Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Paige
Our date last night was perfect. Sitting in those vinyl booths at the café made it feel like something we do all the time. Like we had a free night together and wanted to go out on a whim.
The kind of thing we do all the time without thinking too hard about it. The kind of thing you do in a small town when you and your husband are comfortable together.
We ran into some people we knew—guys from the station and friends from the hospital. Conversation ran easily between us, and it felt like our lives were mingling, even the ones we tried to keep separate.
But eventually, he had to go back to the station while Noah and I walked home to the background of the setting sun.
It was a long night to spend in my bed, all alone.
And now this morning, I promised Megan I would swing by the shelter and take a couple of the dogs out before my hospital shift. Noah and I plan to pick them up and take them to see Mr. Oakley for a little while.
“Okay, Noah.” I turn to look at him before we get out of the car. “We’re going to pick out two dogs, and then we’re on our way. Can you do that?”
He sips from his juice box in reply, the straw sucking up air.
“Thanks for doing this at the last minute,” Megan says when we walk into the back office.
The shelter is buzzing with activity as the staff gets ready for families to come meet the adoptable animals.
“I really don’t mind helping out,” I remind her.
“Just pick a couple of dogs and take them with you. I’ll make a note of who you take. We’re overrun here.” She grabs her clipboard with the available assignments and hands them to me.
Asking volunteers to take the dogs out of the shelter is pretty common around here. It gets the dogs out into the community, where more people can see them, bettering their chances of being adopted. Noah and I do it every once in a while, but mostly we prefer to play with the puppies here.
We wander the aisles of kennels, Noah’s hand tucked in mine. He doesn’t react to the loud barking and whining of the dogs. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I don’t find it in the pitbulls and shepherds licking my fingers through the kennel fencing.
When the last kennel comes into focus, I realize what I want. The two puppies Aaron rescued from the wildfire play-fight, their nails click-clacking on the tile floor. Noah squeals and reaches for them.
“Alright.” I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Guess we’re stuck with them.”
Megan says nothing as she checks the puppies out to us. I can tell she’s holding back an I-told-you-so smile.
“We’re not keeping them,” I say as firmly as I can. It sounds a little flat, even to my own ears.
Noah pets their soft, floppy ears while she and I take care of the business side of things.
“Enjoy your day,” she says, releasing us into the parking lot.
I strap Noah into his car seat, place the puppies in the seat beside him, and slide behind the wheel. Hopefully, Mr. Oakley won’t mind how rambunctious these pups are.
I find him waiting on his front porch when I pull up. “Did you bring that young man of yours?”
I grin and crack the door so that he can hear Noah babble. I lift him out of the car seat, let him toddle through the grass to Mr. Oakley, and grab the leashes to take the pups out.
“And some other visitors, I see?” Mr. Oakley cranes his neck to get a better look at the puppies.
“Courtesy of Station 59.” I smile.
The firefighters have grown on Mr. Oakley, too. I tell him the story of how the puppies were rescued in the latest wildfire while he scratches one behind the ears.
He gives me a knowing smile. “Well, bring them inside, then. I’m sure you want to make sure I took my meds.”
Together, we walk inside and let the puppies off-leash. They immediately tumble over each other in their haste to explore a new place. A little behind them, Noah tries to keep up with their antics.
“You took them before I got here.” I hold the empty pillbox in my hand, surprised. Mr. Oakley hates taking his medication and usually only takes it under threat of force.
“Well, I knew you were coming, and you never take no for an answer,” he grumbles as he sets about putting on coffee.
I take a seat at his kitchen table, setting the orange prescription bottles on it to refill his pillbox later. We chat a bit about Noah and Levi, the hospital, and what Mr. Oakley has been doing to fill his days.
“It’s been a while since I’ve come over,” I admit guiltily when he slides the steaming mug of coffee to me. He’s sweetened it with cream, a grocery staple he keeps on hand just for me.
“It seems like you’ve been awfully busy.” He raises a bushy white eyebrow at me. “With Noah, of course.”
The puppies make a loud ruckus in the living room. We poke our heads in to check on them, only to find them gnawing on the edge of his wooden coffee table.
“What do they have to do that for?” Mr. Oakley grumbles. He pulls the offending puppy away from the table and affectionately scratches him behind the ears. “Probably hungry, if I had to guess.”
We head back to the kitchen.
