Chapter 16
Hallie
There is no place for secrets in sisterhood.
~ Erin Forbes
The next evening, Avery, Mia and I are hanging out in the living room.
I still haven’t told Avery about Greyson.
I just got off duty this morning. She suggested a girls’ night while Mom goes out on yet another date.
The woman is trying to kill me. I’m certain of it.
Her divorce is fresh and she’s making her way through the middle-aged bachelors of Waterford like it’s her job.
Mom walks out from her room and asks, “How do I look?”
She does a twirl and her black skirt flares out around the bottom. She’s topped the skirt with a flowy blouse with angel sleeves. And, true to her East Tennessee roots, she’s wearing cowboy boots.
“Beautiful!” Mia exclaims. “You’re soooo fancy, Nana!”
“You look nice, Mom,” Avery says.
“You’re gorgeous,” I admit. Pausing, I consider my next words carefully. “Are you sure you want to put all that effort in on a first date?”
“Honey,” Mom raises her pointer finger at me and wags it with each word. “Honey. Honey. Honey. Has it been that long? The first date is where you put in all the effort—aaaaaahhhllll the effort.” She punctuates that last line with a flourish of her hand waving up and down her body.
“PG, please,” I say.
“Nothin’ wrong with a woman teaching her granddaughter the finer points of dating.”
“Ewwwww,” Mia says. “No thank you, Nana.”
Mom breaks into a peal of laughter.
There’s a knock at the door.
We all still.
Mom lights up like a pinball machine. “Oooh! That’s him!” She walks toward the door and then she turns and looks over her shoulder. “Y’all behave.”
We are not the ones who need to worry about behaving.
I keep that thought to myself.
Mom opens the door and an older man is standing on the porch with a bouquet of flowers. He’s wearing jeans, boots and a plaid snap-up shirt.
Did I say a bouquet? What he’s holding—cradled in both arms—is more like a funeral arrangement. Or one of those high school flower shawls girls wear in Texas to their homecoming. Is he a florist? Did someone just die?
“Girls,” Mom says, “This is Buckshot.” Mom beams at us. “Buckshot, meet my girls, Mia, Avery and Hallie.”
“Nice to meetcha,” Buckshot says.
Buckshot? Our replacement for Dad might be named Buckshot?
I smile past the weirdness.
“Let me take those for you,” I offer, standing to reach for the flowers.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Mom gushes. “Looks like you raided a garden!”
“How’d ya guess?” Buckshot asks. “Dontcha worry yerself none. I left some behind.”
Mom giggles—all schoolgirl giddiness. I think she thinks he’s joking. I honestly can’t tell. He sort of looks like the type of man to skip the florist and go all rogue with a pair of shears.
I take the life-sized bouquet from Buckshot and haul it down to the kitchen. We’re going to need four or five vases to hold all the flowers.
When I walk back into the living room, Mom’s slipping into her coat. Buckshot’s standing in the foyer, watching her with a big grin on his face. One of his front teeth is gold, like that bad guy in Home Alone.
“Mom, your phone is charged, right?” I ask.
“Of course, honey.” She turns her back to Buckshot and lowers her brows in a warning stare.
“Good. Can’t be safe enough. How about you, Buckshot? Your phone charged?” My voice is bright and airy.
“I don’t take much to carryin’ a phone ’round with me. Too distractin’. If someone wants me, they know where to find me.”
“Oh, isn’t that sweet and old-fashioned?” Mom smiles a delusional smile.
I’m all for touching grass. But not having a phone in today’s society? I guess it’s … whatever. Avery puts her palm on my arm and looks me in the eyes.
When Buckshot places his hand on my mother’s back, Avery silently mouths, “It’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I quietly mouth back. “He could be a phoneless serial killer. Easier to cover his tracks if there’s no GPS on his person.”
My sister’s lips twist up in an amused grin.
I follow Mom and Buckshot out the front door, shouting, “Have a nice night!”
Mom smiles and waves. “Will do!”
I check out the truck Buckshot’s driving. An old orange GMC with the white stripe down the side. I mentally memorize the license plate. When I glance across the driveway, Jonathan’s standing on his porch, also watching Mom and Buckshot.
Jonathan turns and waves. “Nice night out.”
“It is,” I agree.
I watch Mom and Buckshot drive away. So does Jonathan. Then he gives me a polite nod and turns to go back into his house.
“Let’s play Exploding Kittens!” Mia says as soon as I step through the door.
“Exploding Kittens?” Avery says. “I thought we were going to watch a movie and make chocolate chip cookies.”
