Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brodie did his best to sound enthusiastic as his mom showed him hand-tied brooms, artisanal olive oil and shea butter soaps pressed with rosebuds.
He drank a couple of glasses of cordial and leaned on the glossy wooden countertop, marveling at the work that had gone into the place.
But when the time came to leave, he was in his car and out the gates before anyone could stop him.
It was raining again as he drove home. The clouds low and gray in the sky. He wondered if it was too late to call Caleb and reinstate himself on the sailing vacation.
His phone rang as he was thinking about it and Maeve’s name flashed up on the screen. Somehow just the sight of it made up for the last couple of hours. Filled him with a fresh sense of, if not happiness, definitely interest. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he quipped.
She was all business. “I’ve been called into a meeting. Carole is going to collect Zoey from school but I wondered if, erm—” She hesitated as if she’d suddenly thought through what she was going to say. “You’re probably busy but—”
“I’m not busy.” He cruised onto Main Street.
“Okay. I, erm … I wondered if you wanted to take over when they got home. You know, look after Zoey. Only if you want to. She’s fine with Carole.”
“Carole who makes her wash her face with a flannel?”
Maeve laughed.
He felt a tingle up his spine.
“She’s not so bad.”
Brodie found himself smiling like an idiot at the road ahead, imagining Maeve’s face as she spoke, the remnants of the laugh she hadn’t intended but couldn’t help.
Because of him. It made him feel dangerously good.
A guilty pleasure that should be avoided.
But Brodie was very bad at avoiding the thrill of pleasure. “Yeah, I’d love to do it.”
“Sure?”
“Of course.”
There was a pause.
“Thanks, Brodie.”
He almost bashed the steering wheel in victory, but kept his voice deliberately cool as he said, “You’re welcome, Maeve.”
It was only when he hung up, stopped smiling at what had felt definitely like a flirtation, that he remembered why she would ask him to babysit. Not because he was the fun, sexy bachelor friend who was great with her kid, but because he was the kid’s father.
A vision of his dad’s craggy face staring at him with harsh disapproval popped up in his mind. His heart started thumping, frantic, like a mouse caught in a trap, and he wondered if he should stop driving for a moment.
He pulled over at the lights on Main Street and popped into the grocery store for a Coke. Figured he needed the sugar. Then he bought Zoey one, then put it back and bought her a diet, caffeine-free one. Were kids even allowed that? He chucked in a couple of candy bars and a big bag of popcorn.
Maeve had told him that Carole was expecting him, but when he arrived, she glared at him like a bulldog guarding her territory.
“I’m here to take over.” Brodie smiled widely but it did nothing to soften her. “Relieve you of your duties.” What was he talking about? He felt like he’d been hauled in front of the headmistress.
Zoey came into the hallway and started making faces and doing silly moves behind Carole’s back. Brodie raised his eyebrows in warning but struggled to keep a straight face.
Carole gave him a very disgruntled once-up-and-down and, gathering her pocketbook, said, “I’ll be next door if you need me.”
“Yes ma’am,” Brodie replied, chastened by her tone.
Zoey collapsed into giggles the moment the door was closed.
“Don’t do that!” Brodie said, realizing he’d started to sweat under the scrutiny. “She thinks I’m bad enough as it is.”
Zoey clearly couldn’t care less and took a run and jump onto the couch. “I thought we could watch the first Harry Potter and then watch the next ones in order every time you come over.” She didn’t look at him, just took it for granted that he’d be on board with her logic.
And why wouldn’t he? It was a very sensible idea.
But all Brodie heard was, every time you come over.
He saw endless hours of Harry Potter stretching out ahead of him, changing at some point to whatever else kids watched.
He was fine with a movie, loved a movie, in fact, but what he was less fine with was having plans in place, obligations in his calendar.
Brodie purposely lived a very free and easy life, he wanted to be able to pick up his suitcase and hop on a plane at a moment’s notice whenever he pleased.
They had tried to bind him with schedules when he was in the band and he’d coped okay with it then because his brothers were there to pick up the slack if he disappeared off.
Also, being with them just made the whole time feel like hanging out with friends rather than every second timetabled.
When he went solo, however, that was when the scheduling really hit him.
Three hundred and sixty days all meticulously color-coded into hourly commitments.
Five days’ holiday. Three years that started with an explosion of excitement and promises and ended with him disillusioned, and dare he say it, lonely.
But as his manager said: “At least you’re rich. ”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as Zoey made herself comfortable, plumping up the couch cushions, trying his best to muster the same enthusiasm he’d had at the cabin.
But suddenly everything seemed a little more forced.
He was more aware of himself sitting on the opposite couch, aware that she was eight and he didn’t know what to say to an eight-year-old.
He got out the Diet Coke and the popcorn.
Zoey’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” she said, cracking the ring pull then giggling guiltily as it fizzed everywhere.
He laughed along with her but found it less funny than when he’d been with her before, getting up to go and get some paper towel and clear it up.
“Sorry, Brodie,” she said, as if able to sense his change of mood.
That snapped him out of it, he certainly didn’t want her afraid of spilling, or messing up in any way, in front of him. “Don’t be silly, it’s fine—not even your fault, I probably shook it up in the bag.”
He imagined Maeve watching and felt himself want to step up under her gaze.
Zoey seemed appeased and snuggled back into the cushions, holding the Coke like it was a prized possession. “Ready?” she asked, finger poised on the remote.