I regain my seat while Mr. Oakley rummages through the fridge. He pulls out an empty bowl, chipped on the edges, and fills it with a generous splash of milk.
“I don’t think Noah—”
“It’s not for Noah,” he says, turning his eyes to the puppies. “If they’re hungry enough to chew on wood, maybe something sweet would tide them over. You know, until they go back to the shelter.”
I suppress a smile and sip my coffee. Mr. Oakley never wants anyone to see how soft he can be, but he’s not fooling me. I’ve seen him and Noah together—and now these puppies.
“Anyway, you were saying that you no longer have time for an old man,” he says, drawing me back to our earlier conversation.
“I’ve seen you at the hospital,” I remind him gently. “More often than I would like to. Why don’t you just call me at home instead?”
“You have your hands full without me bothering you.” He sets the bowl of warmed milk down. The satisfaction on his face as the puppies lap it up is hard to deny. “I seem to remember you brought a man to see me in the hospital.”
I blush. The last person I want to discuss my love life with is Mr. Oakley. He probably has antiquated notions about how dating should be, having not been on a date for the last 33 years or so.
“You’re turning red,” he notes, which only deepens my blush.
“Aaron and I are just—”
“Don’t insult me by telling me that you’re just friends. I saw the way he looks at you. The way you light up when his name comes up.”
“It’s more complicated than you make it sound,” I argue, my voice weaker than I’d like. “I have Noah to think about.”
“Does this Aaron know that you have a child?” His tone is pointed, but his eyes are fixed on Noah.
If anyone other than Levi understands how important my son is to me, it’s Mr. Oakley.
“Of course,” I say. “It would be impossible not to know.”
“If he knows, then maybe you should let him decide whether he wants to be serious. He seems like he has a good head on his shoulders.” He rubs his chin. “Guess he has to, in order to be a fire captain.”
“How did you know he was the new captain?”
“Small town, sweetheart.” Mr. Oakley places a wrinkled hand over mine. “You think I would let just anyone date my second favorite lady?”
I don’t know what to say to that.
I’m touched that Mr. Oakley has asked around, all to ensure that I’m in good hands. I know he has very little to occupy his days, but I’m overwhelmed by the fact that he thinks of me just like Noah and I think of him.
“What does Noah think of him?” he asks.
“He seems to like him a lot. Aaron picked him up from school, and I came home to the two of them sleeping on the couch.” A smile comes unbidden as the memory surfaces.
“Shall we ask the boy what he thinks?” Mr. Oakley asks, his head tilted to the side.
He heads into the living room, where Noah waits for the puppies to return. He sinks to his knees on the thick shag carpeting so that he can be at eye level with Noah.
“Now, what do you think of Aaron?”
The question is innocent. Neither of us expects Noah to answer it. But he looks up at Mr. Oakley with wide, curious eyes and that toothy grin that I love so much. My heart flips over in my chest at the sight of them.
“Dada,” he says finally, then returns to playing with the puppies.
Mr. Oakley freezes. My eyes dart straight to Noah, unwilling to believe what he just said. He’s never called anyone that before. Not even Levi, and he spends a lot of time with my brother.
“What did you say, honey?” I try to get him to repeat it, to be sure of what he said.
“Dada,” he repeats, as if this is obvious.
“Now, you don’t have to panic,” Mr. Oakley interjects, aiming to be the voice of reason in the situation—one I don’t have to reach far to remember that he created. “He was going to think that eventually about someone.”
“Not if I could help it,” I argue helplessly.
I never intended to get close enough to anyone for Noah to feel that level of attachment—or that level of loss if they disappear.
“You can’t live in a bubble,” Mr. Oakley reasons, his voice gentle.
“We should get the puppies back to the shelter.” I gather our things as quickly as I can, abandoning my still-full mug of coffee on the table. Noah pouts as I try to round up his things and cajole him to get back in the car.
“I hope you come back real soon,” Mr. Oakley says, leaning into the driver’s side window.
“We will. I promise.” Then I reverse and peel out of his driveway.
I just need space to think about what to do next. How did we get to the point where Noah thinks Aaron is his dad?
Part of me knows exactly how: napping together on the couch and having dinner at the café like a happy little family.
I wanted this, but I didn’t want Noah to feel this way. Aaron hasn’t committed to us, to him.
No, I know what I have to do. For Noah.
It isn’t about what I want at all. I have different priorities as a single mom.
We drive straight back to the shelter and drop the puppies off.