Chapter 2
Warren dug his shovel into the dirt and turned over a clump of rich soil. He still couldn’t get the debacle of a press conference out of his mind. First, Brittany Barrows tried to steal the presentation to win votes, then that mother-daughter protest team turned everything into a ruckus. They even brought their own photographer with them. As much as he hated to admit it, Warren thought their tactics were smart. The matching outfits were a nice touch that gave them a united front. That was the only reason his eyes had lingered on the mother longer than necessary. He didn’t notice her curly blond hair or trim figure. He hadn’t stared at her shapely legs and those high-heeled sandals. No, the only reason he remembered her was because she had ripped the spotlight away from the message: Harper Landing needed a safety bridge to save lives.
At least yesterday’s poor weather had given way to sunshine. Warren was enjoying backyard time with Mikaela and the boys. Technically, Ash and Trent weren’t his, but they might as well have been because he spent so much time with them.
The five-year-old twins wore galoshes and matching bucket hats. Their moms were paranoid about skin cancer, Laurie especially. Warren worried about things like that too. He had insisted Mikaela put on her Mariners cap before she came outside to help in the garden.
“Help” might be too generous a word for what the kids were up to. Mikaela had planted one packet of sunflower seeds before cocooning herself in the hammock to read the new graphic novel she’d bought at Paige’s Pages last weekend. The twins were digging up worms in the asparagus bed and dropping them on the patio to see what happened. If Alison were there, she’d probably laugh, but Laurie would have initiated a very serious conversation about life, death, and the need to have respect for all creatures. Laurie wasn’t a vegetarian, but she had a soft spot for critters, no matter how creepy crawly. As for Warren, he’d taken it as an opportunity to open the compost bin and show the boys Worm City. He was currently layering some of last year’s composted banana peels into his dahlias.
The symbiotic childcare relationship he’d developed with Alison and Laurie made his whole life possible. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have gotten sole custody of Mikaela after his divorce from Raquelle.
Four years ago, when Warren was studying for his captain’s test, he’d been too distracted to realize that the UPS truck came to their house every damn day. Right after Warren achieved his promotion, Raquelle ran off with the UPS driver, leaving behind broken hearts and a mountain of undisclosed credit card debt.
The first two weeks were the worst. Luckily, Warren had stockpiled unused vacation days. His firehouse family delivered meals and offered emotional support, but the threat of needing to choose between his career and his daughter paralyzed him. His twenty-four-hours-on, forty-eight-hours-off shift schedule made childcare impossible. As captain, he had mountains of extra paperwork to deal with, plus other stressors, like settling disputes, maintaining standards, and enforcing rules from the higher-ups. Warren was a career firefighter, and losing his job would hurt more than losing his wife. But he didn’t know if he could stick with the job and be there for Mikaela at the same time. In the dark days that followed Raquelle’s abandonment, the answer was unclear.
Then Alison stopped by his house on her way home from the station. Five years younger than him, Alison had served with Harper Landing Fire for a decade. Her wife, Laurie, worked for the city of Seattle in public relations. Alison and Laurie’s maternity leaves were up, and daycare for two infants was horrendously expensive. She asked if Warren would be interested in joining forces.
Hell yeah, he would. He already trusted Alison with his life on the job. Trusting her with his daughter was a no-brainer. Plus, he loved babies. Fortunately, their understanding chief had agreed to put them on two different shifts.
Warren took all three kids when Alison worked at the station on B Shift and provided childcare until Laurie came home from work to pick up the boys. Alison took over when Warren led C Shift. She and Laurie even had their guest room set up for Mikaela to stay overnight. Their lives were dictated by a calendar so complex that it would give anyone a migraine if they stared at it too long, but it worked. The adults got alone time and family time in addition to fun adventures with the three kids.
Since it was Friday, Alison was at Station Two, Laurie was in the city, and Warren was on day one of his forty-eight-hour break. He had one goal today: keep the kids outside, enjoying nature and not staring at screens. Mikaela, an iPad junkie, would sneak it whenever she could.
