Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
I an
I press the Velcro wrist catch of my riding gloves against the inside of the helmet, then place them in the trunk of my Harley. Not wanting to come to dinner empty-handed, I stopped at Sweetcakes Bake Shop for a full box of fresh pastries. I hook my fingers in the red cord securing the white cardboard box and walk toward the front door, glancing over at the driveway.
Two cars? Shit!
A quick refresh of my memory and I recall Sam and Savannah’s talk about Sunday dinners.
My mood plummets. Once she sees me, it’ll take more than pastries to sweeten the room.
I knock on the door and a few seconds later it opens. Savannah backs up. “He’s in the kitchen,” she says, her tone clipped.
“Can you show me the way? It’s my first time here.”
She rolls her eyes but reluctantly steps aside. It’s apparent she’s not happy to see me. I follow her through a hallway lined with landscape paintings. “Just so you know, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“That makes two of us.” Her tone is thick with tension.
“Hey, I brought dessert,” I say lightheartedly. I hope there isn’t anything lemon-flavored in there because her mood is sour enough.
I flick my tongue over dry lips, tasting a remnant of my morning coffee. This’ll be fun.
I lift the box and muster a smile, trying to make light of the situation. My fingers, still hooked through the red cotton cord, are turning blue beneath my tight grip. She glances over her shoulder as we walk but doesn’t miss a step.
“When Sam invited me, he said he looks forward to Sunday dinners.”
“Of course he did.” Her tone is flat, her disgust undeniable. There’s no mistaking I’ve become an interloper and have crossed some imaginary line. Her cool response affects me, and though I don’t like it, I feel the arctic air she casts.
“The kitchen is there.” She points ahead of her using an unnecessary flat tone. If the rest of the day’s going to be like this, I’ll make up an excuse to leave.
“Your guest is here.” Her voice is tense with an uncomfortable edge. When she veers in a different direction, I follow the sound of clanking dishes, looking between her and Sam for a reaction. Although her chill pricks me, Sam is unaffected. He smiles and offers his hand.
“Hey, Ian. So glad you could make it,” he says with his usual charm. I can’t help but notice the contrast between the two of them.
I take his hand and lower my voice, snatching a glance at Savannah. “That makes one of you but thanks for the invite.”
“Don’t pay her no mind,” he scoffs, his tone equally low.
I lift the box so he can see. “I remembered your sweet tooth.”
His eyes light up. “Sweetcakes?”
“Yep.”
“Well, damn! Thank ya. We can dig in after dinner.” He carries the box over to the countertop. “I can smell them through the box.” He glances over at Savannah. “Ian brought dessert. Isn’t that nice?”
She gives a slight nod, but her expression is still dark and unyielding like a storm cloud ready to burst.
“I got some fresh tea in the fridge.” Sam walks over to the countertop and pulls open the wooden cabinet door. After grabbing a glass, he fills it with ice and tea and points to the table. “Have a seat and take a load off.”
I do as Savannah disappears into another room. “Are you sure I should be here?”
“It’s my house. I invite who I want. If she doesn’t like it, she can go home.” The confidence in his tone belies any hesitation or worry. He quickly changes the subject and drops the stern attitude. “Dinner’ll be ready soon but it ain’t nothin’ fancy. Just spaghetti and meat sauce. I’m no chef, but I ain’t too bad on the grill. Next time we’ll do burgers and dogs.”
Next time? What an ambitious thought.
“Heww-o.”
A little voice comes from behind me and when I turn, I see a set of big blue eyes belonging to a miniature version of Savannah. Loops of blonde curls frame her innocent features.
“Who is you?” She asks, her words muddled but endearing.
“ Are you, baby … Who are you?” Savannah instructs from a short distance away.
The little girl looks confused. “ I is Gigi.”
“No, sweetie. The way you ask the question is ‘who are you’.”
“Oh! Okay, Momma.” Her head bobs. She pauses. Who ar-rr you?” she asks, placing extra emphasis as she exaggerates the word, attempting to copy her mother.
“My name’s Ian. What’s yours?”
“I’s Gigi! I’m free.” She answers exuberantly and holds up three fingers. She points towards a dozing dog nearby. “I gotto go. I’s babysittin’.”
“Babysitting, huh? Looks more like dog sitting.” I comment with a chuckle, noting the way the child has taken on the responsibility of caring for the dog.
She cocks her head like a little puppy as she considers what I’ve said to her. Then bobs her head. “Youse wight!” A mischievous sparkle lights up her eyes. “I’s dogsittin’.”
I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at her youthful innocence. “Aren’t you a little young for all that responsibility?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. I’m attempting to fill the awkward silence.
