Chapter 4
They pronounce us the Maple family and send us off into our new lives together.
“What happens now?” I ask as we head down the steps of the courthouse.
At my side, Guy exhales a soft laugh. He’s walking closer to me than when we entered the building, and it occurs to me how much he stayed out of my personal space up until this point. I would still have to stretch to brush my fingers against his shoulder, but he’s within arm’s reach now.
“I actually have no clue,” he says. “I kind of didn’t think past this part.”
“We’d usually be headed for our honeymoon, but I’m fairly certain I’m going to be headed home to clean some horse stalls.”
Guy stops and picks up Emma before we start across the street to the parking lot. “We could get something to eat. Or just go home? I’ve never been married before, so I’m just winging it here.”
We pause a few feet away from my truck, two strangers with only a piece of paper and a mission between us and not a single thing else.
“Where do you live?” I ask, uncomfortably aware of how little I know about these two people. I’d never even asked him if he’d been married before—not that it would have mattered, I guess.
“We’ve been at the extended stay on the other side of town.” Guy’s expression shifts to one of slight embarrassment.
I know the motel, the most budget-conscious place to stay in town. The price is low and for good reasons. There are very few places in town that aren’t safe, but…it’s not great. Even the firefighters in the summers would rather sleep on the ground in a tent when the town is crowded than sleep in our extended stay.
My brain is resisting all of this, but my heart is making a serious case for not driving away, knowing Guy and Emma are headed back to their motel. I wouldn’t even ask Barley to sleep there, and he likes to roll in cow pies. I officially have a stepdaughter now, and even if I have zero idea of what to do with the handsome man in front of me, I know there’s one thing almost every small child loves: horses.
Okay. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.
“Do you need help packing your stuff?” When Guy tips his head at my question, I quirk a half smile. “Did I forget to add that room and board are typically provided in all ‘husband for hire’ employment?”
And just like last night on the phone, I have one hundred percent of Guy’s attention. I didn’t even realize how halfheartedly Micah used to listen to me until now, because I’m not sure Guy’s even aware of people walking past us, he’s so focused on me. Guy moves closer, and I have to tilt my head back to keep holding his eyes. As if realizing what he’s doing, he shifts backward again.
“You don’t have to support me, Sienna,” he says quietly. “I know this is all moving really fast, and it’s okay if you need time to get to know us.”
I lean against my truck, glancing at the bits of old hay and corn kernels that like to gather beneath the exposed ball hitch in the center of the bed. Not looking directly at him makes this easier.
“No time like the present,” I say like this isn’t a big deal. Yep, I add in silent disbelief at my own spontaneity. I move random people into my house all the time. I definitely don’t have a stack of neatly organized to-do lists on my phone. I don’t have a work planner, a life planner, or a backup in-case-I-get-wild-and-do-something-spontaneous planner.
I finally have something to stick in that one.
I’m guessing Guy doesn’t have a life planner, because he closes his eyes and rocks back a little on his feet. Then he exhales and nods. “Okay, let’s go move into your place.”
He sounds bemused, as if he’s not sure any of this is really happening.
Oh, trust me, buddy. This is happening.
Guy’s truck is an older model white Dodge with an extended cab and a long bed, the kind of plain fleet truck contractors drive. It looks a little beat-up, and I wonder if he managed to get it cheap off a jobsite. He catches my eyes flickering over it, and I don’t want him to think I’m judging him by his vehicle. I’m the first person to appreciate a good work truck that’s seen better days. I just need to make sure it will manage to get to my place without getting stuck.
“Do you have four-wheel drive?” I ask, resting my hand on the side of the bed and giving the truck a pat. When he shakes his head, I bite my lower lip.
“I suppose I should have asked you where you lived,” Guy admits. “Or should we technically consider it a jobsite?”
We share a quick grin, and I appreciate that he at least has a sense of humor about all this. I tell him where the ranch is, explaining I’m about a half hour from town, depending on weather and traffic.
Emma has been quiet, playing with the rose I shared with her, but she must know what a jobsite is, because she looks at me curiously. “Daddy, is Sen-na your new boss?”
