Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Brodie had pictured Maeve hiding away in the cabin while he and Zoey hung out, but after the moment in the kitchen, she seemed more amenable to his suggestions. Maybe she felt she owed it to him.
When Brodie suggested they all take the canoes out, Maeve’s reluctance was only visible in her slight hesitation before she said, “That sounds fun!”
He wasn’t certain if he’d said it to punish her or to push her out of her comfort zone. His feelings around her were still hazy, tangled with confusion.
And it was fun. Brodie went with Zoey in the two-man, and Maeve went on her own in the single.
She was wearing a perfunctory Speedo but he couldn’t resist the odd glance in between bouts of Zoey telling him that he wasn’t trying hard enough with the paddling.
He took them to all his favorite spots along the river, coves that hadn’t changed since he’d last been there, fishing spots where he and Ethan would go if they needed a meditative moment to get the creative juices flowing, a dip in the rocks that created a shallow pool, which in the summer sun heated up like a hot tub.
Zoey loved it, lying flat like a starfish.
Maeve, he couldn’t read. Her guards were so high it was lucky he could see her eyes.
On the way back, the current in the center of the river did most of the work for them and he couldn’t help watching Maeve as she took the opportunity to look around at the scenery.
Caught unawares, all her emotions played out on her face.
The awe of the giant pines towering above them.
The beauty of the sunlight reflected on the water.
“Look, there’s an eagle!” He pointed. They gasped in wonder, and he felt a swell of pleasure at their response.
Then he felt stupid at his own thoughts of heroism. He heard his brothers’ voices in his head. “That’s not an eagle, Brodie!” Laughing. Faster than him in the canoe. Everything a race to win. He always felt it in Autumn Falls; the fear perhaps that he’d never be able to grow up.
Zoey turned around and said, “Do you think it could eat us?” snapping him out of that thought.
“If it was really hungry, maybe,” he replied dryly.
She narrowed her eyes to see if he was joking and, clearly deciding that he was, said, “You’re bigger, they’d eat you first.”
He laughed, taken by surprise at the comeback. She turned away smugly. He stared at the back of her head, her damp brown hair in a scruffy ponytail, tendrils stuck to her slender neck. That was what it was like for your kid to make you laugh.
Your kid.
He wondered suddenly if he might hyperventilate.
Breathe, Brodie. Breathe.
He focused on a spot on the canoe, thought about calm things, like skiing down snowy white mountains, ordering an espresso after a meal, watching the NBA game in bed while the Malibu waves crashed outside his window.
His life really wasn’t designed for having a child.
“Sorry, what was that?” He realized Zoey had been talking to him.
“I said, do you have a girlfriend?” she repeated, exasperated that he hadn’t hung off her every word.
“No.” He shook his head. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
She made a face like the idea was disgusting. “No!” Then going back to her original train of thought, she asked, “Do you want my mom to be your girlfriend?”
Brodie laughed. Momentarily, he thought about his last girlfriend, Angelina, a supermodel from Milan.
They had been together for six months, seen each other approximately once a fortnight and both dated other people throughout.
He was not in the market for relationships with small-town doctors who would definitely require more commitment than that.
“Zoey!” Maeve cut in admonishingly from the canoe next to them.
“What?” Zoey asked, acting all innocent. “I was only asking. You told me I should always ask if I had a question.”
“Sorry, Brodie,” Maeve said, ignoring her daughter, her cheeks bright pink with embarrassment.
Brodie shook his head like it was of no consequence, but he found Maeve’s blush surprisingly endearing. Turning back to Zoey, he said, “I think your mom would make a wonderful girlfriend, but right now we’re all pretty happy as we are.”
Zoey started paddling again, mollified. Brodie glanced at Maeve who gave him a small smile of thanks. For the tiniest moment he imagined what it would be like for her to be his girlfriend. Warmth sprang to mind. The colors of fall.
But at the same time a claustrophobic pressure on his chest that made him fear for hyperventilation again.
He started paddling with more effort, wanting to get back to the cabin and away from the questions.
But the questions didn’t stop. His daughter, it turned out, was a one-girl question machine. She fired them out like bullets.
His daughter. It shocked him to say it in his head. He went back to calling her Zoey.