“Ready,” he agreed, forcing himself to relax, smiling back at her when she grinned gap-toothed at him. “Hey, you lost a tooth!”
“Yeah.” She put her tongue in the space where the tooth had been. “I got a dollar from the tooth fairy.”
“Big bucks.”
“I want them all to fall out so I can get loads of money.”
Brodie rolled his ideas at the reasoning.
She said, “Do you have loads of money?”
His eyes widened. “Well, I…”
He hesitated, thinking for a moment about his wealth.
He looked around at the old-fashioned living room, the furnishings—barely changed, Maeve had said, since her grandma passed.
The well-worn couch that enveloped Zoey like a hug, the TV half the size of his at home and probably a sixteenth of the size of the one he had in his basement cinema room.
He thought of his vineyard and then of his mom’s homemade elderflower cordial.
His custom-built coffee table in Malibu, cut from a slab of onyx, compared to Maeve’s rattan and bamboo one that had a book under one leg to keep it level.
He looked at how much Zoey loved being in this room.
How cozy and safe she seemed, how happy to be home.
He was never home in Malibu more than a week, max.
And when it came to Autumn Falls, this was already the longest he’d been back in years.
All that money, no desire to be home.
As he’d said to Maeve—nowhere’s home. It had made him feel cool and carefree when he’d said it then, now however it felt a little pitiful; having nowhere he really wanted to be.
He wondered if that was how Maeve had taken it when he’d said it.
Had she felt sorry for him rather than being impressed?
He knew instinctively that she—unlike most other people in his life—was good at reading between the lines, looking below face value.
He felt suddenly uncomfortable in his seat, aware that pity was not the impression he’d been going for.
He looked at Zoey snuggled under her blankets, and finally said in answer, “You know, some things are much better than money.”
She shrugged and pressed play on Harry Potter.
Brodie spent the first half of the film watching Zoey’s profile engrossed in the movie. He watched her eyes widen in fright or suspense, watched her smile and laugh and say, “Do you think wizards exist?” and “Would you prefer to fly or be invisible?”
He thought of his dad—My job as a parent wasn’t to be your friend. Hard work. Responsibility. He looked at Zoey slurping the Coke. He didn’t know how to be anything other than her friend. She’d more likely be the one teaching him responsibility.
He tried to focus on the film but he couldn’t concentrate.
He kept thinking about a future sitting in that living room, over and over, hours on end.
He’d told Maeve he’d be there for when Zoey wanted him to be.
He’d told her not to worry. But even intermittent parenting required having to be present. What was the point otherwise?
What would his own parents say if he shirked his duties now he knew about them? It was okay to be living a life free of any responsibility and obligation when it was only his own life he was wasting.
He felt a claustrophobic pressure build in his chest and found himself scratching at the neck of his T-shirt.
But then what was the point of being present, if he didn’t know how to be a father. If he couldn’t offer the guiding principles required of him?
Maybe he could offer Maeve a lot of money. Maybe it was good for something. She could replace her coffee table.
He sat forward, unable to get comfortable, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped under his chin.
When the film ended, Zoey said, “Do you want to play Barbies?”
“Sure.”
He tried to think of it like being with Willow. Growing up, he’d battled her My Little Ponies with his Dinosaurs. He didn’t have to teach Willow anything. And they always had a great time together. But then most of the time he was with Willow, he spent flirting with her dancer friends.
Zoey went off and came back with the dolls, placing the box down on the table.
Brodie sat up straighter, rolled his shoulders, gave himself a pep talk. He was being ridiculous. He could cope with a dose of domesticity. It wasn’t that hard. And he didn’t have to be around all the time.
Zoey handed him a plastic doll and a sparkly hairbrush. “Your one’s hair needs brushing.”
He sat absently brushing Barbie’s hair, thoughts flying all over the place.
Why did he want to help his dad fix the roof anyway?
Brodie didn’t want to fix a roof. He could pay someone to fix a roof.
He’d offered as a favor, but it had become a test of whether he was needed.
To prove that he wasn’t completely useless.
He thought again of everything his dad had said about being a father.
The stress on his face when he said it. The burden of it.
Because to do it wrong came with catastrophic consequences.
It could ruin a person’s life. Make them never want to come home.
“Brodie, what are you doing?”
He realized he’d been tugging so hard brushing the knots out of the doll’s hair that he’d almost pulled her head off.
“Sorry,” he said, placing the Barbie back down on the table.
He felt ill. Wondered if he might have a temperature.
Felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Maybe I’ll just watch you.
” He glanced out the window at his car, felt the pull to leave.
But he couldn’t leave, he was trapped here looking after his kid.
“Are you my dad?”
“Whoa!” Brodie was startled back into the moment. Zoey, too, had put her Barbie down on the table and was looking at him, big wide eyes, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. Brodie swallowed, his mouth dry as dust. “What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like it, I guess. If you lived with my mom and were here every day and at Christmas and on my birthday and came on vacation with us and never left. I’d like it if it was the three of us, forever.”
Brodie’s veins ran cold with absolute, sheer, claustrophobic terror. “Yeah,” he managed to laugh as if that were the dream.
Zoey didn’t laugh, she just said, “Are you?”
For a moment he couldn’t say anything, just felt the pounding of his pulse in his head, the clamminess of his hands, the instinctive almost primal desire to get up and flee. But then, when he managed to still his breath, he looked her straight in the eye and said, “No.”