“That too!” Mia says. “And stay up past my bedtime!” She looks at me with pleading eyes.
“A half hour past,” I agree.
“Knock yourself out,” Avery says, grinning.
Mia jumps up to grab the board game.
My phone rings and I jolt with a startle. My heart clenches.
“Relax, Hal,” Avery says. “Mom’s fine.”
“I know. I just have to adjust to this whole dating thing.”
She smiles softly and I check the number on my screen.
It’s from an unidentified caller in Maryville.
“Someone in Maryville,” I say to Avery, pushing the button to take the call.
The voice on the other end of the line is simultaneously familiar and strange—Danny. What is he calling for? I run through the upcoming holidays. It’s a little early for Easter. And he’s never asked to see Mia for anything other than the occasional Christmas and random birthday.
“Hey, Hallie,” Danny says.
“Hello. Hang on for a minute.”
“Okay,” he says.
I put the phone on mute and ask Avery, “Hey, can you help Mia set up the game? I’ll be right back.”
“Everything okay?” she asks just as Mia bounds back into the room carrying the board game.
“Fine,” I say.
“Okay. You sure?”
I nod.
Avery’s brows knit together, but she gets busy helping Mia set up the game while I slip down the hall toward my bedroom, steeling myself against the churning in my belly.
“I know it’s last-minute,” Danny starts in once I’m in my room with the call off mute. “My family’s having a reunion of sorts. It’s over the break. Next week. We thought Mia could come out.”
“You want Mia for a week?” I keep my voice low and contained, sinking onto my bed and rubbing my temple. Mia’s right in the other room and these old houses have walls made of paper or something equally thin.
He wants her for a week? Our week off together? We had lain in her bed before she drifted to sleep a few nights ago, talking about all the things we would do together since my four days off overlap with her spring break.
I stare at the framed pictures of Mia and me on my dresser.
“It’s not a whole week, Hallie. I want to take her for fivedays. I’d pick her up Tuesday and bring her back late Saturday. All her cousins will be there. My mom thought it would be good to have her there.”
My vision blurs. The photos of Mia soften.
I dab at a tear before it spills onto my cheek.
It’s hard enough to keep life stable for Mia with my crazy schedule and her new routine.
Whenever Danny’s mom says jump, I have to ask how high.
And now Mia’s going to be swept away for five days of fun with Danny’s family.
After which, I’ll have a week or two of re-establishing routines, answering a barrage of questions about when she’ll see her daddy again, and helping quell her grief because he’ll disappear indefinitely after this week.
Danny’s mom and I always got along. I know she loves Mia. And if it weren’t for her, Danny might never reach out to Mia at all. I just would have appreciated a heads-up.
I want to lay into him about it being his mom’s idea.
But Danny is Mia’s dad—at least, biologically, he is.
And anytime he wants to be with Mia is usually both hard and good for her.
She always wants to spend time with him.
She barely mentions him, but when she does it’s obvious she feels his absence.
She talks about him like she’s talking about the semi-annual trips we took to Dollywood.
Fond memories of an occasional visit. Her dad is just another amusement park visit in her life.
He has the right to see her. I got full custody. He signed that over to me. But he’s still allowed visitation. And he’s never overtly hurt her—unless you count the fact that he abandoned both of us. I definitely count that.
“Mom and Dad miss her, you know,” he adds. “And it’s been a while since we’ve spent any time with her.”
I breathe through my nose. Then I can’t help myself. “You go from seeing her on random holidays for a day to wanting a five-day trip where she stays with you?”
“I am her father, Hallie.”
I sigh. Hopefully he doesn’t hear it. “I know. It’s just so out of the blue.”
“Out of the blue for a father to want to see his daughter?”
I bite my tongue. I bite it so hard it might be bleeding.
“I’ll come get her and drive her back to you,” he offers, as if this is a great sacrifice on his part. “You don’t have to do any of the heavy lifting.”
Really? Because from my end, it feels like I do every bit of the heavy lifting—all day, every day.
And I never mind doing it. Not ever. I adore my daughter.
I’ll always put her first—even to the point of sacrificing my own happiness if that’s what it takes—because she’s a gift and raising her is a privilege.
Danny’s sporadic and inconvenient presence never fails to spike my blood pressure.
My heart is pounding like I just ran a mile.
And now I’m biting my tongue and my cheek.
I’m about to eat my own mouth for dinner to keep myself from speaking my mind to my ex-husband.
If I thought it would do any good, I’d share every last thought with him, begging him to do better.
But he won’t change. Six years into this co-parenting arrangement has taught me that time and again.