by Louise, Tia
“I’ll have to challenge you to a rematch.” She returns to the inventory list. “After I’ve listened to it a few more times.”
When I arrived this morning, Melody was dancing around in a pink tutu over black leggings and a princess tee holding a football over her head. She was singing a song I didn’t know while Daisy loaded snacks and a thermos in her tiny, mermaid backpack.
I leaned against the door watching them be so domestic, so cute. Then my baby saw me and yelled for me to “Go far.” I’ve tried explaining to her it’s “Go long,” but she doesn’t understand why it’s long instead of far.
I mean, she’s right about it making sense. She’s the smartest little kid I’ve ever met besides Jesse. I stood at the door and watched her walk to school with Coco, and when I turned back, Daisy was smiling at me from behind the desk, contentment in her eyes.
We crossed a bridge last night, but I still have bags I left on the other side. I’m not sure how to collect them or dispose of them.
A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner, and I realize the quarterback princess will be here in less than a half-hour. “I’m ready to tell her.”
Daisy pauses, and when our eyes meet, she nods. “I wanted it to be your decision. Whenever you were ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“Do you want me to be here or…”
“I’ll take her to the playground.” I smile thinking about it. “Some things are better discussed over catch.”
Melody jumps up and down, pumping her fists over her head when she catches my gentle pass. She never stops running or jumping or climbing, and I get why she crashes so hard immediately after dinner every night.
She’s still in her pink tutu and black leggings and princess tee, and I take a knee, pulling her closer to me. “Let’s take a break, princess. I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Her small brow furrows, and she puts both hands on my neck. “Okay, brave knight.”
Moving all the way to seated, I pull her onto my lap, trying to think of the simplest way to put this. “You know how your grandpa was your mom’s dad?”
Her little hands are on the pink football, and she nods forcefully. “Mama says she misses talking to him.”
“Okay…” Not exactly where I wanted to go. “You know how Mr. Liam is Lindsey’s dad?”
She bounces around then, and her voice gets louder. “He showed us the quarterback princess!”
“Right…” That’s more like it. “Have you ever thought about your dad?”
“Mama said my daddy was making movies in Hollywood.”
Now I’m feeling like I should’ve consulted a book before charging into this so unprepared. Or Christ, at least asked Daisy what she’d already told Melody. It never even occurred to me.
“It’s true, that’s what he was doing… But what if he came back to see you?”
She tilts her little head and squints up at me. “Is he nice?”
“I think he’s nice.”
“Would he let me be the quarterback princess?”
“Absolutely.”
Her little lips poke out, and she motions with her little hand for me to come closer. I do as she beckons, and she puts a small hand on my cheek, whispering, “I wish you were my daddy.”
My heart swells so big and so fast, it burns in my chest. I lean down and whisper back, “What if I told you I am your daddy?”
Her blue eyes widen, and she smiles like we’re playing a game. “You can be my daddy?” She bounces on my lap clapping. “You can be my daddy!”
“Wait, no.” I think I’m screwing this up. “I really am your daddy.”
She smiles, hopping off my lap and dancing around me, golden curls flying. “You’re my daddy!”
“Yes, I am.” I smile, but I’m still not sure she believes it’s actually true.
“Come on, then!” She takes my hand, skipping across the street, pulling me behind her.
We go right into the store, and Daisy looks up from behind the counter expectantly. “How’d it go?”
“Mr. Scout said he can be my daddy now!” She takes off around the store, alternately kicking her legs behind her and lifting her arms.
“She’s happy. She’s doing her ballerina dance.” Daisy grins up at me, and I’m less worried our daughter is having a seizure.
“I don’t think she understands it’s for real.”
“She’s little. She’ll grow into it.”
Sliding my hand across her waist, I move a little closer. “What would she think about Daddy spending the night with Mommy?”
Daisy’s cheeks flame pink, and it’s my favorite response. “You might have to arm wrestle her for the bed.”
I remember my baby with her arms over her head sawing little girl logs in the middle of her mother’s bed. My eyes travel to the iron and brass bed I was working on earlier.
“Maybe she needs a royal upgrade?”
Her nose wrinkles and she leans closer to my chest. “You’re kind of a natural when it comes to this parenting thing.”
“I won’t let it go to my head.”
Twenty-Six
Daisy
“It’s the vase you found in Dad’s store all those years ago.” I’m at the counter, talking on the phone with Spencer, and Ms. Nelly Rushmore stands beside me, nodding along to my every word. “The deep purple one with the lavender inside instead of the white. It’s so unique, it has to be the one she means.”
“I’m sure it’s the one she means, but that doesn’t mean I want to sell it.” Spencer’s voice is irritable on the other end of the line.
“But it completes her grandmother’s set.” Ms. Nelly’s eyes soften like she might cry, and my heart surges at her joy. “If you just let her hold it for a little while—”
“Let her hold it?” Spencer is indignant. “Then she dies with it in her possession and one of her greedy offspring absconds with it. Suddenly no one knows anything about a borrowed vase, and that’s how priceless antiques go missing for generations.”
