Chapter 7
Hallie
I want my children to have all the things I couldn't afford.
Then I want to move in with them.
~ Phyllis Diller
Voices carry to the front door from the kitchen when I walk in from my shift.
I yawn, taking off my shoes and padding down the hallway.
I’m still acclimating to working every other day for a full twenty-four hours.
One more workday and then I’ll have four days off in a row.
Maybe then I can finally get all the moving in done.
We’re still living around boxes in most of the rooms.
I haven’t seen Mia face-to-face since I left yesterday morning. She hears me approach and comes catapulting at me down the hallway.
“Mommy!” She leaps into my arms and I catch her, holding her close.
Her legs dangle down my front, feet brushing my shins.
“I missed you, Mommy,” she says, burrowing her head in my neck and wrapping her legs around my waist. She smells like baked goods and herself—the same smell she’s had since she was a baby, only different.
“I missed you too, Spike.” I kiss the top of her head, holding her close with an extra squeeze and then easing her to the floor.
She clasps my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen.
“Isn’t it exciting?” She’s bouncing on her toes, energy radiating through her.
“Isn’t what exciting?” I ask, smiling at Mom and Avery who are standing around the island.
“Good morning,” I greet them.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom says. “Want some muffins? I baked.”
“You baked?”
“Yes, dear. I baked.”
It’s not that my mom doesn’t bake. She just hasn’t in a while.
“Mommy?” Mia asks me.
“Yes? Oh! Yes. What’s exciting?”
I imagine it’s something to do with baseball since her first practice was two days ago. My mom took her so I could do more unpacking. It was all Mia talked about through dinner and bedtime—Coach G this, and Coach G that. Hopefully I’ll make it to more practices once we’re settled in.
“About Nana!” Mia says, her face full of sheer joy.
My stomach dips. I raise my hand from my lap and grip the counter edge. Something tells me I might need an anchor for whatever’s coming next.
“She’s moving here!” Mia shouts.
My mom’s back is conveniently turned toward me. She’s pulling a muffin off the wire rack and plating it.
“To Waterford?” I ask, keeping my voice as placid as possible.
My head swims. If Mom’s moving here, what’s she going to do with the house in Maryville—my childhood home?
“Yes! To our very same house!” Mia shouts so loudly, I bet our neighbor, Jonathan, might hear.
“To our house?” I ask, not even hiding my shock.
Images of Mom rearranging furniture, directing our daily routines, filling the space with her things and her presence cause my lungs to tighten. I struggle to take a full breath.
“I’m already settled into the front room,” Mom says calmly, setting the plate with her baked peace offering on it in front of me.
“Avery …” I start to say, not even sure what to say next.
My sister had said she was more than willing to fill in when I’m working. Her job is flexible since she does her freelance graphic design work from home.
“Avery will be driving me back to Maryville today,” Mom says, not even waiting for me to finish my thought. “We’re picking up some essentials. I can’t be there long, what with the Realtors coming and going.”
“Realtors,” I echo numbly.
“Isn’t it the best thing ever?” Mia asks.
“It’s … amazing,” I say. My voice sounds airy, even to me.
“Are you upset?” Mom asks.
To be honest, I don’t know what I am. My head is reeling and my stomach feels like I’d better not take a bite of muffin right now.
“I’m just processing. It’s a … surprise.”
“I’m already here. I figured I’d just move in—for the time being.”
“The time being.” That doesn’t sound permanent.
“I’m selling the Maryville house,” Mom announces. “Too many memories of your father in that home. Too much water under the bridge.”
“Too far from Waterford,” Mia chimes in, cheerfully.
“Too big a space to keep up with at your age,” Avery says, smiling from over Mom’s shoulder.
She knows Mom’s a little touchy about growing older. Avery just taunted Mom for my benefit—to detract from the fact that I’m spiraling so hard I could drill a hole in my kitchen floor.
“My age is just fine,” Mom quips. “I could keep up with the house. I just don’t want to. I’m turning over a new leaf. I might even change my name.”
“Your last name?” I ask.
“Well, that too, of course, but while I’m at it, I thought I’d spruce things up a bit.
Change my first name too. Maybe something like …
Mariah. Or Sophia. Adalaide? I’ll figure it out.