“There’s way too much to unpack in that question, baby.” Guy gives Emma an amused look as he adjusts her on his hip. “No, Sienna is my wife. We just got married, remember?”
“I’m a new friend,” I tell Emma. “I hope we can be friends too.”
I earn a pretty smile from her but otherwise no answer. The novelty of the courthouse wedding has worn off, so Emma goes back to playing with her flower.
“So are you my new boss?” Guy asks me out of the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, his eyes brighten with humor. I bet in a different, kinder world, those eyes would sparkle a lot. Then Emma wiggles and says she’s cold, and Guy immediately shifts into protective father mode, getting her into the truck with the heater turned on and wrapping an extra blanket around her. By the time he’s done, he turns back to me with the stressed, haunted look I’m only now realizing is his normal.
Life has done a number on this family. Focusing on that makes it easier to follow him across town, to help him move from his place into mine.
I suppose I’m being fairly productive today. Chores, check. Get married, check. Acquire new roommates, in progress.
He parks and I get out, overly aware I’ve got a very recognizable truck and I’m outside the sleaziest motel in town. I keep waiting to get a text message from someone demanding to know what I’m doing as I follow Guy and Emma inside the room, but my phone stays silent.
I haven’t been inside this motel since the after-party of my junior prom. It was rough then, and other than slapping a new coat of streaky beige paint on the damaged walls and ripping out the old, stained carpets, everything is the same. Down to the rusty doorknobs, beaten-up mini fridges, and light fixtures from the eighties. I don’t want to know if the bathrooms have been updated, but I’m guessing that’s a no too.
Emma’s toys are spread out on one of the two beds, but everything else is apparently tucked away in drawers or placed on the dresser in an attempt at tidiness. A Minnesota Vikings coffee mug, a child’s dinnerware set, and a Nalgene water bottle dry on a kitchen towel atop the mini fridge. A half-empty bottle of blue dish soap is neatly tucked next to a damp sponge beside the microwave.
Someone put a lot of effort into decorating the two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree next to the television. Each little branch is covered with construction-paper stars, reindeer clothespins, and popsicle-stick snowman ornaments. A strand of dollar-store twinkle lights runs the length of the TV stand, and two Christmas stockings hang off the edge, secured by clear adhesive tabs.
They’ve tried to make it a home, even though they’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Not Guy’s fault the place has a faint musty smell or the bed comforters are almost as stained as the courthouse’s carpeting.
“Daddy, I don’t want my jacket,” Emma says as she climbs onto the toy-covered bed.
“You’ll get too cold without it, Em,” he tells her, but when she insists, he helps her out of the jacket and into the llamacorn hoodie I’d seen her in yesterday. Even from where I’m hovering just inside the open doorway, I notice a large bump under the skin of her left inner forearm.
Guy’s paying closer attention to me than I realize because he says, “That’s her fistula. It’s where they give her dialysis.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I wish I had something better to say, but Guy already starts hustling around the room, packing up his daughter’s things with the efficiency of a man who’s done this too many times. Emma settles in to play on an inexpensive and well-loved purple child’s tablet, as if her daddy moving her out of hotel rooms without warning is nothing new.
“What’s your family going to think when you tell them you married a stranger?” I ask, trying to cut the tension between us.
“It’s just me and my sister, and she’s overseas right now.” Guy exhales a tight laugh. “She’ll probably think I’ve lost my mind, but Hayden will understand once I explain the situation.”
There’s a door connected to the adjoining room, and ripping out the old carpets has left a half-inch gap between the new thinner flooring and the bottom of the door. As I stand there, awkwardly intruding into Guy’s and Emma’s personal space, I watch the shadow of the next-door occupant moving around from beneath the adjoining door, listening to their feet thump. What would be annoying in the daytime would feel very different at night, and I’m not surprised Emma’s bed is the one deeper in the room, away from where a prying eye might be able to look under and see.
“I usually stuff a towel there.” Guy must have followed my line of sight, and the expression on his face is tight. “Housekeeping came in this morning while we were gone. They always take it.”
“I hate to break it to you, but housekeeping doesn’t show up often at the ranch.”