“It’s a piece of Fenton art glass, Spencer. It’s hardly a priceless antique.” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head at Ms. Nelly’s offended face.
Covering the receiver with my hand, I whisper to her, “I’m just saying that to make him cave.”
She smiles with relief, but Spencer isn’t budging. “I know antiques as well as you—better. I know them better than you, and I’m not giving this old crone my vase.”
“You sound like a big ole baby.” I force a laugh, but it’s more nervous than convinced. When Spencer digs in his heels, it’s pretty much over.
Ms. Nelly’s face turns more worried than confident, and I figure I should give it a rest for a little bit.
“Just think about it, Spence.”
“And on that note, goodbye.”
He ends the call abruptly, but I pretend like he didn’t. “Okay, then. Chat soon.”
I lower the buzzing phone, and the eighty-eight-year-old church organist searches my expression for any sign of optimism. “Did he say he might consider it?”
Her voice is wobbly, and I can’t bear to let her down. “I’m going to drive over and talk to him in person.”
“Oh, no!” She clutches her neck. “That’s too much. You don’t need to drive all that way.”
“He’s just in Columbia. It’s not that far.”
When Scout returns from walking the girls to school, I wave him over. “I’ve got to drive to Columbia to try and convince Spencer to give me a vase for sweet little Ms. Nelly Rushmore.”
“You want me to ride with you?”
I think about it. “Our last road trip was when we got that yellow chair from Dad.”
“I remember.” He grins, sliding a hair off my cheek. “I’d better go in case you need help carrying the vase or punching Spencer in the nuts.”
“Stop it.” I laugh, imagining how that would go. “We’re not using force to get it.”
“If you change your mind, ju
st give me the signal.”
“Let’s go. We need to be back before Melody gets out of preschool.” Her overprotective daddy pauses, and I catch his arm. “Don’t worry. I can call Donna to pick her up if we get delayed for any reason.”
Out on the road, we’ve got the windows down and the radio blasting. Of course, I put on classic Olivia Newton-John, because duh. I love hearing him sing it. We’re both singing at the top of our lungs. It’s a clear, blue sky, and the temperature is mid-70s.
My hair’s pulled back in a tiny ponytail. It’s getting longer, which doesn’t really work for me. I’m in my usual baggy overalls and tank top. Scout’s in a maroon tee and jeans as always. It’s so natural and easy. It feels so much like it will last forever.
Columbia is so much closer than Greenville. Slowing down, I make the first of many right turns, exiting the Interstate, and as soon as I do, the horn on the Bronco goes off in a loud, long Hoooonk!
My stomach jumps to my throat. Actually, I think it jumps past my throat into my mouth, and I flash a look at Scout. “Why did it do that?”
He frowns, leaning forward as if he can examine the front of the truck from where he sits. “Did you accidentally bump it?”
“No!” I look all around. The light changes, and I start to go. As soon as we reach the next intersection, I put on my turn signal and start another right turn.
Hoooonk! It blasts out again, and I cringe. The person in front of us sticks his arm out the window and shakes his fist at me. Embarrassment blazes in my face.
“Why is it doing that?”
“Must be a fuse.” Scout’s brow lowers, and he rubs a hand over his mouth.
“A fuse?” It’s time. There’s nothing I can do about it, we have to turn right again, and as soon as we do… Hooooonk!
The old lady in the car ahead of us flips us off, and I scream, “Make it stop!”
Only, this time when I look over at Scout, he’s covering his mouth because he’s laughing so hard.
“You’re laughing?” My neck aches because we’re approaching another intersection, another time I have to put on the turn signal, and…
“Smile and wave!” Scout yells.
I turn the wheel, the Bronco goes off like Herbie the Love Bug, and we both smile. Scout does a little salute-type wave, but I practically shake my arm off. The person ahead of us couldn’t be any more confused. He holds his hand, turning it slowly back and forth as he tries to figure out who in the world we could be.
“Thank God, there’s only one more.”
“You never realize how many right turns you make.”
“Here it is… we have to do it…” Turn signal on, Hooooonk! I wave as hard as I can, and Scout gives the lady a wink and a nod.
Another short Honk! As I pull into the parking space. A man getting out of his car does a little jump, and I smile and wave again. “Smile and wave. It’s your answer to life.”
“I told you being friendly makes every interaction more pleasant.” He hops out the side door and goes around to the front. “Pop the hood.”
I do as he says, and he digs around like auto mechanics is second nature to him. “Do you know how to do everything?”
He exhales a grunt and leans up. “Try it now.”
I put my palm over the steering wheel and press. Nothing happens. “It’s not working at all now.”
“That’ll get us home.” He steps back, slamming the hood, and hands me a tiny piece of plastic. “You’re lucky it’s an old car. I pulled the fuse out.”
“Thanks.” I slip the tiny part into my front pocket.
My heart’s still beating too fast. Even in emergencies, I never use the horn. It always feels so rude. I slide my hand down the front of my overalls, and when our eyes meet, we both burst into laughter again.
“Oh, I could’ve just died!” Tears are in my eyes, and I shake my head.
Scout throws a muscled arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “Good to know your solution to car problems is screaming.”
