Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
ECHO
T he sun peering in through the cracks of the blinds wakes me up. I flop around like a fish out of water, not knowing where I’m at. I sit up, realizing I’m on the couch. I need to find my phone and check the time. I couldn’t have slept in that late, could I? I mean, I was completely worn out last night. I don’t even remember going to sleep. I sit up and scratch my head. The last thing I do remember is sitting next to Dustin on the porch.
And that was all she wrote.
I look down, seeing that I’m still in the shorts and tank I had on yesterday. The only thing I’m lacking is my sandals, which I notice are sitting perfectly next to each other at the front door. I know for a fact that I’m not responsible for that neatness. There’s only one person who would do something so orderly, and he was that way before the military.
Light floods through the windows, reminding me why I loved this house so much. There’s just something about natural light flooding in that literally brightens my mood. I’m convinced that people who purposely keep their houses dark are vampires. It’s a fact. I know it. I glance down, spotting my phone on the coffee table. “I spy with my little eye,” I say as I grab it.
Okay, it’s only nine thirty. That’s not too bad. It’s probably the latest I’ve slept since having a child, but at least I didn’t sleep the day away. I still have plenty I need to take care of. But first, I need coffee. That’s essential. I wonder if vampires drink coffee.
I walk back to the room and grab my flip-flops. No sense in changing my clothes since I’m just going to be painting again today. I pull off the hair tie I have around my wrist and toss my hair up on the top of my head. Yanking open the front door, I freeze in my tracks.
The porch.
The porch is finished.
Dustin must have stayed up all night to accomplish this. And it looks amazing. The wood pillars look brand new, and the dark stained wood looks like it doesn’t belong to this house. It all looks too pretty to be on the outside where it will be weathered and instead, belongs inside where it can be taken care of. It’s so pretty that I don’t even want to walk on it.
I kneel and press my finger against the wood, making sure it’s dry. I lift my finger away from the wood to see no fingerprint impression. I place my hand down and lift it, checking other places around me before stepping on it. Dry. He must have finished sanding the pillars, cleaned off the porch, stained it, and then painted the pillars last. They still have a shiny, damp, sticky look to them.
I jog down the steps and head for my car, feeling giddy and hopeful as I head to the diner.
I MUST HAVE missed the morning rush. It’s not as packed as I expected. There’re only a few booths filled with customers. The waitress is busy helping bus the dirty tables, so I make my way over to the empty bar counter. I take a seat on a round red stool that spins.
“Sorry for the wait, hon. What can I get for ya?”
I glance up from the menu and smile. It’s the same waitress from thirteen years ago. She’s not the same, though. The gap in time is apparent with the silver trendles that spill from the sides of her ponytail. She doesn’t return my smile as she waits for me to answer. I hate how she looks, worn out and over life. It makes me wonder what’s taken place this past decade to cause such a drastic change.
“I’ll just have a coffee for now.”
She nods. “One coffee coming up.”
I watch as she grabs the cup and pot of coffee, pouring it to the brim. She reaches over and grabs the saucer containing the different creamers on the way back, then sits both in front of me.
I look at her name tag. “Thanks, Bonnie,” I say, holding her gaze and giving her a sincere smile.
“Anytime. Know what you’re havin’ yet, doll?”
“Think I’ll have some pancakes.” I close the menu and sit it back in the holder.
She walks away and gives my order over to the cook. I sit with my thoughts, trying to sift through them, but there’re far too many. Talking behind me breaks through my internal noise.
I slowly turn my head around, making it appear as if I’m checking the door, waiting for someone. The booth is at an angle where I can’t see the woman, but I can see the man, and he saw me. I smile because that’s the polite thing to do when you and a stranger make eye contact—even when it’s not accidental. He gives me a short, curt smile before returning his attention back to the nagging across from him.
“He was gone all night, David. All night,” she says with frustration.
Surely that's not who I think it is and she isn't talking about who I think she's talking about…in public.
“He wasn’t gone all night,” he quietly counters.
“What could he have been doing? It’s not like he was sleeping. That’s what he’s hopefully doing now.”
Would it be highly inappropriate for me to place myself into their conversation and politely let her know that her son was at my house most of the night, fixing up the front porch? I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. More importantly, Dustin would hate me for doing so. If he wants her to know his business, he’ll tell her.
“Good, he needs his rest,” he replies with tired patience.
“What?” she screeches. “He needs to be on a normal schedule.”
“He’s not a newborn, Jill.” He leans into the table, lowering his voice. “Are you going to keep finding stuff to gripe about, or are you going to drop it and just be thankful that our son has returned…alive?”
I hear her gasp like he just sucker punched her. A sense of pride bubbles up within me, thankful that it seems like their dad does in fact have a backbone.
“Glad to see whose side you’re on,” she huffs.
“This isn’t about sides. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be,” he threatens unapologetically.
Dustin’s mom balks, throwing her hand over her chest. “And…what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re pushing your son away.”
“I am not.” I hear the table rattle a bit and the bench squeaking. “I cannot believe you’d even say that.” A few random noises follow, and I watch as she leaves, walking like a madwoman.
Yikes!
“WHAT THE HELL?” I start laughing as I look through the texts Lynsie sent me.
Lynsie: This is as far as I could get him last night.
The text is followed with a picture of Dax half on, half off their porch. It looks as if he walked up to it and then crawled up it like it was his bed.
I call her as I walk out of the diner. I need to tell her about her in-laws.
“Hey, boo!” she answers cheerfully.
“Oh my God. I cannot believe he passed out like that. Did he fall off?” The image of petite Lynsie trying to get him inside the house is comical in itself.
“Yes.” She laughs. “Then he came running inside like a bat outta hell, saying some animal was after him. It was probably one of the rabbits we have around our yard.”
“It was a bear!” Dax yells in the background, making me and Lynsie giggle.
“Whatever you say, babe,” she says, pacifying him.
“I say it was a bear, and he wanted to eat me!”
“Okay, okay. Inside voice, please.” Lynsie goes into mommy mode on him.
“Man, that’s funny.” I needed a bit of a pick-me-up. I should’ve known I could count on Dax to deliver.
“So did you have to put a certain man to bed last night? Or should I say ‘to porch?’”
I can practically hear her eyebrows wagging through the phone.
“I heard that,” Dax says, in a hushed tone, taking heed of Lynsie’s instruction.
I sigh. “Actually, no. He literally took me to the couch.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah, I guess I passed out right after y’all left, and I woke up on the couch.”
“And with no Dustin beside you,” she says with disappointment.
“No. But he must have pulled an all-nighter finishing the porch. Since Dax was, you know, deadweight last night.”
“Classy, Echo. Classy.” Dax’s voice booms through my phone like he’s speaking right into the microphone.
“Love you, Dax,” I say.
“Mmmhmm. I can feel it.”
I proceed to tell Lynsie what I overheard at the diner, feeling like I now fit in perfectly with the rumor mill. Lynsie tells me how Mrs. Adams can be hard to deal with because, in her mind, she just wants what’s best for her boys. She’s stuck in her ways and believes what she thinks is the way it should be. But Lynsie reassures me that she can be just as amazing. It’s just an adjustment getting to know her. Lynsie, of all people, would know with what took place at Dax’s ceremony.
“Dustin just doesn’t take her shit,” Lynsie admits. “And she can’t stand it. He thinks that it’ll put her in her place if he doesn’t allow her to run over him, but I have a feeling it might do the opposite.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Dax has already mentioned letting Dustin stay in the garage apartment if shit hits the fan at his parents. It’ll probably happen sooner rather than later.”