by Miley Maine
I wiped at my eyes with the corner of my shirt. “How were the chores?” I asked James when the sun finally set and we couldn’t see at all.
“They’re much better with a buddy,” he said, high-fiving Ian.
“Yeah, ‘dey are!” Ian agreed.
“Okay, mister, it’s time for your bath.”
As expected, Ian pouted, but I wasn’t giving in. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“Oh, gosh! I completely forgot about dinner! We worked straight through it!” I said. Usually, Walter and Mary made dinner for the four of us, but they had stayed suspiciously absent this evening. Maybe they were trying to give James some free-time with Ian.
James laughed. “Why don’t I make something for us while you give Ian his bath?”
“That would be great. Check the fridge; Mary or Walter may have left something in there that we can heat up.”
I sped through Ian’s bath and he cooperated, knowing James was downstairs waiting on him. Downstairs, I heard Walter and Mary’s voices in the kitchen, along with James’s. No one was screaming and I hadn’t heard anything shatter, so maybe it was going okay.
The rift between James and his father started a long time ago. When James was ten, he’d declared ranch work a waste of time. His father had not been amused. He’d informed James that ranch work and farmwork that provided food for America’s families was the most meaningful calling there was. James had vehemently disagreed, even at ten. So, hearing them speaking civilly to each other after all these years warmed my heart.
“Done, Momma!” Ian came out of his room with his Spiderman pajamas on, but he had the Halloween costume mask on to go with it. This was getting kind of ridiculous. I was ready to rip the band-aid off and tell James the truth. “Sweetie, do you want to take that mask off? We’re going to eat dinner.”
“No!” he said, karate-chopping the air next to my face. He rarely reacted well when we tried to get him to take the costumes off. We’d all come to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth the fight, and I figured we’d cross that bridge when we came to it next year when he started kindergarten. And on second thought, this confession did not need to happen in front of Ian. It also didn’t need to involve Walter and Mary for that matter.
Downstairs, Mary and Walter were seated at the table. And so was James. I stopped for a second on the last step. I never thought I’d see the three of them in the same room together, much less sitting at a table sharing a meal.
The table was piled with pasta, fruit salad, and bread. “Come on in, honey,” Mary said. “We’re just getting started.”
“No bloodshed?” I said under my breath.
James apparently heard me, because he smiled and shook his head. “No bloodshed,” he whispered back.
The following morning, I got a text on my way to work at the vet’s office.
Have a good day.
It was just one line, but after that single text, my overall mood lifted. I wasn’t sure why, considering all the crap I had going on, but there it was.
The morning was busy. We spayed and neutered two cats and one dog, and we stitched up a baby goat who’d stepped on a broken bottle. I’d also cleaned up after a dog with an upset stomach, which left me smelling like disinfectant. At two pm, the power went out. Our office only had a small generator, so my boss called all the pet owners and offered to take them home with her unless the owners felt able to take them home a little earlier than planned.
As I was wiping down the equipment—which was really fun to do while holding a flashlight—James showed up. He didn’t bother saying hello. “Is your shift over?” he asked.
“Almost. What’s up?”
“You need to come with me,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“How often does the power go out here?”
“Hmm, not that often. Unless there’s a storm.”
He pointed to the window and the sun was shining. “Exactly.”
“You think this is related to the terrorists.” Now I was ready to go. If the terrorists were making a move, I wanted to be with Ian.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m not willing to take any chances.”
Dr. Casey, my boss, came back from the supply closet and told me to go ahead and go home. James didn’t want to leave her there alone, though, so he waited with us until we finished cleaning and locking up. Once she was in her car and driving away, James watched me get into my car and he followed me home.
The power was off at the ranch, too.
“Does my father have a generator?” he asked.
“No. We never wanted to spend the money.”
“I have one in the car. I picked it up at the hardware store earlier this week. If the power stays off, I’ll set it up this week. I don’t want any of you to not have air conditioning if the temperatures start to rise.”
“I know this was part of the threat, but now that it’s happening, I’ll admit I’m a little freaked out,” I said.
“Don’t worry yet. This could be anything. But I would like to spend the night here instead of the hotel. Is that okay with you?”
“Please do,” I said. “I’ll feel a whole lot better with you here overnight.” I squeezed his biceps. “For more than one reason.”
“Bree,” he warned, but I could tell he was only half-serious about wanting me to stop.
“I know, I know. You’re working.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m definitely interested. Once I’m off-duty.”
On impulse, I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He pulled me in and pressed his mouth over mine, giving me a searing kiss that made my knees weak, right before he hopped in his SUV. He rolled the window down. “Don’t leave this ranch,” he said.
I didn’t reply, but I did wave goodbye.
The inside of the house was just as hot as the outside, so I kept myself busy. Ian and I even took the horses out for a ride and spent some time with each one of them, brushing them and feeding them carrots, which Ian loved.