“Do you like ducks? I think they might be my favorite bird. What’s your favorite bird?”
“A flamingo. How could you not choose a bird that stands on one leg?”
“Do you think fish can see what we see?”
“Yes.”
“If you had to be a tree, which one would you be?”
“That one.”
“Why do you look at your phone so much?”
“It’s an addiction that I will try and break now that you’ve pointed it out.”
Along with the questions came the activities. Brodie’s body ached. They’d canoed, they’d rock-climbed, they’d walked, they’d made small houses out of branches and leaves, they’d had a diving competition, swimming races.
The pinnacle came when Zoey opened a trunk in one of the bedrooms and found all of Aunt Eleanor’s pageant clothes. “Oh, my goodness!” Her eyes lit up. “This is awesome!”
Later, Zoey stood admiring herself in the mirror wearing a dress that was so big it pooled around her ankles with giant puffed sleeves and so much diamanté it glittered like aluminum foil.
Brodie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind her, slumped in a chair wearing a tiara and a sash, his arms forced into a too-tight spangly jacket, his eyes drooping with tiredness.
Maeve came into the room and let out a snort of surprise when she saw him. “Oh, dear,” she said, in a sympathetic doctor voice.
Zoey spun round, panic in her big brown eyes. “We’re not leaving, are we?”
Having previously been aghast at the idea of cutting the weekend short, Brodie found himself longing for home, to pour a gin and tonic and have a lie down. He was exhausted, mentally, physically.
Maeve, clearly sensing his fatigue, said, “We should head home, Zo, it’s been a long day. Everyone’s very tired.”
Brodie felt a flicker of relief at the idea.
“No!” Zoey looked like she was going to cry, all the tiny diamantés shimmered as she moved. “Please?” She turned from her mom to Brodie. “Please make her let us stay, please!”
Brodie could barely haul himself up from the chair. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said, and even to his ears his voice lacked conviction.
Maeve raised a brow, the corner of her mouth turning up like she could see through the lie. “I think we should probably leave you to it, Brodie, it’s a lot for one day.”
He rolled his shoulders as best he could in the satin jacket, willing his energy back.
He thought of life in the band, the grueling tours, the jam-packed schedules with one day off a year, the promos, the interviews, the rehearsing.
What had happened to him over the years?
His dad would say he’d gone soft. He thought wistfully of the time spent lying on the deck of his yacht, arms behind his head, soaking up the sun.
“No.” Zoey started to cry silently, her shoulders curled forward so the puffy sleeves of the gown flopped forlornly like an under-stuffed toy.
A voice inside Brodie said that he didn’t need this. He’d done enough to impress the kid. They could pack up, he could jump in the car and get the heck out of there.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Your mom’s right, but something stopped him.
It wasn’t the tremble of Zoey’s bottom lip—which, while heartbreaking, was something his well-hardened heart could deal with—instead, it was the stoicism of Maeve’s body language.
She, too, had rock-climbed, she’d come on the walk with them, she’d been cajoled into the diving and swimming races, she’d faced a similar barrage of questions, she’d helped Zoey when her house of leaves and sticks kept falling down.
The only thing she hadn’t done was dress up in gaudy pageant attire, but that was only because she had volunteered to clear up after their picnic dinner.
And yet she would bundle the upset child into the car and drive her back and put her to bed and wake up in the morning and do it all again.
It made Brodie feel weak. And he hated feeling weak.
It reminded him of life under his dad’s roof.
The feeling that he wasn’t good enough, couldn’t cut it, didn’t have the backbone to do an honest day’s work.
He imagined Emmett walking in now, saying, “Someone hands you even an ounce of responsibility and you crumble. Typical.” His reflection in the pageant dress-up only seemed to make him more the fool.
So, he found himself saying, “Stay,” louder this time, with more conviction.
Maeve tipped her head uncertainly, brows raised. “Are you sure, Brodie?”
Zoey dared to wipe her eyes and smile hopefully.
“Of course,” he replied. “It’s not every day Aunt Eleanor’s Miss America outfits see the light of day. Here—” He took his tiara off and chucked it across the room to Maeve. “You’re woefully underdressed.”