From Nowhere (Wildfire #2)

Chapter Forty-One Maren

Chapter Forty-One

Lola pedals her ass off all the way home so that I can’t have a conversation with her. Then she flies off her bike and runs into the house like I’ve removed my belt and threatened to redden her behind (which I have never done).

“I take it you had a long talk with her?” Tia asks, peeking at the lasagna in the oven as the magical garlic aroma makes me drool. “She didn’t even look at me before running to her room.”

I deposit my backpack on the hook by the back door and remove my boots. “She sped home. I didn’t have the chance yet. And I wasn’t going to have the conversation at Maren’s house.”

“Now that you’re done working over there and she’s doing better, it might be a good idea to put some distance between Lola and Maren. She’s way too attached and comfortable.”

“Distance?” I chuckle, stealing a cherry tomato from the big salad bowl and popping it into my mouth. “I’m thinking just the opposite.”

“What’s the opposite?” Tia asks, pointing to the knife in the sink. Amos rinses it off and hands it to her.

“I think Lola and I are going to move in with Maren.”

Amos coughs and exits the kitchen with his tail between his legs while Tia slowly sets the knife on the counter and lifts her gaze from the cutting board. “This again? It’s a huge mistake.”

I nod several times. “Maybe. But you’ve been itching for me to push Lola to move forward and face her fears. I think this change could be a step in the right direction.”

“A change? Shacking up with your girlfriend is a good change? Is she going to quit her job and be there for Lola like we are?”

“Well, it’s summer. She’s still recovering from the accident and therefore not flying until next spring, so yeah, she can be there for Lola when I’m working.”

“And next spring? Then what? Is she retiring?”

“No. We’ll figure that out when we get there,” I say with pride because I no longer want to live in fear of the “what if” moments. That’s not living at all.

Tia shakes her head. “Let me be very clear, Ozzy. We’re not buying this house to be your safety net. If you do this, we are moving to Florida. And if it doesn’t work out between the two of you or if next spring you’re in a bind, it’s on you. We’re not swooping in to save you again. So if I were you, I’d think long and hard before making this your final decision.”

“I feel bad for Lola that you make so much of this about me. All the conditions you put on our situation or arrangement that’s supposed to be about her. But every single time, you make it about me. My lesson to learn. My punishment for an accident I didn’t cause. I’ve never tried to be ungrateful. And the times that I’ve felt guilty for letting you help us, I’ve always tried to look at it like this is where you want to be—in Missoula with your only granddaughter. Is none of it for you? For Lola? Is it really all about me? A favor to me? A way to control me?”

“You knew, and you did nothing.” She seethes, eyes reddening.

I narrow my eyes.

“You knew your father had a problem. Your poor mother is legally blind. You have a child you let see him at his worst. It wasn’t an isolated incident. He habitually got drunk. He was an alcoholic, and you knew it . Yet you did nothing. Had you not been such a coward and so complacent, and if you’d have gotten him the help he needed, then he wouldn’t have called Brynn. And she wouldn’t have loaded Lola into the car to get his drunk ass that night. She would be here. Alive. And Lola wouldn’t have those scars on her face. And she wouldn’t be afraid to get into a car. A. Car! Ozzy, do you get it? Do you get how messed up this is that your daughter won’t ride in a car? You’ve physically and emotionally disabled her. You’ve had the biggest hand in ruining her life. And you think screwing some other woman and playing house with her and her cat is going to fix it. Fix Lola? Are you delusional?”

“Jesus Christ, Tia!” I throw my water glass across the kitchen, and it shatters against the fridge.

She flinches.

“Brynn is dead, but I didn’t kill her. And no matter what you do to try and punish me, it won’t bring her back. If this is about misery loving company, then I don’t know what to tell you because my misery only makes Lola’s life worse. Maren isn’t some woman I want to ‘shack up with.’ I love her. And I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I’m not sorry for loving her. And I’m not sorry that Lola loves her too. And Maren is a good person who adores Lola beyond words. What is so fucking wrong with that?”

“Watch your mouth!”

Amos returns, holding up his hands. “Let’s take this down a notch.”

“You’re a miserable human being,” I say to Tia, narrowing my eyes.

Tia lunges for me as if she has a prayer at doing physical harm, but Amos holds her back.

