15. Carson
Carson
It’s dark and late and Penny is fully asleep, clutching Hops, which gives me flashbacks of Maven when we were little.
I hover in the doorway, watching her slow, even breathing and peaceful face.
My body pulses with love for this girl, my little fishing buddy who used to love hiking with me and playing I Spy on long walks and has begged for a dog since she could bark.
Her new phone is sitting on the kitchen counter while we wait for Jen to call either of us back and decide how to handle the whole situation.
My texts are saying delivered, so I know her phone has juice and service.
How can she send her child a phone, then proceed not to reply to anything for the entire day? It boggles the mind.
Then again, I don’t know how she could walk out of our lives, either. We have very different brains.
“Sweet girl,” Mom says softly behind me. “I can’t believe how big she’s getting.”
I close the door and follow Mom down the hallway. “Her new obsession with hair and the color pink is…different. I’m used to her loving yellow. Do kids change their favorite color like that normally?”
“Some do. Remember when you went through your orange phase?”
“Yeah. That was weird. I’m a diehard blue lover.”
Mom shrugs. “Ben liked orange for a minute, so of course you had to have the same favorite color.”
I laugh. “Well, Penny isn’t copying another kid. She’s copying her mom.”
“All little girls need a woman to admire.”
That settles uncomfortably, making me feel slightly sick.
Jen isn’t exactly the best role model. She’s vain and materialistic and doesn’t put her family first. Any woman who’s going to give up the rights to their child that quickly is problematic.
The exact opposite of Emma, who never seems to get tired of Penny’s enthusiasm, friendship, braiding requests, or would-you-rather questions.
That woman has the patience of a saint.
“That’s why I’m glad we moved home,” I say. “Now she has you. Plus, it’ll be easier to see Maven up here.”
Mom pours water from a kettle into her mug and dunks a tea bag in it. “It looked to me like Emma and Penny have really hit it off.”
“She’s great. I don’t know what kind of kid training they do at the library, but Emma’s a natural with the elementary school crowd.”
“Penny doesn’t seem to be the only one enjoying a new friendship.”
“I can’t, Mom,” I say, leaning on the counter and not thinking about pressing Emma against the brick wall outside of the bar. “I know what you’re trying to say, but I’m not interested in a relationship.”
“Jen left a year ago, right? It’s okay for you to move on, honey.”
“It’s not about Jen, though. I’m not hanging on to my marriage. I’m focusing on the new practice and Penny, which is taking all my attention. I don’t have room for anything else.”
If I tell her the idea of trusting another woman gives me hives, I’ll get an earful, so I keep my deeper reasons to myself. Mom is the exact opposite of everything Jen ended up becoming.
Which, yeah, that proves not all women are like Jen. But my experience is what it is. How would I even know if a woman is trustworthy? How can I know she won’t change ten years and one child down the road?
“Sometimes it’s nice to share the burden with someone else,” Mom says. “That’s all. A healthy relationship and real love won’t make the hard things disappear, but it does mean someone is walking beside you. That’s how they lighten your load—how you lighten each other’s.”
Does she wish she’d had someone to help lighten her load all these years?
Mom is probably watching me enter the situation she raised me in and panicking, wanting to save me from pain the same way she hid it from me as a kid.
I never felt like a burden or a trial, but I know things were hard for her. How could they not have been?
“Maybe someday,” I finally say. “Right now, it’s not on my radar. Men and women can be friends. Emma is stepping in as a good friend right now.”
“Okay, fine. I won’t say anything else. But keep in mind that Emma could have different expectations than you. I don’t want her to be strung along.”
“Don’t worry. We’re on the same page.” I fight a yawn. “Besides, she has a date tomorrow night.”
Mom’s entire brow rises. “With who?”
“Some librarian guy. I’ve seen him hit on her, so there’s definitely something there.”
“I stand corrected.” She gives a little smirk and sips her tea. “Here I was, worried you might go back to your high school ways and end up hurting that girl, but now I hope you walk away unscathed.”
I shake my head, smiling. It’s been a long time since my high school days.
Rain pings against the window, catching my attention. I don’t mind the sound—it makes me feel like I’m really home.
“Well, I’m off to bed. I think it’s going to pour overnight.”
“Looks like it. Good night, Mom.”
Movement through the front window catches my eye, and I see a light come on in the detached garage across the street. What the—oh, no. The rain.
