Chapter 19
nineteen
Cameron
“Did you take my Allen wrench?” the accusation shoots out of Elodie from the living room.
“No, Elle, I didn’t take your Allen wrench. It’s under your knee,” Beck responds, exasperated.
He’s always called her this, but I’ve never heard it said with quite so much venom, and I wonder, not for the first time this evening, why the hell I didn’t just ask Elodie to paint Paige’s room instead of putting together the furniture in the living room with Beckett.
I knew something was off when they both hesitated, albeit briefly, when I mentioned the other was going to help out this week.
I had no idea their bickering would be this bad, and it seems to be getting worse, like an old married couple, bitching and sniping at each other over the littlest things.
Whatever is between them, I’m glad I can hide back here, obliviously painting away, until one of them makes a loud enough remark, and my attention is once again dragged back to them.
I’m going to have to nail down Beckett soon to get some answers about what happened between them because the tension is thick.
With tonight’s brand of snark, I’m glad Addison is at Pony Tales so I don’t have to explain why her uncle Beck can’t play nice with Elodie.
There’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s Kara with dinner. On the nights we’ve met at Rosalie’s after work, we’ve each taken turns grabbing food for the group, and tonight was Kara’s night.
I drop my paintbrush, eager to have another buffer present, and move toward the front of the house.
It’s been almost a week since Rosalie and Paige left for Colorado, and I feel good about what we’ve done to help them out.
Not only have we been able to slowly paint Paige’s room and assemble the furniture, but with Kara and Elodie’s help we’ve set up a meal train through work that should keep Paige and Rosalie fed for several weeks, if the contents of the refrigerator are anything to go by.
Even Rowan pitched in, making a few meals that looked decidedly delicious and well beyond the typical casseroles everyone else has made.
I walk past a still bickering Beck and Elodie and swing open the front door, where I find Kara with several plastic bags hanging off her arms, looking about ready to collapse. Lunging forward, I reach to grab some of the bags and move aside so Kara can enter the house.
“Thank you,” she says, shaking out her relieved arm with a light giggle. “Who knew a few orders of rice and noodles would be so heavy.”
It’s then the savory scents of soy sauce, onion, and a hint of ginger hit my nose, and my stomach rumbles.
The delicious smell of Chinese food must hit Elodie and Beckett at the same time because they are mercifully quiet, and Elodie is rushing toward Kara to grab the remaining bags.
“You’re here!” Elodie exclaims. “You went to The Spicy Panda. I love that place!”
I know you’re wondering, are The Spicy Panda and The Spicy Chicken owned by the same people? And the answer would be yes, yes, they are—just a load of creativity on the naming front. Regardless, they’re both delicious, and Addie doesn’t love Chinese food, so this is a rare treat for me.
“I sure did, I just didn’t realize enough food to feed four people would weigh so much,” Kara says, shaking out her other arm.
“Well, I, for one, am grateful you brought us dinner,” Beck says with a wink, and I don’t miss the way Elodie rolls her eyes, something Kara also doesn’t miss because she responds with a playful wiggle of her left hand, a significant finger sparkling in the light.
“Damn, Beck, if only I weren’t wildly in love with my fiancé, that move could have dropped me to my knees.”
Elodie makes a choking sound before gaping at her friend while Beck takes her comment in stride, shaking his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.
“Well, he’s a lucky man,” he says with a chuckle.
“Damn right, he is,” Kara states with pride, followed by an impish giggle.
***
Stopping by the house with Addison on my way home the next day, I survey all our hard work from the week.
Things got significantly less awkward while we ate dinner last night, likely because everyone’s mouths were stuffed with some variety of rice or noodle in a rich Asian sauce.
But it was just what we needed to recharge and refocus before diving back into our projects.
We were able to finish putting together all the furniture and painting Paige’s room with a fresh coat of yellow paint. I hope it gives her an immediate rush of happiness when she walks through the door, and it rubs off on Rosalie, too.
I’ve told Addison bits and pieces about Rosalie and Paige since that’s all I have, but it felt necessary to clue her in on things since she was coming over with me to clean up the remaining trash and make sure everything’s in place for when Rosalie and Paige get home.
Addison was only two when Julianne passed away, but I’ve been open with her about what happened and tried hard to keep her memory alive as she’s grown up.
She knows her mom was my first true love and I loved her endlessly.
I’ve been very adamant about continuing to love her mother, even if she isn’t physically with us today, and that a love like ours doesn’t completely leave you, even if the person has left this earth.
