14. Maisie
Chapter 14
Maisie
D appled sunlight filters through the window over the kitchen sink facing the driveway Monday evening. I have chicken shredded and the sides prepped for fajitas and a stack of work to finish plowing through tonight.
I forgot how nice it is having a full kitchen to prepare meals in. Sure, the camper had a kitchen, and I adjusted to working in the much smaller space, but the open counter space and full oven make one of the more complicated meals I know how to make possible — and that? That makes me happy.
I shred chicken and cheese, dice tomatoes, mash avocados, chop and sauté bell peppers and toss pinches of salt on everything, getting lost in the rhythm of working.
Audra’s in her tabletop highchair, and we’re both singing along to the music playing on my Bluetooth speaker — well I’m singing, she’s garbling baby noises together — when the sound of tires on gravel filters through the open window.
But it’s not Harlan’s sheriff’s SUV coming up the drive. It’s a big silver pickup.
My heart jumps in my chest, and I speed walk to my purse and pull the canister of pepper spray from the inside pocket.
Calm down, Maisie. It’s probably not even for you. No one knows you’re in Everette.
The chances of whoever that is being here for me are slim to none, but better to be safe than sorry.
I press pause on the music and turn off the water, keeping my gaze glued to the approaching truck. Audra whines from her chair when the music stops, and I take a second to smile and calm her.
Silver Chevy Silverado. Idaho plates.
I memorize the plate number by whispering it under my breath and grab the knife I was using to chop lettuce off the cutting board.
Pepper spray and a dirty kitchen knife. Is this really what my life has become?
The earlier happiness at cooking dinner evaporates faster than water under direct unrelenting sunlight. The hand holding my pepper spray shakes lightly and a bubble of anger rolls through me.
I’m so fucking tired of being scared all the time.
The truck pulls to a stop in front of the garage. The angle that it’s parked, along with the slowing sinking sun, mean I can’t see who’s in the cab.
Probably wouldn’t recognize them anyway. I hear the truck door open before a jean-clad leg steps out followed by a flash of brown hair.
Oh God. It’s just Jem. Jesus Christ, Maisie.
I will my heartbeat to slow down and a relieved breath gusts out of me as Jem climbs all the way out of the cab. She reaches into the back of the truck and pulls out a large moving box.
Probably why she’s not in her car.
I toss the pepper spray back in my purse and put the knife back on the cutting board before skirting around the table to meet her at the door.
“Hey,” I say when I pull the door open. “Need help?” I ask as she muscles the large box up the stairs.
“Hey, girl. Nah. I got it.” Her brown hair shines in the sun, the light picking up some of the reds and blondes woven through the light waves.
I step back and hold the door open for her to pass me. After setting the box by the front door, I close the door and twist the deadbolt.
“Oh my god. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Oh, yeah, um that’s dinner. Chicken fajitas.”
Jem’s stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud growl, and she slaps a hand to her abdomen. “Sorry. I missed lunch. It was bananas at the café today.”
I wave her off. “That’s fine. I was just about to eat if you wanted to join me?”
Her eyes light up and she nods. “Yes please. Boone’s working the night shift at the station, and I was going to just make a bowl of cereal when I got back home.”
“Sure. Come on.” I head back to the kitchen and quickly put the finishing touches on dinner.
“What’s in the box?”
Jem turns back to the box in question and then shrugs. “Just some things I thought you might like around here. Some bath rugs, a few lamps — that sort of thing. I have an area rug out in the back of the truck for the living room too. I know that you have the basics, because it’s Harlan and he doesn’t miss much, but I figured some decor would make this place a little homier for you and Audra.”
I stop with the guacamole spoon mid-stir and gape at the brunette in my kitchen.
“Oh. Um. Thank you?”
My eyes sting at the kindness of this family — again. It shouldn’t keep surprising me, that they’re going above and far beyond what any random person would do for a stranger, but it does.
“No thanks needed.” Jem waves off my hesitant gratitude. “Boone and I are living in a fifth wheel right now — we’re having a house built just outside of town — and I miss having more than a functional living space, I thought you might too.”
A short sputtering sob escapes, and I’m mortified.
“Oh, hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to use any of the stuff. I still have the receipt, I can take it back.” She shifts around the counter and rubs my arm — though the motion is stuttered, like she really meant to hug me, and I remember how I flinched the first time she tried.
“God. I’m sorry,” I say with a watery laugh. I’m a goddamn mess.
“No sorry needed.” She’s not looking at me with anything other than concern, there’s no pity or sympathy in her gaze.
“Gah. Okay. Thank you. I’d love to see what you brought us.” I try to brush off my embarrassing tears and how I almost completely lost it — again — at someone being nice to me.
“Can I hug you?” Jem blurts out, confirming my earlier suspicion. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overstep — you can totally say no — I just feel like you could use a good squishy hug. ”
I turn to the brunette and nod. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and lightly squeeze.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend. So long since I’ve interacted with other human beings at this level of familiarity. It’s foreign to me, but not unwelcome. Most of the girls that were in my circle went to college and we drifted apart. The few friends that I had slowly got cut out when Sean started to isolate me. Eventually it was just me, with no one to turn to for help.
And Jem’s right, I could use the hug. I let the first friend I’ve made in a long time hug me — cherishing the blooming relationship — until my lungs release the painful grip they have on my breath before letting go.
“Thanks. I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” I say, awkwardly.