I start for the front door, shoving my feet into the first shoes I see.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“All the chairs for the waiting room are outside.”
“Didn’t Emma just stain them?”
“Exactly. I’ll be back.” I hurry out and immediately regret not returning to my room for a sweatshirt. Cold slams into my nose and drives goosebumps all down my skin.
Emma is rushing to move the chairs into the garage, but there isn’t enough space for all of them.
“Stack them,” I call, lifting a chair as the rain picks up in speed, pelting my exposed neck with icy droplets.
She listens and we work together to pyramid the chairs, resting their legs on each other’s seats to create a few stacks.
We manage to get the last of the chairs into the shelter before the sky opens up fully, pouring rain on both of us.
My white Henley sticks to my stomach, and Emma’s hair is plastered to her face when we end up in the tiny open space in the garage.
It’s pantry two-point-oh. We’re close enough that I could reach out and feel the cozy set of thick sweats she’s wearing in deep green, a great color against her red hair.
My chest heaves while I try to catch my breath. Emma’s eyes trail over my chest, dipping down to my stomach, and I feel her gaze on me like the wet cotton sticking to my skin.
“See something you like?”
“That’s obscene,” she says, cracking a smile and lifting her eyes to my face. The garage lights glow yellow against her skin, but I can still see a rising blush. “You must be freezing.”
I am, but I don’t move. Her glasses are spotted with rain so I reach for them, sliding them off her face. When I go to clean them, I realize my entire shirt is soaked.
“Here,” she says, sounding slightly breathless and plucking at her sweatshirt. “It’s dry on the inside.”
I take the hem of her sweatshirt and she steps closer, waiting while I rub her glasses against the soft interior. My knuckles brush the skin of her stomach and she hisses. “Cold.”
“Sorry.” When I hand back the glasses, the lenses are blurry. The water really only got moved around. “It’s not much better than before.”
“It’s better,” she says.
“Are the chairs ruined?”
“No. The clear coat was mostly dry, anyway. I’ll blot them with a towel to remove any excess water.”
“I’ll help.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t move, her eyes still on my face, her breath shallow.
Friction buzzes in the air and pulls tight between us.
I already know how great it feels to tug her close and press my lips to hers, but now that I know Emma, the enticement is almost more than I can bear.
She’s going to have to move, because there is nothing in the world I want to do more than kiss her.
But she isn’t moving. Apples invade my senses. If I lean forward, I’ll be able to taste her, and I know how good she tastes. Which isn’t fair, because she has a date tomorrow night with a man who isn’t me, and I’m not looking to date anyone.
Mom’s warning flashes in my mind. Emma could have different expectations than you. I don’t want her being strung along.
I don’t want to hurt her, either. I inhale a deep breath, rain and dust and stain filling my nose, and take a step back. “Do you have an extra towel?”
“Yeah. Right in here.” She slides past me, pressing against my shoulder as she goes, and reaches for a cupboard up on the wall. There’s a stack of old towels inside, the ones I’m guessing she uses to dry her car after washing it.
I take one and start drying the chair frames. We work together in silence and when I’m finished, I hand back the towel. “I’ll see you in the morning to pick these up.”
“Good night, Carson. Thanks for running over to help.”
“Hey, anytime.” I flash her a smile. Her eyes are warm and there’s real danger she’ll drag me back under her spell, so I need to get home now. I lift a hand in farewell and take off, jogging across the wet road.
Tomorrow my business opens. I need to take a hot shower, put Emma out of my head, and get to sleep.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.
Barb is parked at the front desk, ready to take calls.
The jar for Kiss the Pig is front and center, with the library logo on it and pocket change from the patient we had today.
The treehouse I’m going to show Penny after school is full of books and toys I ordered off a few days ago, but no other child has been by to use them.
It’s not just slow, it’s dead.
“You sent those emails to Vance patients about our soft open?” I ask, leaning against Barb’s desk.
“I’ve sent a few,” she says. “I’ll prep one today with the phone number and announce we’re open to new and old patients.”
“Okay, great.” I tap the counter a few times and head for my office at the end of the hall.
Natural light pours in through the back window since we don’t share that wall with another business, highlighting the stacks and stacks of boxes full of patient files.
So many of these people aren’t around anymore, the information is outdated, and the system isn’t great.