Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Elliott
Ipark my truck in the school parking lot and head to the side of the school where the kindergarten class comes out, separate from the rest of the students who leave from the front doors.
Suits me fine. The past two days at pickup, it’s looked like a zoo over there, like a bunch of monkeys streaming and screaming out the doors, finally free from their cages.
Like every day this week, every head turns as I approach.
So far, I haven’t seen another father here except for the first day of school when some of the dads joined the moms to see their son or daughter off. That, and the looks I get when I show up, make me feel like a nightlight in a dark room, drawing everyone’s attention.
You’re different.
One thing here is not like the other.
Where is Baylor’s mother?
It’s true. Baylor is the only child here being raised by a single father.
I already knew that, of course. But seeing it with my own eyes every day—all the mothers waiting here for their kids, knowing that Baylor’s mom won’t ever be standing here waiting for her—I don’t know.
It’s the difference between knowing a thing and having to watch it.
“Hey, Elliott.” Mindy smiles at me as I take my spot on the sidewalk.
“How’s it going? How’s Tim?”
I went to school with Mindy. She was a year ahead of me. I used to play football with her husband, Tim.
“Pretty good. Still can’t believe summer is over. Went by in a flash. Tim’s already preparing for the fantasy football draft.”
We make small talk for a couple of minutes until I feel someone step up to my left side.
I turn and see Collins. Her long blond hair is limp, and there’re bags under her eyes. Knowing why she appears so worn knots something in my chest. It’s such a departure from who she was eighteen months ago.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I keep my voice light.
She gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I told Nina that I’d pick up Jacob for her. She was pulled into a last-minute appointment with a client at the bank.”
I nod. “Gotcha.”
“How’s Baylor adjusting to kindergarten?”
“She seems to like it so far. I will say, I’m enjoying the easier bedtime. She can barely keep her eyes open at dinner.”
The bell rings before Collins can respond. Then the school door bangs open and the kindergarten class spills out.
“Walk, no running,” Baylor’s teacher calls.
I smile when I see Baylor break into a walk so brisk she’d medal in the Olympic speed-walking finals.
When she reaches me, she wraps her arms around my legs. “Hi, Daddy.”
I ruffle her hair. “Hey, kiddo. How was your day?”
“It was fun. We made stuff with popsicle sticks.” She shrugs off her backpack and hands it to me.
She’s done this every day so far, as though I’m her sherpa. Then she tugs on my hand. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
I know better than to delay. Baylor turns into a bear when she gets hangry, just like her mother always did.
“All right, let’s get out of here. Good to see you, Collins.”
She gives me a soft smile, and I lead Baylor through the parking lot toward the truck.
On the drive home, she rattles on about everything she did all day.
By the time we pull into our driveway, I know who got in trouble with the teacher, who threw their sandwich on the ground during lunch because they didn’t like it, who can do two cartwheels in a row on the playground, and who picks their nose and eats it.
The truck stops, and I walk around the front to open the back passenger door and help Baylor down.
“Can I have a snack, Daddy? I’m staaaarving.” She drags out the last word, rolling her head from shoulder to shoulder.
We walk up to the house, and I unlock the front door. “Sure thing. I’ll put something together. You go play in your room until it’s ready, okay?”
I swing the door open, and she runs in past me. “Okay, Daddy.”
Seconds later, she’s out of sight and running down the hall.
I bring her bag into the kitchen and set it on the counter. One thing I’m not enjoying about kindergarten is having to make a lunch for her every night. It’s only day three, and I’m already over it. The idea of doing this on my own for the next…what, seven or eight years, feels daunting.
My mind snags on being the only single father at drop-off and pickup, then I shove it aside. No sense dwelling on it. Even if it is a lot, nothing is going to change. Baylor and I only have each other, and she’ll always be able to rely on me. Always.
After I put together a snack of cheese and crackers for Baylor, I get to work on making her lunch for tomorrow. But when I open her schoolbag, I don’t see her lunchbox.
I’m about to go ask her where it is when I hear two quick raps on the front door, then it opens. From that alone, I know who it is before I hear, “Baylor, your favorite uncle is here!”
Her uncle’s voice brings a thunder of bare feet down the hallway, followed by giggles.
I don’t need to look. I can picture Ansel already swinging her in a circle.
Ansel is two years younger than me, and because we had to share a room growing up, there’s not much we don’t know about each other. For instance, I know he had a pregnancy scare with his high school girlfriend during senior year, and he knows I used to hide my porn under my box spring.
After they’ve said hello, Ansel comes into the kitchen wearing his navy cargo pants and a matching T-shirt bearing the fire department logo. He’s carrying Baylor on his hip. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” I nod and look at my daughter. “Did you bring home your lunchbox?”
She twists her little mouth side to side. “I think I left it in my cubby at school.”
I blow out a breath. “All right, try to remember to bring it home tomorrow, okay?”
Without acknowledging my request, she changes the topic. “Daddy, can you put my hair in a French braid crown tomorrow? Gabrielle had one today, and it was sooo pretty. I want one too.” She kicks her feet for Ansel to set her down, so he does.
