Chapter 11
[Stone]
For the remainder of the afternoon, I play the perfect host toward Taxi, keeping myself cordial but distant.
“Did you get something to eat?”
“Would you like another drink?”
And at one point, absentmindedly, bringing her a dessert.
Sebastian owns the local bakery, Curmudgeon Bakery, and he’s best known for his baby bundt cakes. His wife, Enya, is partial to the lemon ones. Today, he brought an assortment of cupcakes, using the family as his test samplers.
Handing one to Taxi, I say, “Sweet potato cupcake. Met an extraterrestrial in Tennessee once. She said it was her favorite.”
I ignore the sudden lift of Clay’s head, like he’s put two and two together from that night at Milton Roadhouse when I spilled that I’d met someone. A night that meant nothing . . . at least to her.
Taxi’s eyes fix on mine a second before she takes the wrapped treat from me, brushing her fingers against mine. I revel in the sparks crackling over my skin but break eye contact first, like I did in the kitchen, knowing it’s best not to stare too long.
My mind already holds a permanent snapshot of Taxi. One where she smiles widely, loves books with romantic aliens, has a passion for vivid art, and appreciates spicy cupcakes.
I give her my back because I’m not strong enough to stop looking at her. I want answers when I have no right to ask more questions. I don’t understand, and this is why I’m not involved with anyone. I know my limits. My heart is too vulnerable to open up.
“What was that?” Clay whispers, stepping up beside me as I scrape the grill that’s already been scraped for grease and crud from cooking burgers and hot dogs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, keeping my gaze aimed at the slats of the grate, scrubbing harder and harder with the steel wire brush.
“What’s going on with you and Taxi?” he asks outright.
“Nothing,” I whisper.
“Heard that before.” He pauses, but I don’t look up. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”
I still don’t glance at him, scouring that grill like I can scrape through the cast-iron slats.
“What one?”
“Don’t play coy with me.” Clay chuckles.
My brother knows me well, and he’s also good at pulling out truths from others, but I’m not up for a confession right now.
Instead, I want to stew.
“You can’t be closed off forever,” he states quietly.
My head snaps upward. “Okay, pot.” Pot meet kettle. Clay has a big heart, and he’s taken in stray animals and lost souls most of his life, but I’m not one of them. I don’t need saving by the savior in the family.
“I’m good,” I mutter, returning to my scrubbing.
“But are you?” Clay counters.
I shrug, tying the motion into my current action. “I always am.”
Clay chuckles and claps my shoulder hard, pinching me at a pressure point to get my attention. “One of these days, you’re going to fall. And fall hard.”
“Not me,” I argue. “I’m sturdy on my feet.”
Still standing, I want to remind him of how couples compare individuals not in relationships.
I don’t admit again how much I’d like to take a seat. Pull up the chair for that someone. I’m still saving a spot. I’m just not sure anyone wants to take it.
“Think it’s clean,” Clay says, another smile in his voice as he tilts his head toward the grill.
“What?” I stammer, meeting the twinkle in his eyes before glancing down at the grate, where I’ve rubbed so hard the black almost looks worn.
I toss the wire brush onto the cool grate and close the lid of the grill.
“I’m going to find the kids,” I mumble. “Maybe Zelle wants to teach me another dance from the TikTok.”
Clay laughs loud and hard. “There’s no the.”
“Whatever,” I snap, needing a distraction and using my niece as an excuse. She’s always trying to convince me to learn some trendy dance. Now might be a good time to take up the offer.
The last dance I had was in an empty bar, holding a woman who felt right in my arms and listening to a song about someone who looked like I’d miss one day.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Or maybe it’s just the idea of Taxi I miss. She could have occupied that vacant seat. My dance card permanently filled. My nights and days complete.
The remainder of the afternoon passes with the kids running around the yard.
The adults linger either at the two picnic tables placed end-to-end to hold our expanding family or in a circle of seats Vale has set up, which includes a yard swing, two Adirondack chairs, and spread blankets.
The drinks flow for those who drink, and I keep an eye on everyone’s consumption, knowing we have plenty of room for those who overindulge and need to spend the night. Desserts make another round.
