37. 37
37
Hettie
I leave Tema at the castle the next day.
After Bo and I—I’m not sure what to call it except to say I think we’re back together—we went back into the club and it was a great night. We danced, and danced some more, and Fenella brought out a bottle of champagne because apparently everyone saw us kissing and because Abigail cheered as much as the strangers in the line outside.
I felt every glass of that champagne when I woke up this morning, but I was too happy to care.
Magnus says he cleared his morning to hang out with Tema, but I still leave Mrs. Theissen in charge. The normally austere woman has a ready smile plus a twinkle in her eye whenever she sees Tema, so I decide my daughter is in good hands.
And Bo will take over after his therapy appointment.
I’m glad his first appointment was so positive. Because of him, and what happened last night, I’m going to spend the day facing my own demons.
My family.
Bo gives me the keys to his pickup at breakfast. “Be careful of the snow on the hill,” he warns. “It builds up around the corners.”
“I grew up around here, don’t forget. ”
“I know, but it’s been a while.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything about your truck. You never worried about me back then.”
“I always worried about you back then, but I was just better at hiding it.”
I drop Abigail at her parent’s place, refusing her offer to go in to say hi, because if I don’t go now, I’m not sure I will.
The house looks the same when I pull up. About ten minutes outside of town, on a dead-end road that gives my father lots of room to leave his derelict boats strewn around the house.
The drive has been carefully cleared, which means someone is home.
Walking up to the door, I debate whether I should knock. Technically, this is the family home, but it’s been a long time since I considered myself part of the family.
After talking to Reggie last night, I don’t think that was a good thing.
I knock as a warning and then open the door—which is left unlocked. My father would always laugh when someone asked why it was never locked. “I’d like to see somebody try to break into the Crow house,” he’d chuckle.
The sounds of television greet me, along with the tangle of boots by the front door. “Hello?” I call. The smell is the same—hints of salt and fish and the stale tang of beer. Over it all is a rich, gravy-like scent. The only thing my father ever cooked was stew. He’d add whatever meat he could find, any vegetables in the house, along with a can of beer.
I ate it so often growing up that I’ve never once made it myself.
Footsteps and then my younger brother Earl peers around the living room. “Hettie. Hey.”
“Hi.” Do I hug him? What do I say?
But Earl doesn’t give me the chance. “Dad’s in the kitchen,” he says as he returns to the couch.
We used to have a dog when I was younger, but my mother took it with her. It was one thing for our mother to leave her family, but to take your dog? Earl loved that dog. I think he was more upset with the loss of Bear than Mom.
I haven’t thought of her in years, and one step in this house, so much comes flooding back.
Making cookies, the string of curses when we burnt them. Her brushing my hair, explaining how my red hair came from her. Packing my own lunch for school, because she was still asleep.
Having Tema was the best thing I’ve ever done, but it also made me realize that some women should never be a mother.
Including my own.
My father is at the stove with his back to the door and doesn’t hear me pad down the hall. I take him in before I say anything—broad shoulders hunched as he stirs a pot on the stove, wearing a wool sweater, threadbare and with more than a few holes.
The kitchen looks the same—a collection of dishes on the counter, both clean and dirty. It looks tired. Used. I try and drum up happy memories but all I can think about is how it was always my job to wash the dishes.
I clear my throat. “Dad?”
He glances over his shoulder, without the least bit of surprise on his face. “I heard you were in town. ”
“I—yeah.” I don’t know what to say to him. It’s been eight years. I would send emails after I left, telling him where I was, how I was doing, and he never responded. It’s not surprising that I fell in love with a man who had trouble communicating, because that’s all I knew from the men in my life.
He gives the pot another stir before he turns to face me. I don’t know if it’s the years or the time spent on the boat, but my father looks old. His face is lined and worn, his hair full grey. The dark eyes are still the same, surveying me without a smile. “Are you coming in or just planning on hovering?”
“I guess. I thought I’d stop by.”
“You staying at the castle, I hear.”
“I am now.”
“You and the prince?”
“I don’t know. I married him,” I blurt out. It’s not the right way to say it, but I have no clue what the best way would be. My father has always been straight to the point, so maybe it’s rubbed off on me.
“Thanks for the invitation,” he says in a sour voice.
“This was eight years ago. I married him without telling anyone, and then the queen died. And then I left.”
He turns to give the pot another stir. “I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.”
“There is, but that’s the gist of it. No one knew. I had a baby.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “Maybe you should have led with that.”
“Maybe.” I pull out a chair at the table, surprised to find a cat sleeping on the seat. “You have a cat. I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“You have a husband and a child, so I guess we’re even.”
“Fair.” I give the cat a pet and pick another chair.
“Where is this kid?” he asks.
“Her name is Tema and she’s seven. She’s with her father. Bo is her father. I never told him I was pregnant until I came back here with her.”
“Sounds like a lot more is going on. This kid—she’s a princess.” I can’t tell what my father thinks of that, whether he’s happy or disgusted with the idea.
“And I think she’s handling it a lot better than I am.” I give a huff of laughter. I’ve never had a conversation this long with my father, even with the fits and starts.
“Are you still married to the prince?” Just as Dad asks the question, I hear footsteps on the stairs and Reggie appears.
His hair sticks up and he’s wearing sweat pants and a ripped T-shirt. I never noticed how thin he was last night.
Earl is right behind him. “What are you talking about?” he demands.
“Did I hear that right?” Reggie blusters. “You’re married ?” At my nod, he scoffs. “Didn’t want to share that with me last night?”
“You were drunk and it’s not common knowledge,” I snap. “I came back to get a divorce but now I’m… I don’t think I will.”
It’s the first time I said it out loud and my cheeks warm at the words.
I have a future with Bo. I don’t know what that will look like yet, but it’s there, looming before me, waiting for me to take the first step.
Telling my family is that step.
“You sure about that?” Dad demands. “Castle life wouldn’t be easy. ”
“She’d be a princess ,” Reggie protests. “That sounds plenty easy. What does that make me?”
“Nothing,” Dad barks. “You should stay away from her. We all should.”
“No.” All three of them stare down at me. My father. My brothers. My family. “I don’t want that,” I admit. “You’re my family.”
“Not much of one.”
“But it can be. It doesn’t have to be like… like it was. If I stay, you can get to know Tema. She’s your granddaughter. And me. You could get to know me.”
Dad turns, his shoulders hunching even more. “I wasn’t here for you when you needed me,” he mutters to the stove. “Don’t know why you want anything from us.”
The first step is the hardest, and then it gets easier. My father used to be a hugger, so I rest a hand on his back. “Because I’m older. And I’m a mother and I know how hard it must have been with Mom left. Granddad wasn’t here, you didn’t have any help with us.”
“So?”
“You did your best. I know that now.”
He gives a sharp nod but doesn’t turn around. “She’s really married?” Earl asks Reggie.
“To Bo,” Reggie confirms. “I saw them last night. Was he serious about giving me a job?”
“He was. Go talk to him today.”
“And you’re moving back?” Earl asks.
“I am. ”
My father is still nodding and my hand is still on his back. I move it, because it’s getting awkward just touching him. “The stew won’t be ready for a while,” he says over his shoulder. “You should come back tomorrow, it always tastes better the next day.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile. “I will. I’ll bring Mabel.
“Bring your prince,” he instructs. And this time when he turns around, there’s a hint of a grudging smile on his face. “And my granddaughter.”