“I know we just met, and this is a huge change for you — you’re going through a lot — but if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m a really good listener,” Jem offers.
I nod. “Thanks. My story isn’t a happy one though.”
Jem’s head bobs in a nod. “I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t expect it. But I have a great bottle of merlot in the box I was hoping to ply your life’s story out of you with.” She grins at me, and I can’t stop myself from returning the gesture.
I chuckle at her teasing.
“Why don’t you grab that, and I’ll make us some plates.”
What could it hurt to tell her about Sean? Harlan already knows, so the cat’s out of the bag at this point. And honestly, I miss having girlfriends. Someone I can talk to, eat dinner with, spend time with.
Being alone was the hardest part of being on the road with Audra. I didn’t have anyone to vent to after a stressful day. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about milestones my daughter hit, or the wonders of the country that we got to see while driving, or the little day-to-day things that you share with your friends. I’m tired of being alone.
I grab the fresh tortillas from the oven where they’re sitting on warm and load my arms with the fajita fixings.
Jem grabs two cups from the cabinet and pours us each a glass of wine while making faces at a giggling Audra. I’ll have to pump and dump later, but dammit, I’m having a glass of wine.
I missed a glass of wine with dinner almost as much as I missed having a friend.
“Maisie. This looks amazing. You made all of this?”
“I did. I like to cook. It helps me think.”
“Pfft. Lucky you. I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I avoid it at all costs.” She loads a couple of fajitas on her plate before snapping a picture. When I raise a questioning brow, she says, “So I can tease the guys in the family group chat later.”
“You all seem close.”
Family group chats. Brunches as a group. Them showing up to the hospital when their brother calls, or helping me move my things from my camper to this place. The Calhoun family is tightly knit from all appearances and what I’ve experienced from them.
“Yeah. We like to razz each other a lot, but I know that if I ever needed them, they’d be there — that’s what family is supposed to be about I think.”
The way she phrased that has me asking, “Was your family not the same?”
She lets out a mirthless chuckle. “No. Not at all. My mother did the bare minimum for me until I graduated high school. Never knew my dad. I have a distant aunt that lives somewhere in Florida, but we’re not close. I didn’t have anyone that I was super close with until I moved to Felt. My friend group there is — was my family until Boone and I got together.”
“That’s really nice. Not that you didn’t have it growing up, but that you have your friends and Boone’s family now.”
“What about you? Where’s your family?”
“My mom left when I was a kid. I grew up with my dad, but he passed away my senior year in high school. So it’s just me now.”
“I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I met Sean when he came to campus for a criminal justice thing.” I focus on my plate and pushing around the black beans and rice as I give her the broad strokes of our relationship, the abuse, the fear and then the running when I found out I was pregnant.
“Maisie.” Jem’s watery voice pulls my gaze away from my plate. Tears are tracking down her cheeks, her own food forgotten in front of her. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. That’s…”
“It’s okay. I got out,” I say as I pass her a paper towel and then keep one for myself for the wetness dripping down my own face.
“Please tell me that son of a bitch is rotting in prison somewhere,” she says.
I shake my head and take a sip of wine to clear the tightness in my throat. “No. Unfortunately not.”
“Does he know about…” Her gaze goes to Audra who’s conked out in her high chair.
“No. And he never will.” My daughter’s chest shifts slightly with her breath. She always looks so peaceful in sleep.
I take a bite of my, now cold, red rice. “Sorry for ruining dinner. ”
A spark of something comes into Jem’s eyes, and I don’t know her well enough yet to pinpoint what it means.
“You didn’t ruin anything. Stop apologizing. Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with your story. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that I want to find him and rip his dick off to shove down his throat right now.”
Temper. That’s what that spark was. Jem was mad for me. For something that happened to me, and that has affection for the bubbly brunette warming my heart.
“Trust me. I’ve thought about it myself.”
“Well between Harlan and Boone if anyone knows how to hide a body, it’d be those two.” Jem laughs, breaking the heavy tension.
I chuckle. “Somehow I don’t think that conversation would go over well.”
Jem raises a brow. “You’d be surprised. Harlan has it bad for you.”
It takes a second for her meaning to penetrate, and when it does, I can’t stop the heat from exploding across my cheeks. “What?” I ask dumbly.
“Harlan Calhoun? The stern town sheriff? The one that watches you like a hawk when you two are in the same room? The one that moved you into his apartment after — I don’t know — about three seconds? The guy that had his brothers at the hospital while you were knocked out? That same guy? He’s got little heart emojis floating around his head and stars in his eyes whenever you’re around.”
“No...that’s just… He’s just being kind and helping until I get back on my feet.”
Jem snorts. “Yeah. Okay. Sure, Harlan is kind and helpful, especially to the town — hell, that’s part of his job. But he definitely doesn’t look at any of the women our ages like they hung the moon and stars with their pinky toe. ”
I can’t help it, a snorting laugh shoots out of me, and I clap a hand over my mouth. “My pinky toe?”
Jem’s own laugh roars through the space, the raspy bark of it the definition of joy. “Sorry, best I could come up with.”
A giggle escapes. And then another. Jem snickers across the table from me before we both fully lose it and laugh so hard we have to hold our bellies.
“Oh Jesus. Pinky toe.” I snort laugh at the imagery as our giggles die down.
Jem wipes her cheeks, this time from hilarity instead of sympathy and making my first friend in five years was as easy as some Mexican food, a traumatic story, and a case of the giggles over the sexy town sheriff.