Chapter 4
“Careful with the knife, little man. It’s sharper than it looks.”
“I know, Dad. I’m fine.”
The blade landed hard on the cutting board as Winter made his point. He’d been fine all morning. Fine when Zander picked him up, fine when he suggested they cook one of their favorite dinners, fine when Zander had asked how his day had been.
In the past six months, Winter’s once-impressive vocabulary had narrowed down to fine, I guess, and an occasional shrug.
Once, this kid had talked Zander’s ear off about everything from velociraptors to Pokémon, giggling and pulling every bowl out of the cabinet to brew up disgusting concoctions.
Zander knew the change was normal early puberty stuff, and he and Mal had agreed to keep an eye on whether Winter might need more support, but he missed having greater access to what his kid was thinking.
But at least he’d agreed to cook, and he was smashing the garlic clove with the flat of the knife like Zander taught him last year. Even if he was a little more forceful than needed.
Souvlaki pitas with homemade tzatziki was one of Winter’s favorites. He’d been making the sauce since he was just a tiny kid standing on a chair in their apartment kitchen.
But today they weren’t in their little apartment in Boston, but here—in Papou’s old house.
Zander himself had never cooked in this kitchen beyond turkey sandwiches and packs of ramen.
His papou had been no better, subsisting on frozen meals and overcooked oatmeal.
Any Greek recipes, like the one he was making now with Winter, Zander had learned on his own later when a chef he was cooking under had scolded him: With a name like Bouras you sure as hell better know how to do a souvlaki.
He slid the container of yogurt across the counter to Winter, holding back another warning about the knife. Instead, he skewered the marinated chicken as Winter dumped the garlic in the bowl.
“I’ll work on getting another bedroom ready for you here, okay, bud? I just need to move things around and clean some more up there.”
The upstairs boasted three rooms—Zander’s room, then and now; his grandfather’s room; and a small spare room full of furniture Papou had insisted on keeping forever due to its perceived value.
Back then, Zander tried to convince the old man that something being really fucking old didn’t make it valuable, but his grandfather never cared about Zander’s opinions.
“That is,” Zander hedged, “if you want to stay here sometimes. I get that this place is old and musty and—” Hiding unpleasant memories around each corner.
Like the time Papou had told him he would amount to nothing just like his mother, spurring Zander to slam the screen door so hard it fell halfway off its hinges.
“It’s fine,” Winter piped up, beginning a coarse chop of the dill. “This house isn’t so bad.”
Zander couldn’t help his double take. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” Winter shrugged. “It’s kinda creepy, but in a cool way.” His fingers flexed around the knife as he scowled. “I mean, if I have to be here all summer, I may as well have a room at both places, I guess.”
When told of the plan to spend the summer in Sullivan’s Glen, Winter had thrown a mega fit, slamming every door in Mal and Quinn’s house between declarations that he’d just stay in Boston, even if it meant he had to stay full-time with his dad.
But Zander couldn’t keep Winter full-time with his work obligations, and he couldn’t pay his Boston rent without work.
And as much as he hated having to be back in this house, Zander understood Mallory’s hope—that their kid would have the kind of close, loving family Zander never had—and that those relationships could be strengthened with a whole summer in town.
So he’d formed a united front with Mal, door slamming be damned.
Zander put the last skewer in the pan and washed his hands before wiping them on his jeans.
“I know this wasn’t how you imagined spending your summer, but we can make the best of it, okay?
You get to spend tons of time with Granny and Pops, and I don’t even have to really work while we’re here. It’ll be fun.”
Winter didn’t look up from the green threads of dill on the cutting board. “Yeah, fun.”
“You know,” Zander ventured, “I saw that there’s a skate park just one town over. We could go there tomorrow, maybe, see what it’s like?”
But Winter just rolled his eyes. “I don’t skate anymore, Dad.”
Zander pinched his nose. “O-kaay. I’ve heard there are some awesome waterfalls we could hike to. That could be fun.”
Winter slammed the knife on the cutting board, sending dill flying. “Why are you pretending this is all fine when Mom dragged us here?”
“Whoa, dude, I thought the house was cool?”
“That doesn’t mean I want to be here. And I know you hate it here.”
“Hey—” Zander slid an arm in front of Winter, lifting the knife and scooching it away. “Your mom didn’t drag me.” Not exactly. “And I don’t hate it here.”
Winter glared at him, hitting Zander with the upside-down feeling of seeing his own brown eyes, flashing with anger, in his little boy. “If you don’t hate it, how come you’ve never come back with us, not once? Or on your own? How come you didn’t even come when your grandpa died?”
“Hey—”
“How come when we got here you didn’t answer Quinn’s calls? How come I keep hearing Mom and Granny and Pops whispering about how you’re doing?”