At six pm, I began to watch the clock. I wanted to text James, but I held off. He wasn’t my boyfriend. We weren’t even dating. And I didn’t want to interrupt him if he was in the middle of something. The four of us had dinner and Ian must have asked where James was at least ten times.
By eight pm, Walter, Mary, and Ian were getting tired, but none of them wanted to go to bed until we’d heard from James.
With all the windows open, the house was tolerable, but then Walter said, “When I was a kid, my grandfather had us sleep outside when it got hot. He didn’t believe in air conditioning.”
“Is that safe?” Mary asked.
“It can’t be any more dangerous than being inside with all the windows open and no alarm,” I said.
“Maybe we should ask James,” Mary said.
“Nah,” Walter said. “Bree is right. If James doesn’t like it, he can herd us inside when he gets here.”
“Momma! Can we sleep in a tent?”
“We can try,” I said. I had my doubts about Ian’s ability to last very long sleeping on the hard ground.
With Walter’s help, we got a tent set up in the front yard. Ian proudly laid his sleeping bag on the ground and put his battery-powered lantern next to it.
As soon as he was stretched out on the sleeping bag, headlights swept across the driveway. Ian was up off the ground like a shot. “James!” he yelled.
I caught him around the waist before he could go hurtling toward the moving SUV. As soon as James closed the door to his car, I let go of my kid and Ian flung himself at James. James was ready for him, catching him mid-air. “Hey, buddy. I figured you’d be in bed.”
James had planned ahead this time for Ian’s attention and changed out of his suit. He wore a T-shirt and cargo shorts, and in the fading daylight, I noticed his T-shirt clung to his firm chest and the short sleeves showed off his biceps as he lifted Ian.
“I’m not tired,” Ian said.
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“Of course you’re not,” I said. “Lots of excitement around here.” I pointed at the tent. “We decided to try sleeping outside.”
“A campout,” Ian said. “You can come, too,” he offered to James.
“Oh, that sounds fun.”
Behind me, I heard Walter laughing. “We’re going up to bed,” Mary said. “Ian, do you want to come with us?”
Oh, God. Now they were deliberately trying to give us time alone, but Ian was already shaking his head with extra vigor.
“No! I want to stay with James,” Ian said, his tone dangerously whiny.
Now Mary chuckled. “Okay, little man. You three enjoy your evening.”
Once they were gone, James bent down to Ian’s height. “Hey, you know what would be a perfect way to start the night if we’re camping out?”
“What?” Ian asked, eyes wide.
“A campfire. Have you ever made one of those?”
“We have a burn pile where Momma puts stuff sometimes.”
“A campfire is a little smaller than that. And it’s close to the tent. Do you want to help me build one?”
Ian threw his arms up above his head. “Yes!”
“Now that it’s dark, we need a flashlight.” James pulled one from his pocket, while Ian rushed into the tent and emerged with his lantern in hand. “I have one, too!”
“Great. Bring that,” James said. “First, we need to gather some firewood. Do you know where that is?”
Ian pointed toward the barn. “There’s some in there for winter.”
“Perfect.” Off they went together, and when Ian slid his little hand in James’s again, I had to bite down on a sob.
I fanned my face. I wasn’t a crier. I wasn’t overly emotional. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the outline of them walking together to the barn, one flashlight beam steady on the ground in front of them, the other bouncing around as Ian skipped toward the barn.
While they continued to work on the fire, I went inside to look for supplies. I’d somehow neglected to make a bonfire for Ian, so he had no idea how to cook hot dogs over an open fire or how to make s’mores. We didn’t have any chocolate bars or graham crackers, but we did have some big marshmallows. I found some wire hangers and clipped the tops off with wire cutters.
Out in the front yard, James had dug a small hole in the dirt and surrounded it with rocks from the flowerbed. In the hole, he had Ian stack the logs. James was patient, letting Ian pick them up and arrange them, even though it was a slow process.
I watched as James added a piece of newspaper. I had no idea where that came from—had he planned this? Then he pulled out a match and showed Ian how to hold it against the newspaper.
After the spark took off and the paper ignited, a slow burn spread to the sticks and the wood.
“Momma! Look, it’s working,” Ian said.
“Cool. You did a great job,” I said.
Ian beamed, and I held out the wires from the hangers. “Look what I have,” I said.
“What’s that for?”
I showed him the bag of marshmallows. “We’re going to roast them.”
Ian jumped up and down, and James caught his arm. “Hey, buddy. I should have said this earlier. We have to be really careful around the fire.”
“No jumping?”
“No jumping.”
I got him settled down and we showed him how to straighten the hanger into a wire and put the marshmallow on the end, and then how to hold it over the top of the fire, getting the marshmallow hot but not blackened.
“Give it a minute to cool off before you taste it,” I said.
Of course, Ian didn’t listen and burned his lip. “Ow,” he said, but he recovered quickly and shoved half the marshmallow into his mouth.
“You, too, Momma. And you, too, James. Toast a marshmallow!”
We both laughed and joined Ian. We each ate four giant marshmallows. “I’m stuffed,” I said. “And I think it’s bedtime.”