“At least I do something.” My arm is around his waist, and we walk up to the imposing building that houses Antiques Today.
The last time I was here, I was in a business suit and I had a middle office. I was somewhere around Number 3 in the ranking… or maybe not. I guess no one ever said that out loud. So much has changed.
“I can’t believe you drove all this way after I told you no.” Spencer stands at his bookcase in a sleek navy suit and gold tie with a hand on his hip. Scout waits at the door, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed as if he doesn’t want to enter.
“I wanted to be sure it was how I remembered.”
“I could have sent you a picture.” He turns on his heel, going to his desk. “I’m glad you’re here, actually. I have a box of items from your dad’s store. The cleaning crew found them in a closet, and don’t worry. I’ve already spoken to my people about the oversight.”
He seemed pissed, but I skip over to the box in the back corner. “A Victrola! Did you see this?”
“Of course.” He lifts an envelope off his desk and reads it. “Mr. Dunne, wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a chair rather than lurking in the doorway?”
“Nope.”
Spencer’s eyes flash, and they have a momentary clash of wills. I exhale a laugh and try to lift the box. “Heck! This thing must weigh fifty pounds.”
“Let me.” Scout leaves the doorway to help me lift the box. His muscles flex as he lifts it, and my head tilts to the side as I watch, blinking slowly.
Spencer clears his throat. “Karen told us she’s expecting this morning. She’ll be stepping down as head of the Southeast region in a month or two if you still want your old job back.”
His words snap me out of my lustful haze, and I sit back on my heels. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid.” He cuts hazel eyes from me to Scout. “When you left you asked if I’d hire you again. Here’s your chance.”
My lips part, and I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “I confess, I felt like that chapter had closed.”
“Now it’s reopened.”
Blinking up, my eyes meet Scout’s, and he gives me an easy smile. It relaxes the tension in my chest. My old dream doesn’t feel so dreamy anymore in the light of this new day.
“Take your time and think about it.” Spencer walks around to sit in his chair. “She’ll be with us another month or so.”
“Thank you, Spence. You’ve always looked out for me.”
His tone is flat. “I have no idea why.”
Going to where he sits, I put a hand on his upper arm and lean down to kiss his cheek lightly. “Think about giving poor Ms. Nelly that vase. She’s so sweet, and it completes her grandmother’s collection.”
“I’d like to see that grandmother’s collection.” He’s still Mr. Freeze, but he’s melting slightly.
“That Spencer might not be so bad.” Scout puts the box in the back of the Bronco. “He acts like a dick, but he’s sweet to you.”
We jump in the cab, and I’m turning the key when he leans over, catching my chin and lifting my face for a kiss. “As long as he stays in his lane, that is.”
I put my hands on Scout’s cheeks and kiss him back, a little slower this time and with a touch of tongue. “You’ve never had to worry about him.”
We make it back to the village without a single honking incident, thank goodness, and in plenty of time to greet Melody when she gets out of school. Scout carries the box from the Bronco inside the store.
“Here. Help me with the Victrola.” I grab a cotton cloth as he lifts the old turntable out of the packing peanuts. It has a dull, mahogany case with black lettering and metal accents. “I might keep it for myself.”
“Does it work?”
“Only one way to find out. Where can we find records anymore?”
I have an idea.
Twenty-Seven
Scout
“She’s really cute, Scout, but she can’t play w
ith the boys.” My brother stands beside me on the sidelines with his arms crossed, and we watch as my three-year-old runs around the field, holding up her little hands and trying to catch their easy passes.
“That’s what they told the quarterback princess.”
“Are you talking about that old Helen Hunt movie with the girl who wanted to be a quarterback?”
“Feeling threatened?”
“I’m not saying it because she’s a girl. I’m saying it because she’s three. The ball’s too big for her.”
Bobby tosses an overhand pass to her, and it bounces off her face, knocking her on her little butt.
“Uh oh.”
She’s immediately surrounded by our team of seven- to ten-year-olds with Jesse right up front helping her stand. J.R. and I jog to where she’s holding her hand over her nose.
My stomach drops. If her nose is bleeding or worse, Daisy’s going to kill me. “Hey, princess, you okay?” I’m on my knees beside the two cousins.
“It hit my nose, Daddy.” She puts an arm around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder.
It only took a day for her to start calling me that, and damn, it twisted me around her little finger even tighter.
“Let’s take a look.” I give her a squeeze and she steps back, holding up her head.
“It’s not bleeding!” Jesse announces to the other boys, and Melody blinks several times, watching him. My nephew turns to her again. “Hey, you didn’t even cry! Noses hurt.”
She smiles blinking even faster, and my heart clenches. I can tell my princess is struggling with all her might not to cry, even more now.
“Noses hurt,” she repeats, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, let’s play over here while the boys do their drills. Okay?” She nods, and I pick her up, carrying her off the field.
The other boys clap like it was a real football injury, and my brother shakes his head.
I lift my chin at him. “She’s a pretty good cheerleader. Loud.”
“I want to play.” She looks over my shoulder at where they’re lining up in the classic T formation.
