Chapter 16 #3
The afternoon wore on, and everyone talked and chatted like they’d known each other forever.
They had, I guessed, but I didn’t feel left out because I was included too.
I showed Bobby some of the photos I’d taken on my phone that day at the Adventurama, and he puffed up proudly each time.
Jane asked about my crocheting and said she’d never been able to get the hang of it.
“I tried, of course,” she said and nodded at Danny.
“When his sister Emma-Lee was on her way, I thought I’d try that grandma thing.
Gave up in about a day and went and bought a blanket from Walmart, like a normal person.
By the time Danny came along, I didn’t even bother to pretend anymore.
You want hand-knitted sweaters and baked goods?
Honey, that’s what the internet was invented for. ”
“Yeah, the only thing Grandma makes is brownies,” Danny said, his eyes sparkling. “And not the sort you can share at school.”
“Oh,” I said, and then it hit me. “Oooh.”
Jane laughed.
Later, when dusk was falling, the twins and Gracie and Bobby ran around in the backyard with water pistols, having a battle. Lucille joined in, but it was impossible to tell whose side she was on. Her own, probably.
Wilder came and leaned on the porch railing beside me, his gaze on Gracie. “It looks rough out there,” he commented.
I wondered if his closeness meant our previous awkwardness was forgotten. “I think she can handle it.”
“It’s Bobby I’m worried about,” he said, and I laughed.
Since it was just the two of us, I took the chance to say, “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable before. I know you said you aren’t in a position to date right now, and I respect that.”
Wilder looked over at me and his brow creased. “I did say that.”
“And I wasn’t trying to suggest that’s changed. I was just sharing because I’d always assumed there were rules against dating parents, and finding out there aren’t was interesting to me, I guess?”
“Right,” Wilder said, his gaze swinging back to Gracie. “You didn’t mean nothing by it. Got it.”
“Exactly,” I said, glad we were back on the same page.
We watched the water fight for a few more minutes until Gracie stomped back up the porch steps after Cash soaked her once too often, and she threw her water gun down with a clatter. “I don’t wanna play anymore,” she said, her face a tiny, angry thundercloud. “Uncle Cash is a big meanie!”
It was obvious she’d reached the end of her tether and I half expected Wilder to scoop her up in a hug, but instead he raised an eyebrow and said, “You need to pick that up, Gracie.”
She glared at him and kicked the water gun so hard it skittered across the patio and stomped toward the back door.
She made it about three steps before Wilder’s voice cut through the air like a knife.
“Grace Kennedy Wilder, you get your butt back here right now, pick up that water gun, and apologize for calling Uncle Cash names.” He wasn’t loud, but it was clear he wasn’t fucking around either, and honestly I was kind of impressed.
Gracie paused, and her shoulders slumped before she let out a sigh like she was having the worst day of her life. She went back over to the water gun, picked it up and put it on the outdoor table, and mumbled, “I’m sorry I was mean about Uncle Cash.”
Wilder crouched down in front of her and ran a soothing hand over her shoulder. “Thank you, sweet pea. I think maybe you’re tired from all the fun you’ve been having, huh?” He straightened up and held his arms down for her. “Come on. I think you need a bath.”
Gracie let herself be picked up and then sagged against him. “I want more cake.”
“You can have some more tomorrow,” Wilder said. “You gotta get ready for bed now.”
He carried Gracie inside and I drifted over to the cooler to grab another beer. While I was there, Jane came over. “So, you’re Gracie’s teacher, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She regarded me closely. “So you can tell me how Wilder’s dealing with being a parent full time. And I want the truth, not some sugar-coated bullshit.”
I hesitated and her expression softened.
“I just want to know he’s doing okay,” she said quietly. “He’s my boy.”
I thought of Dallas driving down last weekend to check on me, and yeah, I got it.
“He is doing okay,” I said. “Hit a few speed bumps at the start of the school year, but what parent doesn’t?
” I nodded in the direction of the back door.
“And he’s mastered the art of middle-naming, which, let’s be real, is one of the most important parenting skills. ”
Jane laughed softly and handed me a beer. “Yeah, he’s got that locked down all right. I’m glad to hear he’s figuring it out. He didn’t hesitate to step up when Cassidy got that scholarship, but I’ll admit I was worried. It’s a lot, taking on a five-year-old.”
“Well, he’s doing great now,” I said. “He even came on the class trip to the Adventurama.”
Jane laughed. “Are they still taking the kids there?”
“It’s a unique experience,” I said, watching as the twins abandoned their water pistols in favor of running away from the goose.
The back door creaked as it opened, and Wilder came out with Gracie holding his hand as she dragged him over to where we were standing. “I have to go to bed now,” she said with a sigh, “and I’m not even allowed more cake.” She turned wide blue eyes on me. “Can you read me a story, Mr. Smith?”
“It’s Avery when we’re at home,” I reminded her. “And what about your dad? He’s great at reading stories.”
“But I want you to,” Gracie said with a note of stubborn determination that reminded me a lot of her father when he blurted out things like “Fingering.”
I glanced over at Wilder to check in with him. He shrugged and said, “Fine by me.” He gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I guess I can,” I said, “as long as you go right to sleep afterwards.”
Gracie beamed at me, then grabbed my hand and led me inside as though she thought I might try to back out.
Gracie’s room had all the hallmarks of belonging to a five-year-old.
There was a hot pink scatter rug, a couple of purple throws draped over a chair, and a collection of stuffed toys that took up half the bed.
The small dresser had a stack of kids’ books on top of it, and her backpack sat in the corner next to a couple pairs of shoes.
Her comforter had unicorns on it, and someone had put up a string of fairy lights that twinkled softly, giving a magical, cozy air.
“I like your room,” I said as I stepped inside.
“The lights were Cassidy’s idea,” Wilder said, following me into the room, “and the quilt was a present from Jane.”
Gracie let go of my hand and went over and grabbed the first book on the pile and held it out to me. I took it and smiled at the cover. Where the Wild Things Are. “This is one of my favorites,” I said, moving the chair closer to the bed and sitting down while Gracie scrambled under the blankets.
“Mine too,” Wilder said quietly, perching on the end of Gracie’s bed. I opened the book to the first page.
Gracie settled against her pillow, and her eyes fluttered closed as I read the familiar words of the story.
By the time we were halfway through the book—complete with all the voices, obviously—she was fighting to stay awake.
Suddenly, though, she sat bolt upright. “Where’s Mr. Peanut Butter?
Daddy, I need him!” Her bottom lip quivered.
“When did you have him last?” Wilder asked, and I had to admire how calm he was in the face of potential disaster.
Gracie’s brow creased. “Um, I had him outside. I was sharing him with Uncle Cash.”
“Why don’t I go and get him while you finish the story?” Wilder said, and he was out the door before I could blink.
I kept reading, but Gracie’s gaze kept drifting to the open door. I hoped Wilder hadn’t been cornered by the goose. I’d just reached the last page when Wilder reappeared holding a stuffed frog.
“Mr. Peanut Butter!” Gracie reached out and grabbed the toy, clutching him to her chest.
“Think you can sleep now, pumpkin?” Wilder asked.
Gracie nodded and he pulled the quilt up over her, tucked her in, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes were closed before we’d even made it out the door.
“Thanks for that,” Wilder said, and the smile he gave me was genuine this time.
I didn’t stay too much later, but by the time I left it felt like things between Wilder and me were back to normal. At least, that was what I thought.
And I kept thinking that, right until I was back at school next week, and Mrs. Freeman told me I’d had a complaint put in against me—by John Wilder.