Eight #3
But last night, we were all on the sectional, Tatum stretched out talking to Wink, Griff on his phone with Sean and Benny on Discord, looking up and discussing recipes for shrimp tacos.
Darwin was outlining a report for his urban archaeology class—when I was going to school there was nothing called that—and Luke, who I thought was awake, was actually fading beside me as I texted with Rais.
He and Sienna had driven over to check on my place.
My three-bedroom apartment, in a historic building in Oak Park, had beautiful hardwood floors, tiles with marble wainscoting in both bathrooms, a stained-glass window in the fully remodeled kitchen, and wide window ledges for sitting.
The apartments in the building were all spacious, the others having more bedrooms. I had changed mine, opened up the floor plan when I moved in, since there was only me and visiting friends.
Rais said Sienna was impressed with all the turn-of-the-century architecture, but even more with my neighbors.
I was at the top of the three-story walk-up, and I’d been there for ten years.
Below me were the Kaufmans—Ezra, Matal, and their three boys, who’d been there for twenty-two years—and below them, Carlos Dominguez, his wife, Beatrice, and their three kids, there for eighteen years.
Even picking up my mail, Rais and Sienna were greeted warmly.
Rais had passed Sienna his phone, and she’d gushed in text after text about my home, which she described as a calm oasis, as well as close to all the best restaurants, clubs, and shopping.
Tell her to keep her mitts off my place , I warned Rais. I got back a picture of them framed in the archway leading to my kitchen. Who knew she’d be just as annoying as him?
In the middle of everything—my friend texting, kids lounging, a cat making biscuits on my chest—I’d turned to Luke and mentioned the plan for Friday night and all that was involved. His hand in my hair, I thought that had been acknowledgment, but now I was thinking he’d been trying to shut me up.
“I asked you, and you said you heard every word,” I reminded him now, trying to make a point.
“I may have overstated my level of wakefulness.”
I scoffed.
“Please explain to me what we’re doing.”
“Okay, so Tatum is having four friends spend the night,” I said, listing kids. “Darwin has Teddy sleeping over because his parents are going to see a ballet or an opera…not sure. I wasn’t really listening to that part, and?—”
“We’re babysitting?”
“Sleep. Overs,” I corrected him. “Griff doesn’t need babysitting, and neither do his friends Benny and Sean. All they need is food.”
“Why would Benny and Sean want to stay here? Griff goes to bed at ten thirty on the weekends too.”
“Because for one, he’s still grounded and can’t go to their houses, and secondly, they’re waking up at five in the morning anyway to go on a ride with their geology teacher to look at rock formations. Lunches need to be packed, and we need to feed them all at five thirty.”
“Why are we feeding Sean and Benny?”
“Because they’ll be here in the morning—are you awake?”
He groaned loudly.
“By the way, I do appreciate you siding with me on the grounding.”
“He’s underage and was drinking at a party,” he responded with a scoff. “He got off easy. You were nice, but of course I would back you up. We’re a team.”
We were not a team, but that was a conversation for another time.
“Anyway, lots of food to procure and prepare.”
“We should trade in the Jeep for an SUV. It’s time, don’t you think?”
“I think Griff needs something he can drive, something safe, and then he can drop the kids off in the morning before he goes to school, and you can go right to work.”
He squinted at me. “Griff’s vehicle is a separate issue. We need a family car. I’m thinking a Toyota. We can go look after Thanksgiving. They always have deals then.”
I wasn’t going to be there after Thanksgiving, but reminding myself of that made my stomach hurt. “Can you focus , please?”
“Whatever you say.”
“So, is any of this planning for tonight coming back?”
“Not at all,” he replied, touching my jacket, the tips of his fingers slipping over the zipper teeth before he took hold. “But it doesn’t matter. One night of our house being a zoo is fine with me.”
Our house. I really needed to have a conversation with him about his use of possessive pronouns.
“That’s good,” I murmured. “Okay, so I gotta go, but I’ll see you?—”
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t want to say and so hesitated.
“Tell me,” he insisted, and I noted he’d slid a fraction closer. “You got a hot date, Miller?”
“At”—I checked my ancient Rolex that Jared had given me a hundred years ago—“a quarter to noon? My hot dates are for lunch? How old do you think I am?” I barked at him.
The idea that I was old and he was young—even though there were only nine years between us—bothered me.
And that shouldn’t have been a problem, it shouldn’t have even crossed my mind, but it did.