My chest squeezes. I want to be able to give Baylor everything she needs to feel as though she fits in with her friends, but I’m out of my depth with a French braid crown.
I cringe. “Sorry, kiddo, that’s a little advanced for me.”
“Yeah, your dad can barely handle a ponytail.” Ansel chuckles, and I cut him a look.
“But I really want one. Can’t you try?” Her big blue eyes stare up at me with such hope in them that I have to suck in a breath, knowing I’m going to disappoint her.
“Not sure I’ll ever be able to pull that off, but I tell you what…I’ll watch some YouTube videos and see if I can find something more than a ponytail I think I’ll be able to do.”
A frown mars her face, and her shoulders droop. “Okay, Daddy.”
“How are you liking kindergarten?” Ansel asks. I’m thankful to him for changing the subject.
“It’s fun so far. Want to see the picture I colored at school, Uncle Ansel?” Without waiting for an answer, she rushes off to her room where she’s already displayed it proudly on the bulletin board my brother Hollis made her for Christmas last year.
I walk over to the fridge to pull out the lunch meat to make Baylor’s sandwich.
“You know, if you had a woman around, maybe she could do Baylor’s hair.”
“Don’t start.” Ansel is always on me to start dating someone. He can’t seem to understand that the only thing I’m interested in is maintaining a stable life for my daughter.
He raises both hands. “Fine, fine. It’d just fall on deaf ears like it always does.” He walks over to stand at the sliding glass doors and look outside while I grab the loaf of bread.
“Here it is, Uncle Ansel. Look!” Baylor rushes over to him, proudly holding her picture of a cartoon bear in the woods. She actually did a decent job staying in the lines.
“Wow, you’re a regular Picasso.” Ansel smiles at the picture.
“Picas-who?” Baylor’s forehead wrinkles.
Ansel laughs and ruffles her hair. “It just means you’re really good. I especially like how you decided to make the bear purple instead of black or brown.”
“Those colors are ugly.”
“I guess they are.” He bends down and picks her up again. “I can’t believe you’re already in kindergarten. I’m going to blink, and you’ll be in high school.”
Her head tilts. “I’ll stay little for you, Uncle Ansel.”
His brown eyes twinkle with amusement. “Glad to hear it.”
Something catches both their attention on the other side of the glass because they turn to look in that direction as I pull out two pieces of bread.
“Look!” Baylor points out the window with a huge smile. I don’t need to look to know—Emelia.
“So that’s the woman here to do the developer’s bidding, huh?” From the tone of his voice, it’s clear to me that Ansel has clocked how attractive she is.
Baylor wiggles in Ansel’s arms to be let down. “Can I go show Emelia my picture, Daddy? Please?” When he sets her on the floor, she jumps up and down on the spot, waving the sheet of paper. “Please, Daddy?”
“Baylor, I told you. She’s a guest. You’re not to be bothering her.” I fold the tab back on the loaf of bread.
“But she said I could come by anytime. Please, please…”
I huff out a sigh. “Fine, but make it quick.”
She’s gone in a flash.
I watch her run across the lawn to be sure she doesn’t go near the lake. “How’d you hear about Emelia?” I ask my brother.
“Where do you think? The Thermos Crew.”
Of course. Why would I think anything different?
“I’m assuming the two of you are getting along swimmingly.” His wry laugh tells me he’s being sarcastic.
“Why would you assume that?” I walk back over to the fridge to grab a slice of cheese.
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s here to shake things up, and if there’s one thing you hate more than anything, it’s things being shaken up.”
“That’s not true.” I frown at where I’m spreading butter on a slice of bread.
“Oh, please. You’re basically a boomer in a fit thirty-four-year-old body. You like things to stay the same. Be predictable.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me because he’s still looking out the window. I take a peek out the window over the sink to make sure all is well and see her and Baylor standing on the front porch, gazing at the picture in Emelia’s hands.
Emelia’s hair is loose and hangs in waves down past her shoulders. She’s wearing a blue and white sundress that cuts off mid-thigh. There’s such a difference in how she’s presenting herself today versus the night she rolled into town—less severe, more approachable, and down-to-earth.
Then it hits me. This is all a part of her ploy to get the residents of Echo Lake to trust her.
“She’s hot.”
A grunt is my only response.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Ansel presses.
“I have eyes.” I glance over to see a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Like I said, don’t start.”
“Fine, fine. What else is new then?” He turns away from the window and comes over, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms.
“Saw Collins when I picked up Baylor today. Chatted with her for a second.”
Ansel grunts. Gone is his affable demeanor.
“Seems like she’s putting up a brave front, but how is she really doing?” I pause what I’m doing and look at him.
Ansel lost one of his best friends and fellow firefighters—Collins’s husband—a year and a half ago on the job.
“Hard to tell. Every time I try to help with something, she pushes me away.”
“Give her time. Everyone deals with loss differently.” Our eyes meet because this is something we both know well from experience. I squeeze his shoulder. “Just keep at it. That’s all you can do.”
He nods, and seconds later, Baylor is sliding open the screen door and rushing back into the kitchen.
“Daddy, Daddy! Emelia said she can do my hair tomorrow before school.”
So much for my daughter keeping her distance.