Chapter 27
Callie
I toss my hair up in a messy bun, grab a glass of water, the monitor, and my meal plan notebook, and tiptoe my way out to the front porch.
The street is quiet, which is typical for a Friday afternoon. The air is hot, stagnant, the sun bright. It’s supposed to be ninety degrees all weekend.
Wrenley just picked up the kids. she only works a half-day on Fridays, so now I get a little time to myself.
I flop down onto the rocking chair and take in the view of my neighborhood.
Across the street, Miss Holly’s knelt down in her flower beds, tugging at weeds while her husband pushes the mower across their yard in slow, uneven rows.
A few doors down, around the corner, I can see Aunt Mallory is out in her backyard pinning laundry to the line, the sheets rippling in the breeze.
Every porch I can see, mine included, has an American flag swaying proudly, and wind chimes tinkle from somewhere nearby.
The houses are spaced out just enough for breathing room, the sidewalks clean.
Our road doesn’t lead to much, just loops into another quiet neighborhood.
The only traffic is from people who live here or are going into town.
I dive back into meal planning for the week. It’s hard to stay focused when Holly and Bert are over there bickering like typical eighty-year-olds seem to do. They’re both hard of hearing, and he likes to sing to himself, so every few minutes she lets out a “what?” but he just keeps mowing.
I look up to see Aunt Mallory crossing the street just five minutes later, a container in hand.
She’s always bringing me food. I’m not complaining, but I do feel bad I never have much to offer back.
Usually, when I return her containers I’ll tuck something inside.
Cookies, or last time, a small serving of my strawberry bars.
“Surviving this heat, I see?” she calls, climbing the porch steps.
“Barely.” I laugh, setting my notebook aside and sitting up.
She hands me the frosted container with the blue lid. “I made ice cream—vanilla bean.”
“Oh, that sounds amazing.” I take it from her.
“Get that in the freezer quick,” she says with a wink. “That homemade stuff melts fast.”
“It sure does.” I grin, slipping inside to put it away. When I come back out, she’s already settled into the other rocking chair, watching Holly and Bert argue across the street.
“Now,” she says, leaning forward, “do you think he actually knows she’s talking to him?”
I shrug. “I’ve tried to figure that out. I think sometimes he does and just ignores her. Other times I’m convinced he genuinely doesn’t.”
Aunt Mallory laughs, shaking her head, and we fall into a slow rhythm, the two of us rocking side by side.
“How’s Landon?” she asks after a minute.
“Good. Sleeping.”
“And Mitch?”
“Also good. Working like a dog.”
“I’m sure,” she says. “You two doing okay?”
“I think so.” I nod. “We have our moments—probably now more than ever—but…that’s normal, right?”
“It’s a hard season,” she says gently. “And you guys are so young. You’ve got to find the grace in it.”
“Right,” I murmur. “That’s what Wrenley said too.”
“I’m sure she did.” She smiles knowingly. “Do you two have any date nights planned?”
“We actually just went out Thursday night.”
“Good! That’s right. I saw Carla’s car here.”
“Yeah. She’s been our go-to.”
“Well, if she ever can’t, you let me know. Or…I guess ask Mitch’s mom first. I don’t want to step on toes.”
“Ha, yeah…” I sigh. “She’s…different than I thought she’d be.”
Mallory raises a brow. “How so?”
“Just, not as helpful as I thought she’d be. She presented herself different when he was first born. Then she stepped back.”
“Why do you think?”
“Because we have other people who help. Carla, Macy, you.”
“And why would that bother her?”
“I don’t know. Probably because she expected it to be the opposite for us. And she wanted it that way.”
Mallory looks at me confused. And I know it sounds bizarre, but it’s the truth. I know it; Mitch knows it too.
“She was pretty mad when she found out I was pregnant,” I say, shifting in my chair.
“Gave Mitch this whole speech about stepping up, figuring things out on our own. So that’s how we went into it—scared, thinking everyone else would feel the same way.
But it’s been the opposite. People have been so kind.
Giving us things they were done with, dropping off meals, offering help.
And I think Danielle hates that. I think she wanted to be right—that we’d struggle. ”
Mallory hums softly, rocking back in her chair. “Some people can’t stand seeing others supported,” she says gently. “Jealousy.”
I nod, tracing my thumb over a chip in the arm of my chair. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
She tilts her head a little, studying me. “Has she said anything to you? Or are you just guessing?”
“No, there’s been little things. Like when she brought over a casserole she made and said something about how she didn’t have anyone bringing her meals when Mitch and Macy were babies. She said it with a smile, but…”
“But there was an inner motive that stung,” Mallory finishes softly.
“Yeah.” I sigh.
Mallory nods, thoughtful. “That’s hard. Some people were never given the kind of help they needed, so when they see others getting it, it feels unfair. But God doesn’t keep score like that. He sends help when we need it—sometimes through people we least expect.”
Her words settle something deep inside me. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”
She smiles kindly. “It’s not your job to make her understand, Callie. Be grateful for the grace you’ve been given. You and Mitch are doing your best, and that’s all that matters.”