“Not yet, Momma.” Ian grabbed his lantern and disappeared into the house, letting the screen door bang behind him.
“He always bangs that door,” I said, looking at James. “You never did.”
“My father would have lost his mind if I’d done that.”
“He’s a lot more tolerant with Ian,” I said.
“I’ve always heard people mellow out.”
With their grandchildren, not random kids, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.
Had James really not wondered if Ian was his? Sure, he wore costumes a lot, he was usually in motion, and right now it was pretty dark out, but even without sitting and staring at his face, hadn’t James wondered why his taciturn father—a man who did not indulge the whims of anyone—had invited my kid and me to live in his house? Didn’t he wonder why Walter and Mary had, literally, given away the farm? Sure, it wasn’t doing well financially, but that was due to a bad season and wasn’t anything Walter and Mary could have anticipated.
Maybe James wasn’t ready to face reality, or he’d actually bought my story about the sailor on his way to the base.
Ian came running back out, clattering across the porch. “I got Go Fish cards,” he said, waving the card deck around. “We can play.”
I bit back a groan. I loved my kid, but I found kids’ games excruciating. I looked forward to the day when Ian could join Lacy and me in more advanced board games, but he wasn’t there yet.
“Do you want to play James?” Ian looked at him hopefully. He had his Lone Ranger mask on now, but I could tell how much he wanted James to say yes from the tilt of his chin.
“I’d love to. You may have to teach me how, though.”
“You never played?”
“A long time ago. I think I played with your mom when I was about your age.”
“You knew my mom? When you were little?” Ian’s eager voice rose.
“Yep. We were friends when we were in school.”
“That is fun!” Ian said.
If Ian was older, I’m sure he’d have had a lot more questions about my relationship with James, but as a four-year-old boy, he was a lot more interested in what was currently going on.
He was still too young to question my story about his father. He’d accepted that his father was far away in another country and that we couldn’t call him. Acid burned my stomach when I once again thought about what I’d done. It had seemed like the right decision at the time. I had to hope that Ian was young enough to forgive me for lying to both him and his father, and I had to hope he was young enough that he wouldn’t remember the years I’d kept James from him.
Ian took great care in dealing out the cards and we played three rounds before Ian’s eyes began to close.
“Not yet, Momma,” he protested when I tried to pick him up.
“Can I try?” James asked.
“Be my guest,” I said.
James picked Ian up in his arms. “If I tell you a story with shadow puppets, will you lie down and go to sleep?”
He nodded. James handed Ian back to me and took the lantern into the tent, where he proceeded to act out a crazy story about two foxes and a bat, complete with sweeping arm motions and sound effects.
If Ian hadn’t already been obsessed with James, he was now. I sat with my jaw gaping and my hand over my mouth as I laughed. James was so serious and he always had been. It was one of the things I’d loved about him in high school. While the other boys were out spray painting profanity on the sides of bars and revving their truck engines all night, James was studying. I’d never seen him do something so silly, but I loved it. I appreciated that James went out of his comfort zone to make Ian laugh.
Ian was beside himself, bouncing all over my lap and squealing in delight. And true to his word, as soon as James was done, Ian went right to his sleeping bag and passed out.
16
James
While Bree said goodnight to Ian, I sat next to the fire and enjoyed the night air.
I’d never t
hought much about having children. If anyone had asked me, I’d have said I didn’t want them. I planned to stay with the FBI for my entire career, and while many people in the Bureau raised children while working there, it didn’t seem like a great idea to me.
Although my relationship with my own father hadn’t been stellar, I wasn’t sure why. He’d never been in physical danger, or had to wrestle with PTSD after being shot or from having killed anyone in the line of duty. Maybe his agony over losing my mother to another man had made him unsympathetic to my dreams, or maybe he’d have been like that anyway. I’d never know.
Maybe it was possible to be a good father and be a good FBI agent at the same time. In the meantime, I enjoyed hanging out with Ian. He was such an enthusiastic little kid. Some of my friends in Houston had kids, but they were babies and I’d never done more than smile at them while they sat near us in a highchair at dinner.
Bree zipped the tent flap closed and sat next to me on the ground. “You’re really good with him,” she said. “Where’d you learn that?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Just going on instinct. Thinking about what I would have wanted as a kid and doing that.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“I’m not trying to say my father was awful, you know he wasn’t, but there was no fun. Nothing light. Every message was about working hard, taking care of the animals, and being productive,” I said.
“How is it being around him again?” she asked.
“Weird. We haven’t talked much. But I never expected to be here again after he told me to get out.”
“I think he regrets that.”
“Maybe,” I said. My father was far from warm, but he was very different toward me now than he had been in the past.
“My mom was good at making a bad situation seem okay.”
Bree’s mother, Elizabeth had welcomed me from day one. She’d always treated us like she wanted us around, not like we were something to be endured, the way other people treated teenagers. “I remember. I always loved being at your house.” I sighed. “Elizabeth always made me feel welcome.”