New day, new me!” She spontaneously throws her arms wide and bursts into the chorus of the Dolly Parton song, The Light of a Clear Blue Morning.
“Come on, girls,” she encourages us. “Sing along with me.”
Mia belts out the familiar words about a brand new day and how everything’s going to be alright. My daughter’s been raised less than an hour from Dollywood. She knows the songs.
Avery teases me. “Come on, Hallie. Sing along.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. Easy for my sister to play choir director. Mom’s not moving into her house. She’s moving in with me. My mother: twenty-four, seven.
What the heck. I may as well sing through the chaos that is my life.
I join in, singing past the claustrophobic feeling, past the dread, past the what-ifs and the how-in-the-world questions. Our voices blend and I belt out the lines with gusto.
When we all end on the final line, singing, “It’s gonna be okay,” I smile around the kitchen at the three people I call family. I highly doubt it’s going to be okay. My mother is the strongest willed, most intrusive person I know. Moving her in is akin to inviting a baby hippo to dinner.
But Mom’s also going through a divorce. I’ve been there. If she needs a place to call home while she adjusts to her new reality, I can bend to make it happen—for now.
“Eat your muffin,” Mom tells me. “Do you want coffee?”
“I’m okay, thanks. I had coffee earlier, at the station.”
I take a bite of the muffin and close my eyes. It’s good—delicious, even.
“That’s right,” she says. “Enjoy having someone around who can cook for you. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner. It just makes sense. You need someone to pitch in around here. And I need a place to live.”
“Makes sense to me,” Mia says like the miniature grown-up she seems to be half the time.
“Oh, me too,” Avery says, exaggerating her tone in a way that ensures I’m the only one to detect the sarcasm.
“We’d better skedaddle,” Mom says to Avery. “I don’t want to be out on the roads after dark.”
“Okay,” Ave says to Mom. “Let’s get going.”
Mom leans over and kisses Mia on the head. “Be good, little miss thing. I’ll be back for bedtime.”
“Bring me something from Buc-ee’s!” Mia says.
“They might not even stop at Buc-ee’s,” I tell Mia. “And, please use your manners.”
“Pleeeeease,” she adds, exaggerating the word for my benefit, and probably to add some honey for my mom to ensure they actually do stop to bring her something from the iconic roadside store.
“Of course we’re stoppin’ there,” Mom says. “Right, Ave?”
“Of course.” My sister beams at me.
“What was I thinking?” I say, rolling my eyes at my sister when Mom’s not looking.
Mom and Avery head out a few minutes later, leaving me and Mia alone for the day—probably the last day it will just be the two of us for a while.
“What should we do with our free day?” I ask Mia.
“Let’s decorate my room, throw the ball and then get ice cream!”
I smile at my daughter. “That sounds like the perfect day.”
“And then tomorrow you come to my school?”
“Yes. I’ll be sure to pop by your classroom before I leave, okay?”
“Wearing your firegirl suit?”
“I’ll be in my turnout gear. Yes.”
“Yippee!” she shouts.
Greyson and I have been assigned the fire safety visit to the third and fourth grade class assembly tomorrow.
I picture his face, all stern and grumbly.
If I were Cody, I would have sent Dustin instead.
Greyson’s bound to scare a child or two with all that stoic, gruff staring he does.
He’s harmless once you get to know him, but definitely not the man I’d choose to put in a room with a group of elementary kids.
Mia and I spend a few hours finishing unpacking her room, then we run into town to a little row of shops and pick out a few throw pillows and a bunting for the walls, which Avery and I painted a light pink earlier this week on one of my days off.
When we’ve finished setting everything up, I fix us sandwiches and fruit for lunch, and then we make good use of our extra-long back yard, throwing the ball back and forth.
Mia’s far better at catching and throwing than I am, but I do my best and she puts up with me because she’d rather play catch with someone who’s inept than not throw at all.
Later that afternoon, when we’re relaxing on the couch reading a book together, there’s a knock at the front door. I get up from the couch and Mia follows behind me.
When I open the door, a blonde woman around my age is standing on the porch with a girl who looks to be around Mia’s age.
“Hi,” the little girl says to Mia. “I’m Stacy. I live up the street.”
“Hi,” Mia says, standing slightly behind me and acting more bashful than I’ve ever seen her.