“Go,” he says to me.

Maren

Ozzy: It’s Lola. I’m using my dad’s phone. Can u pick me up?

It’s my first night out since I’ve been home. After Ozzy and Lola left, my parents decided to take me to dinner. As we finish our steaks, I stare at my phone.

Maren: Where are you?

Ozzy: Home

Ozzy: Dad and Nana are fighting about me

Maren: What do you mean by pick you up?

Ozzy: Take me to your house

Maren: I can’t ride a bike yet. Do you want me to come over? I can sneak around the back of the house.

Ozzy: No. Just come get me. I don’t want to be here

“Who are you texting?” Mom asks.

“Lola. She wants me to come get her, but I told her I can’t ride my bike yet. Apparently, Ozzy and her grandma Tia are arguing.”

“I could ride your bike over there,” Dad offers.

“It’s getting dark. I don’t have a light on my bike.” I frown, staring at my phone screen, trying to figure out how to help her.

Ozzy: Come get me in your car

I read her message over and over.

“How far is Ozzy’s from your place? Could I drive your car, and your dad and Lola ride behind us?” Mom suggests.

“She wants to ride in my vehicle,” I murmur slowly, just above a whisper.

“Are you sure?” Mom asks.

I show them the message.

They return wide-eyed gazes.

“Aaron, get the check,” Mom says.

Minutes later, we’re on our way to Ozzy’s. I don’t want to take off with Lola without Ozzy’s permission, but I also don’t want to pass up this opportunity if Lola’s feeling extra brave tonight.

Maren: We’re on our way. See you in five minutes. I’ll pick you up on the street

As I give my dad directions from the back seat, I can’t stop my knee from bouncing, my hands from fidgeting, or my heart from racing.

“There she is,” I point to the sidewalk where she’s waiting, closer to the neighbor’s driveway, out of view from the front window of her house.

I open the door and slide over so she can step into my RAV. “Hey” is all I say as she nervously nibbles her bottom lip and wrings her hands in front of her, staring at the empty seat. I’m afraid to move another inch or say anything.

Lola glances behind her and back into my vehicle, and tears fill her eyes. “M-Mom said the middle is the m-most safe. But I-I wanted to sit behind her s-so I could see my grandpa.”

“Do you want me to go inside the house with you?” I ask.

She slowly shakes her head. “If I do this”—her lower lip breaks free from her teeth and trembles like her voice—“they’ll stop fighting.”

I’m so conflicted. Do I let this happen? Do I encourage her to get into a car out of fear that they won’t stop fighting? Will Ozzy be upset if I let this happen? What if we get into an accident? He’d never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself. I can’t control other drivers like I couldn’t control the weather in Canada. But my dad is an incredibly safe driver, and we don’t have to go but a few miles and nothing over thirty-five. Still ...

Just as my fear and self-doubt start to win, I open my mouth to tell Lola it’s not the right time and this isn’t the way to get anyone to stop fighting. But she climbs into the back seat, in the middle next to me, and fastens her seat belt. One of her hands grips the edge of the seat while her other reaches for my hand, holding on for dear life.

My parents angle their bodies, gazing back at us.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper, stroking my thumb against her hand.

No one says a word as my dad drives five under the speed limit back to my house. When we’re parked in the garage, my parents climb out, but Lola doesn’t move. Mom eyes me with her door still open. I give her a tiny grin, hoping she’ll close the door and go inside the house.

They do.

Lola and I sit idle and silent for at least another five minutes. Then she eases her grip on my hand and exhales so profoundly that her relief also drains my lungs.

“I did it,” she whispers.

And maybe it’s not the best timing, but I don’t have any control over the tears that spring from my eyes.

I need to text Ozzy and tell him the good news. I also need to let him know that I have Lola, and she hasn’t gone missing or been kidnapped.

“Why are you crying?” Lola asks, unbuckling her seat belt.

I wipe my eyes. “Just ...” I swallow past the lump in my throat, repeatedly shaking my head. “Happy.” I try to laugh instead of sob while wiping my eyes. “I’m just happy.” My complete sentence escapes as a whisper.

“I can’t wait to tell Bandit I rode in a car.” Lola climbs out the opposite side and runs into the house.

I stay in the back seat and take a few deep breaths before fishing my phone from my purse.