Raquelle only saw Mikaela a couple of days a month, but when she did, she showered her with gifts: iPads, AirPods, Beats headphones. Warren couldn’t keep up, financially or otherwise. Raquelle always knew about the latest hot new item, and she made sure Mikaela understood that her mom spoiled her, not Warren.
The tech toys really burned because they made Warren into the bad guy. He wouldn’t give Mikaela the WiFi password unless he could sit next to her and supervise. He’d responded to hundreds of incidents involving kidnapping, luring, abuse, and molestation. No way would he let his eleven-year-old daughter talk to potential predators on the internet. Raquelle didn’t think these things through. That wasn’t surprising for a woman who’d always parked her car behind his truck while they were married, blocking his ability to race to the station. Irresponsibility was her middle name.
“Who wants to help me pick peas?” Warren leaned the shovel against a fir tree and wiped sweat off his forehead with a bandana. The raised vegetable garden he’d built overflowed with produce.
Ash held up a grubby hand. “Me!” He’d somehow managed to get dirt smeared across his face but didn’t seem to mind.
Trent stayed crouched on the ground, inspecting a worm crawling across the pavement. His blond curls peeked out from under his hat. “Do worms like peas?”
“I don’t know, buddy.” Warren rubbed his hands on his shorts. “Let’s find out.” He looked over at where Mikaela lay in the hammock, immersed in a book. “Do you want to come pick peas for lunch?”
Mikaela didn’t respond, which surprised him, because she loved fresh snap peas. As a toddler, she’d eat them before they were ripe.
“Mikaela?” Warren spoke a bit louder. Sometimes she got so lost in a book that she couldn’t hear. When she still didn’t answer, he walked over to the hammock and gave it a nudge. “Hey, Mikaela, we’re picking snap peas. Do you want to help?”
Over the edge of the hammock, all he could see of Mikaela was one of her blond braids poking out. But he heard something unusual, a faint buzzing sound, like maybe a hornet was stuck in the fabric with her. Suddenly worried, Warren unwrapped the hammock to let the insect escape before it could sting.
“Hey!” Mikaela shouted. “What’s going on?” She clutched her graphic novel to her chest.
“There was a hornet in there.” Warren looked closely. “I heard it buzzing.” He scanned the hammock, head to foot. Then he spied white plastic sticking out of Mikaela’s ears. “Are you listening to music?” he asked. Maybe she was hooked up to the stereo in the living room somehow.
Mikaela took out her AirPods. “What?”
“I said, are you listening to music?”
“Oh, um... yeah.” Mikaela scooted up in the hammock, keeping the death grip on her book.
“What are you listening to?” A ’90s rock guy himself, Warren tried to keep up with Mikaela’s interests when possible.
“Um... You know... The new Taylor Swift album.”
“I don’t know it. She has a new album? Can I listen?” He held out his hand for the AirPods.
Mikaela shook her head. “Sorry, Dad. Earwax germs.”
“Look, Mikaela! Look at this worm!” Trent bounded over to the hammock with a long pink earthworm dangling from his grubby hand. “He likes kisses.” Trent gave it a quick smooch before shoving the worm in her face.
“Eeew!” She squealed and jerked backward, causing the hammock to rock.
Warren grabbed the metal frame so the hammock wouldn’t tip over. “Not everyone likes worms,” he told Trent. “But I’ll take a look.” He was just bending over when he noticed that Mikaela’s book had fallen onto the grass. “Oops. Let me grab this for you. Wait a sec.” He picked up the book and frowned. “What’s in this?” When he opened the graphic novel, he felt the vein on the side of his forehead bulge. “You were watching Netflix on your iPad?”
“No.” Mikaela reached for her iPad, but Warren pulled it out of her grasp.
“Don’t lie to me.” He stared at the screen and recognized a reality show about dating. He couldn’t figure out how she was watching something from the internet. Mikaela didn’t have the new WiFi password.
“I’m not lying. I was reading my book.” Mikaela climbed out of the hammock. “I read the first chapter, and it sucked.”