I nod slowly. “Marriage, motherhood, faith—they all stretch you. But if you keep talking to each other, keep praying through it instead of fighting against it, you’ll be okay.”
Her voice is calm, certain. The kind that makes the whole world feel quieter.
“I hope so,” I say softly.
“I know so,” she says with a smile, giving the chair one last slow rock before she stands. “Now, you go enjoy that ice cream before it melts.”
“I will,” I promise.
* * *
Mitch gets home an hour earlier than he said he would, and the happiness that fills me is instant.
It’s that easy kind of joy that comes from seeing his truck pull in when you weren’t expecting it yet.
It means he definitely won’t have to work tomorrow, and we’ll have a full weekend together with a slow breakfast, church, maybe even a nap while Landon’s down.
The house smells faintly of baby lotion and dinner leftovers.
Landon’s stretched out on his piano playmat in the living room, kicking his feet and cooing at the plastic keys that light up when he hits them.
He’s been obsessed with that thing lately—kicks it hard enough to make the songs start on repeat.
“Hey, baby?” Mitch’s voice comes from the kitchen, deep and a little tired, but softer than usual.
“Yeah?” I call back, scooping Landon up when he starts to fuss.
He steps out. “Totally up to you,” he starts, leaning against the doorway, “I don’t care what we do, but Luke just texted. They’re having a fire tonight at the creek. Just him, Maddie, and Macy. Brad’s working.”
Part of me wants to stay home—just the three of us, quiet night, maybe a movie or listening to the crickets on the porch. But another part of me misses it. The laughter, the teasing, that feeling of being young and carefree, even if it’s just for an hour.
I look to Landon; he’s happy, fed, awake.
“Yeah, okay, for a little bit,” I say finally, smiling.
Mitch nods. “Yeah? Alright, cool.”
I get up to restock the diaper bag—diapers, wipes, a clean onesie, a light blanket I probably won’t need but bring anyway.
Then I change, because I don’t own a single pair of jean shorts that fit right now.
I roll the cuffs of my jeans instead, tug on a cutoff T-shirt, and knot it at my waist. It’ll have to do.
By the time we pull up to the creek, the sun’s just starting to set. The sky’s painted in streaks of gold and pink. The fire’s already going, smoke curling up through the humid air, and faint music drifts from a speaker hanging from a tree limb.
“There’s the mom and dad!” Luke calls, standing from his chair.
Maddie and Macy smile from where they’re sitting, both in bikini tops and cutoff shorts, tan legs stretched out toward the fire. Mitch sets the car seat down in the grass.
Maddie gets up immediately, peering into the carrier.
“Oh my gosh, he’s getting so big! Look at him.
” Her voice softens into that high-pitched tone everyone uses with babies.
She’s only seen Landon twice since getting back from school, while Macy sees him almost weekly since she does just live next door.
I smile, but my stomach twists a little.
Their bare shoulders, sun-kissed skin, their easy confidence…
it hits me how long it’s been since I felt like that.
It’s the end of June and this is the first time I’ve made it to the creek.
My swimsuit’s probably shoved somewhere in the back of a drawer.
The bottoms definitely wouldn’t fit right now, and the stretch marks that are painted down my thighs aren’t pretty.
I’m not much heavier; I lost most of the weight. Maybe ten pounds linger. But standing next to Maddie and Macy, I feel…different. Like my body belongs to a version of me that doesn’t quite match the scene anymore.
I shake it off and unbuckle Landon, lifting him carefully. Maddie takes him without hesitation, cradling him close.
“He’s perfect, Callie. Seriously, I can’t handle how cute he is.”
“Thank you.” I smile, forcing my shoulders to relax.
We all settle into the circle of folding chairs around the fire. The flames pop and crackle, lighting up everyone’s faces. Fireflies blink along the fence line, and the smell of smoke and freshly cut grass lingers in the air.
“Kinda weird without Brad,” Luke says with a grin, tossing another log onto the fire.
“Quieter,” Mitch jokes, leaning back in his chair.
Brad took a job in Maven, a full-fledged cop now. Or close enough. He’s technically still in field training, but it’s still strange to say out loud.
Luke laughs and sips his drink. “He said he’s working nights right now, but he’s coming up to the lake for the Fourth. Said he wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh good,” Macy says. “I remember he said he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get off.”
The mention of the Fourth of July makes my chest warm—the lake, the fireworks, the boat rides.
This year, we’ll have Landon along. It’s gonna look pretty different, but I’m excited to include him in one of my favorite places, to take him on the boat and let him feel the water, watch other boats go by.
Mitch reaches over, brushing his hand against mine. I glance over, and he gives me a quiet, knowing smile—like he’s thinking the same thing.
The night settles in easy and warm. Maddie and Macy basically steal Landon the whole time, passing him back and forth, his eyes wide as he stares at the firelight.
It’s nice. A real break for both of us.
Until he gets hungry.
I end up back at Mitch’s truck, sitting in the passenger seat with my shirt pulled up, Landon latched and determined, the laughter floating up from the fire pit without me. I listen to it through the open window and feel the sting of it all at once.
We’ll leave early tonight. They won’t.
They’ll go home with just themselves, the way they always have. And for a second, I let myself feel a little jealous.