Yet another reason for me to be replaced in the Duchesne home.
I knew what was best, in my head, but my heart was saying something else altogether.
“Not old, and I’m kidding,” he said, tugging on my jacket. “Let’s get lunch. I’m hungry.”
“I can’t. I have to go talk to someone.”
All that blue-green-ocean wonder of his gaze was focused on me. “Who? Tell me now.”
“Listen,” I said, taking hold of his arms and shifting him sideways, off balance, manhandling him out of my way. “I have to do things to keep you all safe, so when I say I gotta go speak to someone, you let me go.”
He moved faster than I thought he could, turning me around and pinning me face-first against the wall, his chest pressed to my back, his lips near my ear. “How about instead of secrets, which, you’ll understand, make me a bit rabid, you simply say what you’re doing.”
I was going to answer, but at that moment, he bumped his head on my shoulder, inhaled deeply, and then stepped back. When I rounded on him, he was still standing close. He had given me space, but not much. Not enough that I didn’t touch him when I moved.
“I shouldn’t have manhandled you,” I apologized. “That was?—”
“I don’t care,” he said, his voice ragged, husky. “You can see that, can’t you?”
He was making my breath catch and my skin heat, and my clothes felt two sizes too small. And he was a beautiful, charming man, so of course I’d be attracted, but it was him with his kids that showed me his heart. It was dangerous to want what I couldn’t have.
I willed myself to calm down and not spin him around, put him up against the opposite wall, and kiss him so long and so hard he’d have to shove me off him to breathe. No good could come of that.
“I wanna know where you’re going,” he demanded.
“I—”
“Actually, never mind. I’m going with you, and after that, you feed me.”
“That’s not?—”
“But I insist.” He smiled smugly.
“Okay, fine. You can come along while I speak to Marcello Conti’s older brother, Richard, about why he’s skulking around the house.”
That took a second to sink in. “I think I didn’t hear right.”
“You heard right,” I said, slipping around him and going from the mudroom into the garage. “Let’s go.”
I heard him set the alarm behind me, but before I could get into the Jeep, he grabbed my bicep and steered me toward his Ford Super Duty F-250 Lariat.
“I’ve been meaning to ask…do you really need a truck this big?” I baited him.
“Yes,” he answered flatly. “I haul things like dirt and trees and big-ass equipment like backhoes and stump grinders. I’m a landscaper, remember?”
“You’re being sarcastic before lunch?”
“Get in the truck,” he ordered with a growl, moving to the passenger door and holding it open for me. “The Jeep is fine in the rain, but the truck is better.”
I was going to tell him, again, that I didn’t need him to open and close doors for me, but he did it constantly, everywhere, so revisiting the topic seemed futile. Plus, it was nice.
When the garage door opened, it was raining even harder than it had been earlier, but that was not a surprise. I was getting used to the sky opening up on a regular basis. Once he backed us out, he asked where we were going.
“First, I need you to promise you’ll let me do the talking once we get there.”
“Yes, fixer, I know,” he said, exasperated.
“You make me all giddy when you talk like that.”
“Where. Am. I. Going?” he asked, enunciating the words for me.
“To the Eena Motel,” I said, checking out the interior of the truck. “It’s always clean in here, and I’m constantly surprised.”
He rolled his eyes. “I have kids. They have to be in here too.”
“You’re a good dad.”
“Correction: I was a good dad, then I wasn’t, but I will be again. You’ve given me a fresh start, and I’m thankful.”
“Well, your kids love and respect you, so that’s half the battle right there. I’ve seen lots of families over the years, in lots of different capacities, and really, I have every confidence in you. Plus, you know what good looks like, so you’re ahead of the game.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “Do you have a gun on you right now?”
“Weird topic change.”
“Just answer.”
“Of course. Why?”
Quick shrug. “I dunno. But if you had to end up shooting the brother of the guy my wife left me for…I could live with that.”
“You know, all teasing aside, with that kind of anger still rattling around in your brain, it would be helpful if you could see a therapist as well.”
“I was kidding. Really. I’m sorry if it fell flat.”
I stared at him.
“Fine. I was mostly kidding,” he grumbled. “But I agree that talking to someone would be beneficial, and I’ll even ask Dr. Marlowe for a recommendation the next time I’m there with the kids. Honestly, though, I hope you can see that I’m not actually filled with rage.”
I nodded.
“And the anger was never for me to begin with. Who cares how she treated me? It’s how she treated the kids that makes me homicidal.”