“Explain this.” Warren showed her the screen but kept the iPad high enough that she couldn’t reach it.
“Emilie watches that show,” she said, referring to her best friend.
Warren grunted. “Emilie’s parents let her do a lot of things I don’t approve of. Dye her hair purple, use Instagram, stay home alone...” He listed their infractions out one by one. “Oh, and ride her bike without a helmet.”
Mikaela folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah? Well, she has lots of friends, so who cares? I don’t have any friends, and it’s all your fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you have friends. What about Emilie or all the people who came to your birthday party?”
“Those were your friends!” Mikaela stomped one foot. “I didn’t want a stupid backyard barbecue for my eleventh birthday party. The only people who came were from Station Two.”
“My mommy works at Station Two,” Ash said as he walked up and held Warren’s hand. “Can I have a juice box?”
“In a minute, buddy,” Warren said. Feeling the five-year-old’s tiny hand grasp his own flooded him with emotion. Not so long ago, Mikaela was that little. She used to hold his hand like Ash was doing instead of lying to him and getting upset over every little thing.
“I wanted to invite girls from my class, and you wouldn’t let me.” Mikaela pointed a finger at him.
“Because we already had twenty people coming,” said Warren. “That seemed like plenty.”
Mikaela shook her head adamantly. “Your people, not my people.”
Warren felt put on the spot, like he was the one in trouble instead of the other way around. That was the problem with tweens—they knew how to argue. “Look, missy,” he said in a no-nonsense voice, “your birthday is beside the point. You know we have rules about screen time. First, you sneak around, and then you lie to me. That’s unacceptable. And how are you hooked up to the WiFi?”
Mikaela shrugged. “I don’t need to tell you.”
“Yes, you do, young lady.” When Mikaela wouldn’t budge, Warren tapped on the WiFi icon on the tiny screen and looked for himself. Mikaela had connected to an account called GnomesBackyard. “This is our neighbor’s account,” he said. “How did you get Mr. and Mrs. Guevara’s password?”
“It’s no big deal.” Mikaela stuffed her hands in her pockets.
“It is too a big deal. Do the Guevaras know you’re using their WiFi? Because if they don’t know, then that’s theft.”
Mikaela looked down at the grass. “It’s not theft.” She kicked a dandelion fluff with her toe. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“You want to see a big deal?” He pointed across the fence at the Guevara’s backyard. “How about we all march over there and ask Mr. and Mrs. Guevara about this?”
Mikaela gazed up at him with an alarmed look in her eyes. “No, don’t do that!”
“How did you get their password?” Warren asked again in a slow and controlled voice.
“I guessed it, okay? Last Saturday, when we went to the Gnome’s Backyard to buy sunflower seeds, I noticed that Mr. Guevara had his WiFi password posted on the wall behind the register.”
“But that was at his garden shop. This is his home.” Warren let go of Ash’s hand as the boy ran off to chase a butterfly.
“That’s what I mean about guessing,” said Mikaela. “I guessed, and it turns out I was right. He uses the same password both places, “Yoga is life” all run together with an at symbol for the A.”
Warren didn’t know whether to be furious or impressed. Mikaela’s cleverness reminded him of her mother. Raquelle had taken out six credit cards in both of their names while they were married and hadn’t told him about any of them. Could sneakiness be genetic?
Warren was careful not to make disparaging remarks about Raquelle in front of their daughter because he knew that would be toxic. Still, each time Mikaela came home with a new toy, he thought about the fifty-eight thousand dollars’ worth of credit card debt Raquelle had saddled him with in the divorce. He’d had to refinance the house to pay for it. Raquelle’s debt was the bargaining chip Warren’s lawyer had used to help him win primary custody. Fifty-eight thousand dollars seemed a small price to pay for Mikaela’s safety. Every time Warren saw Mikaela climb into her mother’s Mini Cooper convertible, he prayed that his ex-wife had cappuccino in her coffee mug and not chardonnay.