This has been a little harder to explain over the past year or so, especially when I’ve gone on dates with women, and Addison has questioned whether I still love her mom when I return home.
I’ve been very clear that one date does not make a love story, but I also take the opportunity to remind her you can love more than one person, even if it’s a different kind of love.
“Do you think Ms. Rosalie will do a memory jar for Paige like you do for Mommy and me?” Addison asks as we step into the house to do last-minute touch-ups and drop off the remaining food my parents made in the refrigerator.
“Oh, I don’t know, Addie, maybe. That’s a good thought. But we need to remember Ms. Rosalie’s mommy just died, and she might not be ready to talk about it. Let’s remember that idea for another time. Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy! But can I write Paige a note? Ms. Rosalie has you as a friend, and I want Paige to have a friend, too.”
“Addie, you are the sweetest. I’m sure she would like that a lot. There is a notepad out in the Jeep. Why don’t you go get it?”
Not needing any more encouragement, she shoots out the door.
It’s been a long road managing my own grief while raising Addison.
She reminds me of her mother every day. It’s not just how she looks, but in almost everything she does.
In fact, this whole idea of writing a letter to Paige, just to show her she cares, is absolutely something Julianne would have done.
There’s always a twinge of sadness and loss in these small glimpses, but I mostly feel gratitude that the pieces I loved most about my wife are front and center in our daughter.
Addison comes racing back in and sits down at the table to start writing while I take one more look around the house.
My feet take me to Rosalie’s room, still overtaken by a few boxes she has yet to unpack.
For a moment, I just stand there, taking in the space she’s started to make her own—her bed made with a cream-colored comforter draped with a pale pink, chunky blanket and matching pillows.
It feels strange, intimate almost, to be in here without her.
There’s a soft scent lingering in the air, something warm and feminine, that hasn’t had time to entirely take over, but it stirs something in me I haven’t felt in a long time.
Not necessarily desire. More like a flash of curiosity—of wanting to know the kind of woman who fills a room like this, who carries a quiet strength even while rebuilding her life.
I catch myself lingering and shake my head, stepping back into the hall before my thoughts wander somewhere they shouldn’t.
“Daddy! I did it!” Addison yells as she runs toward me down the hall, waving a paper in her hand.
“Wow!” I say in a voice that sounds a little off to my own ears, but I’m hoping is moderately normal to my daughter. “That was fast.”
“Uh, yeah, because I’m a fast writer, Dad.”
“Yes, ma’am, you are. Now, why don’t you go put that on Paige’s nightstand where she’ll find it when she gets home tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay!” she says, and in a flash she’s out of the room.
I take one more moment to glance into Rosalie’s room before I walk down the hall toward Paige’s to make sure Addison isn’t exploring things that aren’t hers.
With Addison and Paige being the same age, I hope they can become good friends, but it won’t start well if she’s preemptively snooping in Paige’s things.
“Addie, are you about ready to go home?” I ask before turning the corner into the bedroom.
“Yeah, almost.” Her voice sounds muffled and comes from much farther in the room than I was anticipating. I briefly scan for her in the main bedroom, but I don’t see her.
“Addie?”
“Yeah, Daddy. I’m in here.”
I follow her voice into the small closet and find her sitting on the floor with crayons I most definitely didn’t have in my Jeep.
“Addie, where’d you find those?”
“They were poking out of one of these boxes, and I didn’t think Paige would care if I borrowed them to draw her a picture on my letter.”
“Well, sweetie, we don’t know Paige that well, and you may be right, but we can’t just borrow things without asking.”
“Fiiine,” she says, drawing out the word, but immediately starts packing up the crayons and returning them to the box. She then turns and playfully sticks her tongue out at me before heading to the front of the house.
I shake my head and pull out my phone to quickly text Rosalie.
Came over to your house tonight to make sure everything was where it needed to be and I put your house key under the stone stallion statue on your front porch.
ROSALIE
Cameron, I don’t have a stone stallion statue.
You do now. Even if you don’t need me once you get back, I wanted you to have a reminder of the big studly man who helped you move into your house.
Dear god, I’m really hoping that stupid line makes her laugh instead of cringe.
I didn’t actually buy her a stone stallion, but depending on how this conversation goes, I just might if it gives her a reason to smile each day when she comes home.
And selfishly, I’m fishing a bit for clues on how much she might want me around when she returns home tomorrow.
ROSALIE
Thanks. I just literally spit out my drink at the dinner table and had to leave to clean myself up.
I smile with pride as I watch another set of bubbles appear.
ROSALIE
Truly, thank you. I really feel like I can’t say that enough.
You’re so welcome.