Zander dragged a hand across his face. “Those other times you’ve come, I had to work.” He repeated his old excuse. “I had to stay back and—”
“Every time?” His son’s eyebrows shot up. “You had to work every single time? Why is everybody always lying to me like I’m some dumb kid who doesn’t understand what’s going on? God.”
Winter pushed through the door leading to the side yard, leaving the screen door to slap shut behind him.
Zander slumped against the counter, thoughts whirling between present and past. His papou had probably stood right here, watching that same door slam.
Back then his grandfather seemed old as hell, but he’d only been in his mid-fifties that first summer. He was a big man, hefty like Zander was now, with a thick head of black hair seasoned with gray, and wide shoulders always curling in.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he’d asked Zander that first night, cold spaghetti on the table between them.
“Because my mom doesn’t want me?”
The man hadn’t denied it, just sighed and looked at Zander with hard eyes. “She’s afraid you’ll mess up your own life the way she messed up hers. You’re here to stay out of trouble.”
Staring now at the screen door, Zander wondered what the fuck he thought he was doing coming back.
Then he heard a short, muffled sob from outside, and pulled his head out of his own ass.
His kid was sitting on the small concrete landing just outside the door, tossing pebbles into the tall grass. Zander squished himself next to him, knocking Winter’s knee with his until his son got the hint and gave him a little more room, swiping quickly at his cheeks.
“Listen, buddy.” Zander leaned forward onto his knees, knowing that his old BS wouldn’t fly anymore.
That shit he’d never hoped to tell Winter had to be aired out, at least a little.
“It’s never been my intention to lie to you.
I’ve just tried to protect you from my stuff.
When I was a kid, my mom had a hard time.
She had a lot going on, mentally and emotionally, and parenting me was…
” Zander cleared his throat. “Difficult for her. So for the summers when I was in high school, she’d send me here to stay with her dad. ”
He glanced up at the house, remembering the long evening shadows it cast on the grass the night he’d arrived. “The problem was, he had a hard time with me, too, so the summers weren’t great. I was a pain in the ass, and he was a mean old man, and we didn’t like each other much.”
Winter shot Zander a short, worried look. “Did he—”
“It was never physical,” Zander clarified.
But for a few stern grips of his shoulder, his grandfather hadn’t touched him at all in all those months they shared a house.
“But he was determined to make me act a certain way and I was determined to fight him at every turn, and it was really, really hard. So I’ve avoided coming back here.
But I didn’t mean to ever spread that feeling to you. ”
Winter blinked at him a few times, worrying his lip with his teeth. “Is that why you don’t talk to your mom? Because she sent you here?”
Going no contact with his mom had been one of the best and worst decisions he’d ever made.
The guilt of cutting off someone clearly impacted by depression and addiction was a heavy blanket—he didn’t want to blame his mom for an illness beyond her control, but Zander needed space for his own healing. To be better for Winter.
“No. I was mad about that for a while, but things between her and me weren’t always terrible.
Just… really complicated.” Like the way she’d ghost for months and then contact Zander when she needed to be dug out of a problem, or how’d she get vicious with him when he expressed concern about her health and safety.
“And that’s not for you to worry about, bud.
” He laid a hand on Winter’s back, relieved to feel his son lean into him instead of away, at least this once.
“But the point is, I’m here now, and so are you.
And we might have complicated feelings about it, but we’re going to make the best of it, you and me, all right? ”
Winter tossed another rock. “Do we have to?”
“Yes,” Zander said, resolved. This was more important than any to-do list for the house. If Zander was going to help Winter grow up, he needed to do some growing up himself. Hiding away for the summer wasn’t going to cut it. “We do. How about you and I make an agreement?”
He angled toward Winter, waiting till his son peered up at him to continue. “We’ll both make the best of this summer and try to have a good time here, okay? Even if it’s hard sometimes. We’ll commit together.”
Winter’s brows went even higher. “You’re going to do that? Have a good time?”
“Yeah, I am!” Zander pushed his shoulder into Winter’s. “I promise to try if you do. What should we do first to give this town a chance?”
Winter cracked a smile now, the kind reserved for when he knew he was about to get his way. “It would be cool to see the bees again.”
Zander’s fist clenched against his thigh. Of all the requests, it had to be this one. “The bees. Right. Penny’s bees.”
“She said she’d be at the farmer’s market. Will you go talk to her about it, figure out a time she can show me everything?”
He’d been in town only a matter of days and this woman already haunted him like when he was a teenager, when his papou went out of his way to tell Zander all about the perfect Penny Becker, the girl who made her family proud.
Now she was next door, freckles and all, and Winter—the kid Zander had come here to connect with, the kid he’d do anything for—was already infatuated with her.
Would Zander willingly encounter Penny again, this time asking for a favor? Would he give her another chance to hit him with that haughty, judgmental stare, just to keep his kid happy?
Damn right he would.