“Go into the house,” he said, “and bring me all your electronic devices. There’s no screen time for forty-eight hours.”
“But that’s not until Sunday!”
“Yup.” Warren nodded. “When I pick you up from Laurie and Alison’s house, you can have your screens back.”
Mikaela pulled down her Mariner’s cap so that he couldn’t see her eyes and didn’t budge.
“I don’t see you moving,” said Warren. He was used to being obeyed. At work, he was the boss. On the scene of an accident or fire, people were grateful for his presence. But his own daughter stared up at him with her chin jutted out in defiance.
“I’m not giving you my screens.” Mikaela put her AirPods in her pocket. “I need my iPad to FaceTime with Mom, and I read books on my Kindle.”
“You’ve got a book to read.” Warren pointed at the graphic novel he’d shelled out fifteen dollars for last weekend. “You can call your mother on the landline.”
“Landlines are stupid. Nobody has them anymore.”
“They’re not stupid. They’re an important safety feature. If you ever had to dial 911, the dispatcher would be able to see our address and—” Warren stopped, realizing Mikaela had deliberately changed the subject, and he had somehow fallen for it. “But we’re not talking about landlines, we’re talking about consequences for your sneaky behavior. Go get your screens, and bring them to me now.”
“No.” Mikaela rooted her feet into the grass. Small for her age and willowy like her mother, a strong gust of wind could knock her over. But size didn’t matter when it came to a strong-willed temper.
Five or six years ago, Warren would have physically picked Mikaela up and put her in time out, probably with her kicking and screaming the whole way. But those days were gone. A panicky feeling crept over him, the same as when he fought a fire and his air tank began to run out. He felt trapped.
Warren stayed calm and attempted to regulate his breathing. He needed to look for an exit to the situation that brought them both to safe ground. “Do I need to go to your room and get the devices myself?” he asked, keeping his voice eerily calm.
Mikaela narrowed her eyes. “You’ll never find them.”
Challenge accepted. Warren glared at her one more time before turning toward the vegetable garden. “Hey, Trent and Ash, let’s go inside and get graham crackers. Okay, little buddies?”
“Can I bring my worm with me?” Trent asked, holding the crawler in the air.
“Sure. But I’ll give you a jar for it, and it needs to stay in the container.” Warren opened the sliding glass door and was relieved to see the boys follow him. At least two of the three kids did what he said.
Ash forgot to take off his boots, but Warren stopped him before he tracked mud into the house.
Warren kicked off his own yard shoes and neatly stacked them on the boot rack next to the door. “Let me go get that worm jar,” he said as he strode into the kitchen. He found a clean pickle jar in the cabinet and gave it to Trent. “Don’t forget to wash your hands after.”
Warren followed his own advice and sudsed up in the sink. Mikaela, still in the backyard, glared at him through the kitchen window. Warren felt like he was under surveillance. It was worse than being a probie, a probational firefighter, when every move he’d made had been open for censure. He dried his hands on the towel and slowly turned around. He had barely taken two steps towards the bedroom hallway when the sliding door opened, and Mikaela rushed inside.
“Don’t go into my room,” she said, pushing past him. “You’ll mess everything up.” She plowed down the hallway, still wearing her outside shoes, and veered into her bedroom. A second later, she slammed the door behind her.
“Shoes!” Warren hollered. Damn, how could the person he loved more than life itself push his buttons like this? He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think ahead. What would he do if Mikaela locked herself in her room? She’d win. He wouldn’t be able to get her iPad or Kindle. Hell, she might be Facetiming Raquelle right now and telling her mother that this was his fault and that Warren was the one being a jerk. And Raquelle was likely to believe it.
Warren moved from plan A to plan B to plan C. “If you still want to go to the movie theater and Sweet Bliss tonight, please bring me your screens,” he called out. He threw in the “please” to deescalate the situation and prayed that it would work. He’d been planning on taking Mikaela to the latest Disney film at the old-fashioned movie theater on Main Street then swing by Sweet Bliss for frozen yogurt afterward. Mikaela loved Sweet Bliss. Frozen yogurt was her favorite treat, and Warren was a huge Disney fan.
