Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Grant
Two days after a perfect night with my girls and Sam, I’m pacing outside the station. Mac claimed he’d call me at eleven and here I am at five past the hour, and no call.
Mac’s on time. He’s not as anal-retentive as Dec, or even me, but he doesn’t run late as a habit. Finn and May got that gene.
When it hits ten after, I start eyeing my phone like it’ll summon Mac’s call.
I’m not worried, per se, but I can’t help feeling a touch of concern.
The fact that he’s a few minutes late doesn’t indicate some larger problem, but the very slow trickle of communication he’s given the family the last few months might.
Finally, my phone rings and I answer it instantly.
“Mac.”
“Grant.” His tone mimics mine perfectly.
“How are you? What’s your status?” I’m still pacing up and down the sidewalk, but I’m restless, and being caged in my office for this conversation won’t work.
“Good. Everything’s fine.”
I plead with the bluebird sky to give me patience, but I’m pretty much out of it when it comes to him. “Say more.”
He grumbles. “I’m good. Out and back recently. Otherwise, no news.”
“Out and back” means he’s been deployed and we didn’t even know. That’s not surprising. He works in special operations and doesn’t tell us anything, which isn’t necessarily wrong. It’s how some people prefer to function, and it’s definitely the way Mac does.
“You feeling healthy?” I hate prying information out of him. It’s never particularly effective, but I’ve got to have something to give my folks. When he calls them, it’s primarily proof of life.
“All good.”
I grit my teeth but breathe through the frustration. “Taking care of yourself?”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone is different. Surrendered, almost. “I’m good, G. I swear. And I’m still retiring when I said I would.”
My eyes pinch shut. “No one’s pressuring you. Do what’s best for you. That’s not just talk, Mac. It’s what we all want. Yes, we want you home, too, but if staying in is what’s right, that’s what you’ve got to do. Everyone gets that.”
I don’t actually hear a sigh or a huff of breath, but I can imagine it. He’s likely standing in his little house in a neighborhood in North Carolina surrounded by pine trees. And no doubt, he’s wearing that blank, unreadable mask of his.
“Acknowledged. Still getting out.”
One of the many screws turned too tight in my chest loosens a millimeter, and I release an audible breath. “That’s good news. Do you know the timeline, or is it too soon?”
There’s nothing that annoys him more than this question.
I can never quite tell if it’s because he doesn’t want to think about it, or because he doesn’t yet have a clear answer and he prefers to be definitive.
Either way, I do my best not to ask this every time we talk.
We all do. But sometimes, it needs to be voiced.
“Looking like eighteen months, give or take depending on terminal leave.”
That tightness eases again, another turn of the screw.
“Good. Any idea about a visit sometime? The folks would love to see you.”
We all would, but it’s easiest to blame it on them.
The last visit was right after our dad had his heart attack last year.
Mac tends to make it home once every eighteen months or so, which will never be enough for his family, and I suspect is always more than enough for him based on the way he blows out of here like he never wants to come back.
It's one of many things I can’t control but wish I could. My therapist once mentioned this, and I’ve taken it to heart, though it doesn’t change the way I want to throttle and yet hug my brooding, avoidant brother.
“I’ll find a time.”
There’s a snip of conversation in the background and it’s clear I was wrong about him being home alone. Sounds like multiple voices, so he’s probably at work and stepped out to make the call.
“Sounds good. I’ll let you get back. Love you, Mac.” I learned my lesson about missed opportunities to say what needs to be said, and I try to live my life in a way that keeps me from avoiding the regret I felt when we lost Julia and Brad.
“You, too, G. Talk soon.” Then he’s gone.
I give myself a minute to feel the pinch in my chest I always feel when we hang up.
Mac was my best friend growing up. Dec was, too, but Mac and I were closer in age and Mac was right there with me for so much of my life.
He enlisted when I went to college and in so many ways, I’ve looked up to him.
He showed up in the wake of getting the girls.
They don’t remember it, but their Uncle Mac was with me in the long nights after we lost their parents.
He took turns holding Poppy when she’d cry for hours, missing her parents and too young to understand anything.
He read hundreds of books to Lil, and he loved them. He still does.
And he’s the one who shook me out of the fog and told me I didn’t have to believe I could be a parent, I just had to do it.
He convinced me I was man enough to be a dad to those two little girls, and I’ll owe him for the rest of my life.
When I was scared out of my mind I’d mess them up, he shook me out of it and believed for me.
With time, and therapy, and a huge support system, I started believing it myself.
I just haven’t quite let go of the guilt that burned its way into me those first twenty-four hours when I thought about not taking the girls.
The biggest regret I had about leaving North Carolina and my life on active duty was leaving Mac and the other people who’d loved Julia and Brad. But the tradeoff was coming here to grandparents and aunts and uncles and a small town who love them like their own. Because they are.
Soon, he’ll be back. Eighteen months is nothing in the scheme of things.
“Everything okay, Sheriff?”
My heart kicks at the sound of her voice and I turn to see Sam smiling up at me.
“Better now.”
Her brows arch in surprise and she presses her lips together to stay what I just know would be a gloriously big smile. “Anything I can do?”
It’s cheesy, but damn if it isn’t true. “You’re doing it.”
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “Right. Well, I’m glad I saw you. I wanted to thank you again for dinner.”
I don’t make the conscious choice to step closer to her, but there go my feet. One step, two, until I stop just inches from her and it’s not the way someone would stand next to a friend. “My pleasure.”
Maybe my voice dropped low. Again, it wasn’t a choice.
She swallows. “I—I think we should talk sometime soon. Maybe after Thursday?”
“Yes. Let’s get through that meeting and then you say the word and we’ll talk.” I want to reach out and brush the hair out of her eyes. I want to touch her face, be close to her, and have time with her.
But we’re standing on Main, and Janice Wilkers and Hilda Dance are watching from across the street, plus I’m pretty sure Diego’s got the blinds split so he can see out the window over my shoulder better.
“Okay. I’ve got to get back, but I saw you over here and wanted to say hi.” A pretty blush deepens the color on her cheeks.
“I’m glad you did. See you Thursday.”
She gives me one last small smile and walks on. I turn and shoot Diego a glare seconds before he pulls the blinds closed as though he can pretend I didn’t see him spying. I can hear his giggle from here.
I’m about to walk into that building and catch hell for talking to Sam, but I don’t even care. Because she showed up at the perfect time, pulling me out of the sinking sensation I always get when I talk to Mac and feel like things went sideways even though our conversation seemed perfectly normal.
There’s something niggling at me. It’s a splinter stuck into the pad of my finger, or something out of place I can’t identify. But it must be Mac and the distance between us.
So I focus on Sam, and how she’s given me plans to make and much happier things to think about.
But first, I’ve got to go deal with that little sneak Diego.