a folding chair for her grandmother and makes sure the poles have hooks and bobbers on them.

  Abigail sits next to Mitchell while they fish, and she talks to him about everything and nothing while they pull in fish after fish. I spend all my time taking them off the hook.

  “Looks like we’re having fish for dinner,” Mrs. Marshall says.

  “We’ll have to run to the store and get supplies,” Abigail reminds her.

  “Good,” she replies. She winks at Mitchell. “Mitchell and I can get to know one another while you’re gone.”

  Mitchell doesn’t complain about it at all. He just sits there swinging his feet, fishing for all he’s worth.

  As the sun starts to go down, Abigail comes over and sits down next to me. “I want the job,” she says quietly.

  I hadn’t even realized she could hear us when her grandmother said what she did about her applying for the job of stepmother.

  I lean over and kiss the tip of her nose, lingering there for a moment with my eyes closed.

  “Eww,” Mitchell complains. “They’re kissing.” He makes a pretend gagging sound.

  Camille leans over and gives Rachel a huge kiss on the cheek. And then Mrs. Marshall grabs Mitchell and kisses him, too.

  “Girls are weird,” he says as he wipes the side of his face.

  “Tell me about it,” I reply.

  But that girl, the one that’s mine, she’s perfect.

  34

  Ethanr />
  “Are you sure your grandmother doesn’t mind having him stay?” I ask, as I look in my rearview mirror to where Mitchell is waving madly at us as we drive away.

  Abigail stares at me, her eyebrows raised like she’s appalled. “Are you kidding? He’s with Gran. Gran is the best.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know she’s the best. I asked if you’re sure she doesn’t mind if he stays.” I look back one last time. “I’m just not used to leaving him, I guess,” I admit hesitantly.

  “Gran would have told you if she minded,” she informs me. “Besides, they promised to clean the fish.”

  “Does Gran know how to clean a fish?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but Rachel does. She’s a chef. She’s going to get Mitchell to help, and I’m sure he’ll love the guts part of it.”

  Very true. I reach across the cab and grab her hand. I lift it to my lips so I can kiss the back. “Did you make a shopping list?”

  She snorts. “For a fish fry?” She taps her temple with her index finger. “I have the whole list in here.”

  “So that means you have no idea what we’re getting,” I say with a laugh.

  She harrumphs and sits up taller in the seat. “Says you.”

  I laugh. “God, I love you.” The words just slip out, and I don’t regret them. I know I told her during sex, but during sex really doesn’t count because it’s easy to get overwhelmed during sex.

  “I’m pretty fond of you too,” she replies.

  I suck in a breath. “Pretty fond?” I lay my hand on my chest like she has wounded me. “Pretty fond?” I say again. “I made you come your brains out this morning and I only get pretty fond?”

  “I’ll consider upgrading you at a later date,” she quips.

  I pull into a parking spot at the tackle shop and yank her against me before she can get out. “I need to tell you something,” I say, my face close to hers so I know I have all her attention.

  “Okay,” she replies slowly, her gaze wary. “If you’re going to tell me you’re sleeping with some other chick and you got her pregnant, I’m going to kick you in the nuts, because I would actually care if you do it.”