“Can we go get ice cream?” Ash asked. Not bothering to wait for Warren, he’d climbed onto the kitchen counter to open the cupboard and had been helping himself to the juice boxes.
“Sorry, bud.” Warren scooted back to the kitchen and stood behind Ash to spot him. “Your mama’s coming to pick you up soon.”
Ash put the juice box on the counter and sat down on his butt before jumping off the tile and landing on the wood floor. “Parkour!” he shouted.
“Nice.” Warren gave him a fist bump. Then he raised his voice again. “You hear that, Mikaela?” he called. “Laurie will be here in an hour, then we were planning on going into town. But only if you give me your screens.”
A second later, Mikaela opened her door a crack and slid the devices out onto the carpet. Then she closed her door with a loud click.
“Thank you,” Warren mumbled. “Good grief.” He collected the tablets and took them into his bedroom, where he had a lockbox for medicine and liquor. Though he was only gone a couple of minutes, when he came back, he found Trent smashing crackers and raining crumbs into his earthworm habitat.
“Look, Warren. It’s snowing on my worm.”
“Cool!” Warren walked over to the fridge. “I see you didn’t want juice. How about some milk?”
Trent stood on his barstool and peered across the kitchen. “You got chocolate?”
“Of course. Want some?”
Trent nodded eagerly, and Warren poured three generous glasses. “Chocolate milk’s on the bar,” he called out in a booming voice.
Chocolate milk was Mikaela’s favorite, especially the type from the local dairy. When she didn’t respond or even poke one toe out of her bedroom, Warren felt hurt then angry. He sat down next to the boys and drank the extra glass of milk in gulps until the liquid disappeared.
“Are you okay?” Ash asked. “You look sad.”
“I’m fine, buddy.” Warren forced himself to smile. “Thanks for asking.”
Spending time with the twins always made him feel better. As difficult as it was parenting a tweenager, Warren longed for more kids. A big piece of his heart was missing. Not because he didn’t have a son. Warren wouldn’t trade Mikaela for anything. But he definitely wanted more children. Babysitting Trent and Ash was a good filler, but it wasn’t enough.
“Mama says you shouldn’t drink so fast,” said Trent, sporting a milk mustache.
“Your mama is right.” Warren nodded.
Laurie should arrive soon, but her commute from Seattle was sometimes hairy. A thirty-minute drive could turn into an hour or two easily. When his phone buzzed with a text, Warren assumed it was her letting him know she had left work. He was right, but that wasn’t all Laurie had to tell him.
I’m leaving work in five minutes . And did you see this? She sent a link to an article from the Seattle Times about yesterday’s press conference.
Yup. Saw it. Warren had already read the news online that morning. “Safety Bridge or Environmental Disaster?” the headline read. Mayor Jordan stood in the photograph with her hands on her hips, glaring at the protestors. She looked like an angry old schoolmarm, while the protesting mother glowed with righteous anger. The mom’s fierce expression demanded that she be taken seriously, but her flowing skirt and the way she held her daughter’s hand added a softness to her persona that made it hard for Warren to look away.
I know that woman from Cascade Athletic Club , Laurie texted. Her name’s Dawn Maddox, and she owns the Forgotten Hug.
The junk store?
It’s not junk, texted Laurie, adding a frowning face emoji for good measure. Dawn sells antiques.
It was the same difference as far as Warren was concerned, but he knew Laurie liked that kind of stuff. Alison had tried to talk her into buying La-Z-Boys for their living room, but Laurie insisted on overstuffed couches with a bunch of frilly throw pillows.
Thanks for letting me know . Drive safe. Warren slipped his phone in his pocket so he could focus on the boys. Things were looking up. Not only had he survived a tweenage tantrum, but he now knew that the main challenger to the Marina Bridge sold junk for a living. Sure, Dawn Maddox was pretty, but how much trouble could an antique shop owner cause?