And all the while, I try to ignore the tambourine laughter of Taxi as she befriends Genie, intrigues Vale, and gushes over the newest baby in the family.
She is cautious with Simon, anxious even, but still evidently cares about the child.
She often checks on his well-being, although he’s been quickly absorbed into play with Hudson and Zelle, being roughly their age.
She glances at Trudy with fondness but also concern.
However, Trudy’s in her element, guffawing with Mary Haven and giggling over shared history.
And every once in a while, Taxi watches me.
I give her a tight smile and soft chin tip, glad she’s enjoying herself in my yard, making herself at home among my family. It gives me joy that my siblings are a welcoming bunch, each of us knowing in our own right what it’s like to feel like an outsider, even in our hometown.
When the sky grows dark, Knox and I head out to set off fireworks.
With him as a firefighter and me as sheriff, we have an assortment that may or may not be legal.
We supervise those who want to help us set off the colorful displays.
Chief among the kids is Hudson, whom I watch as if he’s my own son.
It’s hard to shut off the protective-father stance.
Being that I’ve been doing it since I was twelve, I can’t seem to help myself.
On that note, I gaze across the meadow in the direction of Cort and Vale. If their relationship continues, and Cort boldly told Hudson it would, Cort could potentially be Hudson’s stepfather someday.
The idea ignites a whopper of an explosion in my belly.
Cort already has a son. And although I’m long past the idea that Josh could have been my boy, because he wasn’t, it still stings that Cort has a child when I’ll never have one of my own.
Not that I need kids. I’ve raised my siblings. Hell, I’ve raised Hudson alongside my sister.
Still, he isn’t my boy. I don’t have a child who’s all mine.
Funny how family comes in all forms.
Trudy Wallace is a good reminder.
She and her husband Carlton never had kids either. Trudy once explained she couldn’t. It was a different time, a different era, and she and Carlton didn’t have all the medical assistance couples have today.
Trudy never held a grudge against biology. Instead, she took in a nephew, then three nieces, one of whom was Taxi, who went by Tallulah then, and I still can’t believe I’d forgotten. Or that I didn’t recognize her as an adult. Then again, I spent more time with the Havens as a child.
Trudy also took in a stray teen or two, which is how she ended up with Simon, the boy she calls her grandson.
She’d been listed as next of kin for someone who’d gotten himself into trouble.
Simon is a cute kid. Whip smart while deep-souled, like Judd, and I’m pleased the younger generation of Sylvers is equally welcoming of Simon today.
Thinking of the Wallace clan, I easily find Taxi laughing again at something Genie says.
The two of them have been acting like long-lost friends all afternoon.
Currently, Genie sits cradled between Judd’s bent knees.
His body language says she’s all his, and I’ve never seen my reserved brother happier.
Although I’m struggling with Cort and Vale’s relationship, the positive effects of love on each of my brothers is evident.
Good women make all the difference to troubled men, like Sebastian and Judd.
And a feisty woman can change a sour heart, like Cadence did with Ford.
Halle and Mavis are more reserved, experience bringing gentle wisdom that complements the stability of Knox and Clay, respectively.
Which leaves only me as a party of one.
In moments like this, a part of me finds sympathy for my father.
He couldn’t handle being alone. When he lost our mother, the love of his life and the pillar of our family, he lost himself in booze.
I’m not a heavy drinker for fear I’d turn out like him, when deep down I know I’d never be like that.
I lost the woman I thought was the love of my life. Not by death, though. Not like Dad.
Bailey Cummins turned out not to be the woman I thought she was.
My gaze leaps to Cort again.
Some say I dodged a bullet with Bailey. Cort caught the shot instead. Doesn’t seem either of us fared particularly well when it came to her.
With a heavy sigh, I remind myself I’ve always wanted the best for my old friend. Even if he stole my girl, I didn’t wish him ill, and I certainly never wanted what eventually happened to him and his son, Josh.
I’m not vindictive. I don’t seek revenge.
I only want what’s best for everyone.
With that, I give a final glance at Taxi, accepting that apparently, I’m not what’s best for her.