Gigi’s delicate nose scrunches into a tight little snout, her blonde eyebrows furrowing as she squeezes her eyes shut. A small chuckle escapes me at the clear expression of disdain on her face. It seems I have the same effect on the child as I do on the mother, who often wears a similar look whenever she’s near me.
“I is a big girl. I can,” Gigi declares confidently. Her frown lasts but a few seconds, then she opens her eyes. “I gotta go. Bye.” Her words are accompanied by a quick skip and hop toward the dog.
Through the doorway, I catch a glimpse of Savannah. Her eyes are fixed on the little girl as she watches her drop to the floor and tenderly cradle the dog's head in her lap. Our eyes meet.
“That’s your daughter?”
“Yes.” There’s a hint of pride in her voice.
“How old is she?”
“Three.”
“She looks just like you.”
“So, I’ve been told,” she says with a smile.
Savannah turns up the television, possibly to drown out any conversation between Sam and me. I take a moment to watch her and Gigi as they exchange something humorous.
I turn to Sam. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating; she’s not happy and I seem to be the cause. Maybe it’s best if I leave.”
“You ain’t going nowhere. I want you here.” His commanding tone holds me in place, and I realize leaving isn’t an option.
“I’ve apologized for being an ass when she met me but, I’m guessing it wasn’t enough.”
Sam’s expression turns stoic, and his furrowed brow smooths out. “Figuring females out ain’t a talent of mine—or any man, for that matter.” He brushes off the topic and turns to another one. “I appreciate your help at the bar. Dinner is my way of saying thanks.” He wanders over to the refrigerator. “Can I get you some iced tea?”
“Sure. Thanks.” I reply, grateful for the kind gesture during an awkward situation.
My attention shifts to Savannah. Her posture’s stiff. Her lips are pressed tight. A clear sign of tension and unease.
As Sam sets the drink down in front of me, he lowers his voice to a hushed tone. “Don’t worry about Savannah. She’ll come around eventually. Whatever’s bothering her, she’ll work her way through it.”
“Um, ‘scuse me.” The little girl is back, relentlessly tapping on my knee with her small fingers as she points to the dog with the other. “Pet her,” she insists.
I smile but hesitate. “Maybe in a little bit. She’s resting right now.”
The determined look on the little girl’s face tells me she isn’t taking no for an answer. Before I can protest further, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dozing dog.
I do as she instructs— orders —and catch Savannah watching us again. Even though her face is pointed in the direction of the television I can see her watching us out of the corner of her eye.
“Sit here!” With the command, Gigi unceremoniously drops to the floor and points to a spot right beside her. “I want you to sit with me.”
Her authoritative way amuses me, and I note Sam watching as well. It seems both Savannah and Sam are used to the little girl’s bossiness.
“Pet her!” She commands.
I snap to attention and salute the miniature general. “Yes, ma’am.
Suppressing a grin, I follow instructions and take a seat next to her. Despite an innocent appearance, there’s no doubt this girl has the makings of a leader. She may look all sugar and spice with her curls and innocent face, but it would be interesting to see how her mother handles her teenage years.
I gently place my hand on the animal’s soft back and feel the warmth of her fur and steady rise and fall of her breathing. The pooch immediately responds flipping over onto her back in a move of trust. Gigi watches with pride, a smug little smile blooming on her face. I wink at her. “She’s a sweet dog. I think she lik?—"
“SHH!”
I freeze as Gigi jumps up and clamps a hand over my mouth.
“E-ban you has to be quiet,” Gigi scolds in a whisper-shout. “It’s time for Bandit to go to seep.”
Muffled laughs drift past my ears, proof of Sam and Savannah’s amusement. I’m at the mercy of Gigi’s piercing lapis-colored eyes. They’re filled with a mix of admonishment and affection as she pulls her hand away from my mouth. A peaceful hush settles in the room, enveloping us as we watch Bandit’s chest rise and fall. The dog drifts off to sleep with an occasional snore.
As quickly as Gigi stood, she returns to sitting, this time scooting closer to me. She rests her small, delicate hand atop mine, the warmth of her palm seeping through my skin and into my veins. Leaning her head back against the wall, she lowers her eyelids in a peaceful way. Memories of my own insecure childhood flood my mind as I gaze down at our intertwined fingers. Her simple, sweet gesture causes an unexpected swell in my chest. I’m not sure exactly what I’m feeling in this moment. Her trust is both surprising and overwhelming. She knows nothing of me or my past but appears to accept me without judgment and I feel something unfamiliar squeeze my heart. I don’t know if I should fight it or embrace it.
The answer eludes me, and I take this moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of holding a child’s hand.