“I’m Stacy’s mom, Luella. Nice to meet you,” Luella says in a distinctly Southern accent. “We’ve been meanin’ to pop by, but then I heard you were the new firefighter so I was waitin’ on a day when you’d be off work and the girls could meet each other too.”
“Do you want to come in?” I ask.
Luella extends a basket I hadn’t noticed. “We don’t want to trouble you. We made some cookies and there’s some local jam and honey in there. Oh, and there’s jerky from the hog and beef farms just outside town. They smoke it right here in Waterford.”
“I made a list of our favorite places,” Stacy says to Mia. “Like the best pizza and the best ice cream.”
“We’re getting ice cream later!” Mia says, coming out of her shell in one swift explosion.
“Would you want to join us?” I ask.
“Oh, that’s just the sweetest,” Luella says. “We’d sure love to, but we’re headin’ to a family thing with my husband’s people this evening. Let’s take a rain check.”
We agree on another day. Luella gives me her phone number and address, adding, “Y’all stop by anytime.
I grew up in Covington, Georgia. We don’t know a stranger.
Where I’m from, people pop in on one another just because.
No need for a call or, for heaven’s sake, an appointment on a calendar.
We’re neighbors. That’s the way I like it. ”
My smile spreads. How long has it been since I simply popped in on someone unannounced? Long enough that I can’t remember.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll make sure to pop in soon.”
Luella’s responding smile is soft and open.
“Well, then. We’ll be seein’ you two. Don’t be strangers, ya hear?”
“We won’t!” Mia says with her usual enthusiasm. “Bye, Stacy!”
She waves to her new neighbor friend as they walk back down our walkway to the sidewalk and turn to head up the street.
“I wonder if she’s the one with the tree house,” Mia says as I shut the door. “I sure hope so.”
We take the basket into the kitchen, unloading the goodies, and then we head out for ice cream. A little while later, Mom and Avery return from their trip back home to Maryville.
Avery calls me from the car. “We’re out front. Come help us unload.”
Mia and I step out the front door. The back of Avery’s car is loaded with boxes and laundry baskets full of Mom’s things. Mom opens the back door of the car and a dog comes bounding out.
“Mom?” I ask as the oversized white mop barrels toward me.
“That’s Henry Cavill,” she says, casually. “You can call him Daddy.”
“I can call him … ?”
Avery loses it. She’s bracing herself on the car doorjamb, howling with laughter. The dog reaches us and jumps, planting both paws on my shoulders and licking me from neck to chin while I wobble and brace myself—barely staying upright.
“Aww. He likes you,” Mom says.
“Hi, Daddy!” Mia shouts up at the dog.
“Don’t call him that,” I say.
The dog drops from my shoulders, wagging his tail and nuzzling at Mia.
“I love you, Daddy!” she squeals. The dog’s excitement ramps.
“Please, call him Henry,” I beg.
Mia ignores me.
I make eye contact with my sister. She’s literally wiping tears from her eyes.
“Whose dog is this?” I ask.
“Mine,” Mom says. “I got him when your father moved out. He was staying with a friend last week.” She addresses the dog. “Weren’t you, Daddy? Who’s your daddy?” She steps closer and ruffles the top of the dog’s head. “Henry Cavill, that’s who.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, making pleading eyes with my sister who has broken into a new wave of hysterics.
“You brought a dog home?” My question isn’t rhetorical. It’s more of a plea to heaven to assure me this is some sort of fever dream.
The dog licks my hand. Nope. I’m awake.
“What kind of dog is Daddy?” Mia asks.
I pause. No one but me seems to notice the complete and utter insanity of the words coming out of my daughter’s mouth.
“He’s a Komondoodle!” Mom says, enthusiastically. “But three-quarters Komondor. That’s why he looks like a walking mop.”
“He’s so cute!” Mia exclaims. “Can he sleep in my bed, Mommy?”
“He doesn’t shed,” my mom says proudly, as if she isn’t springing an entire eighty-pound dog on me.
“We’ll see,” I say.
And here I thought moving to a new town to become the first female firefighter in department history was going to be the biggest challenge of the year.
But now my home is being overrun by a giant living mop. And tomorrow I’ll face a bunch of squirrelly elementary school children with my sidekick, Mr. McGrumpypants.