Actually, I’m fairly tidy, even if I’m not the kind of person who loves a good deep cleaning, but I get the feeling my vacuuming habits aren’t a deal-breaker.
“All we need is a roof and four walls,” Guy promises. “Technically a roof and some lumber, because I can slap a few walls up if necessary. Perk of the trade.”
“I might even go full luxury and provide some insulation,” I joke, cringing at the sound of my own voice. At least he gives me a quick smile in acknowledgment of my attempt at defusing the tension.
His movements are quick and a little jerky as he starts to pack away things in worn reusable grocery bags, pulling color-coded plastic food containers out of the fridge and stuffing them together with a lunchbox-size ice pack from the miniature freezer. I wonder how this would feel in reverse, if I was in Guy’s shoes, making these decisions for my child, packing all my belongings up to go to the unknown house of a stranger.
I’d probably be scared sick with stress.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, shifting on my feet and unsure where to stand. Moving deeper into the motel room feels like an invasion of their privacy. He’s grabbing toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant from the bathroom, personal objects with labels that aren’t the same as the ones in my bathroom. My brain quietly screeches in horror, not at the objects themselves but at the fact that this is even happening. I’m married again. A stranger and his daughter are moving in…right now. This very minute. I tell myself to hush. Be braver than this, Sienna. The world isn’t ending because the man uses Sensodyne instead of Crest.
Guy glances at me as he packs his daughter’s clothes into a small, beat-up carry-on suitcase with gold and pink lettering on it, spelling out her name. “Are you as completely freaked out as I am?” he asks.
“Yep. How am I doing at covering it?” We share another quick smile, albeit tighter this time.
“You’re a shade paler than you were at the courthouse and about three shades paler than at coffee yesterday.” He starts to zip Emma’s suitcase, pauses as he flexes his fingers, and then Guy exhales a breath. “I can’t keep my hands from shaking.”
I cross the room and meet him at Emma’s bed. His hands didn’t falter when he signed the marriage license, but they’re trembling now. Guy’s strong enough he’s liable to accidentally break the worn zipper on her suitcase. I don’t know why I do it, but I take his hand in mine.
We need to just pause and take a beat, to breathe and let our brains catch up.
Guy’s hand is much larger than mine, and I squeeze his fingers reassuringly.
“I know this is all moving fast, but we chose to do this,” I remind Guy before tilting my head toward Emma. “For very good reasons. We already did the hard part this morning, and the rest of it is just logistics. If that very good reason doesn’t feel settled at the ranch or you don’t like it there, then we can reevaluate. I promise the ranch is a decent enough place, but it doesn’t have to be forever. It doesn’t even have to be tonight if you change your mind.”
Guy takes a deep breath, then he nods, exhaling slowly. “One day at a time?”
“One day, one hour… I’m kind of winging it here.”
“You and me both,” Guy murmurs. “Okay, it would probably look weird if we weren’t living together, since we’re married now.”
“Probably.” I start to let go of his hand, but my pinkie catches on his index finger. Guy looks down, then turns his hand so our fingers line up, my slender one against his larger, rougher one. My ring finger still holds the pale, smoother circle of skin where my wedding ring used to be.
For a moment, it’s all I can do not to cry. I’ve never felt as divorced as I am right now, fingertip to fingertip with someone else. I’ve had nowhere near enough time to move on before suddenly finding myself in this situation.
“When I prayed for a miracle, I didn’t realize it would come in such a small package,” Guy says quietly.
I’m no one’s miracle, least of all these two people’s. I’m a full bottle of cheap red wine every Friday night in a bubbleless bathtub. I’m a great credit score with no one to buy anything for, a drained bank account even if I had wanted to buy it, and a brutal awareness of the impermanency of the people in our lives. I’m a stuffed daily planner with nothing but the plastic spiral binding surviving after I finished burning my life to the ground.
I look over at Emma and think it doesn’t really matter who I am right now. I’ll deal with the fallout of my life later, after she gets her kidney. After these two get their own lives back.
“Miracles always come in small packages,” I say, tilting my head toward Guy’s daughter. For a moment, we stand there, and I realize we’re both smiling at Emma. Then I blush and let go of Guy’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”