Chapter 18
SARAH
I watch Slade help Ollie up the rock wall as I push Frankie in the swing. The air has a bite to it, and the ends of my fingers ache.
“Put your foot here.” Slade guides his foot to a plastic rock, standing behind him in case he falls. “Now, reach for the next one. You got it, partner.”
Ollie reaches and pulls himself up and over the side.
He grins from the top. “C-can we do it again?”
Slade nods, and Ollie runs, shoots down the slide, and comes back around.
I smile at Frankie’s chubby face sticking out from underneath her fuzzy hat, but my heart aches. This is what Ollie craves and what I’m deeply afraid he will never have.
Slade spent yesterday evening explaining to Ollie how planes work. And when I found them in the kitchen this morning, I heard the two of them talking and pouring pancakes. Slade is so gentle with him and patient when it takes Ollie time to get his words out.
This is what I wish for my son. A male figure to laugh with and learn from. Not one who is only around when it’s convenient or uses them as a bargaining chip.
I push Frankie a little higher, and she giggles. “Does that tickle your tummy?”
She grins, showing off her tiny teeth .
Slade glances over, his eyes meeting mine, and I smile. He doesn’t. He just. . .stares back. That scowly gaze makes my smile grow wider.
I have no idea what to think of this man. One minute, he’s stiff and hard, completely closed off, and then the next, he’s soft and gentle and says something that makes me know he runs deep.
The way he looks at me sometimes makes me fidgety. It’s like he sees all the messy pieces of me I want to hide while I’m trying to sort out who I am now. So, my mouth takes over to defuse the uncomfortableness of him actually seeing too much.
When he woke me last night, I wanted to kill him for scaring me, but also hug him tight because it was just him, and somehow, I know he’s safe. I shouldn’t. My track record should strip all rights to judge a person’s character, but it was Slade—the guy who’s still here, telling me it will be ok.
I fell into him, and oh man, it shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did.
Those seconds with his strong hands and muscular arms holding me steady were the safest I’ve felt in a really long time.
Maybe ever. I thought if I could stay there and hold on tight, maybe everything closing in on me would get tired and disappear.
But I couldn’t, so I did what I do. I gave him shit. And he did what he does. Find me entirely unamusing. All six-foot-five-ish inches of him just stood there wholly unaffected. That was until I dared to take a gander at his arms.
The muscled man stood in front of me in a tight white T-shirt, sweats hanging low on his hips, with all that black ink on display.
I’ve been curious about those tattoos since the day he climbed into my car because it’s not just one.
It’s one woven into another and another as if it’s a tapestry.
A story unfolding. Maybe his story and my mind craves every single detail.
I may have also wanted to know how far they extend. Over his shoulders and chest, or just the sleeves? But after he accused me of ogling, I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask. I also have absolutely no business wondering what lies underneath my neighbor’s shirt .
“Do I, Love Bug?” I lean down and pull the swing to my chest to kiss her.
“Do you what?” Slade strolls toward me through the mulch.
“Oh, nothing. Just a little girl talk and figuring out what to make for dinner.”
He pushes a swing out of the way and stops beside me, but those green eyes fall to me, knowing I’m full of it. His gaze shifts to watch Ollie.
Frankie babbles from the bucket seat, swinging back and forth.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“He’s a good kid.”
“No. I mean. . .yes.” I wave a hand. “Thank you for coming with us and being so good to him. Just know he’ll be obsessed with you now. I hope you’re prepared.” I pause, trying to say what I want to say. “I haven’t said it, but thank you for. . .everything. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“You’re welcome,” is all he offers as we watch Ollie climb up the slide backward.
“Swade, wook!” Ollie throws his arms in the air from the top.
“It must be difficult to do this all by yourself.” He adjusts his hat.
I blow out a breath. “I wonder every second how many ways I’m screwing this up. They’ll probably spend their entire adulthood in therapy reliving every mistake and bad decision I ever made.”
“You don’t have any help?” His question is curious and gentle.
I know what he’s asking. He’s asking about Miles, but things with Miles are complicated.
He and I are over. Period. They were over long before I could admit it.
There’s a time to try to do what’s best for your children, and then there is a time to accept that sticking it out would do far more damage than life apart.
I’m still trying to understand what kind of involvement Miles will have or if he even wants to be a part of their lives.
So far, he doesn’t seem to care in the least, and that’s not new.
For their sake, I don’t want to lose hope that someday, he’ll be the kind of man I thought he was when I married him .
“Not currently. My mom lives up north near the border, and. . .their dad is about as helpful as a shiny rock.”
Slade grunts.
“He has priorities, and Frankie and Ollie have never been one of them.”
I think about telling him about Miles’s career and that he’ll be moving further away, but at this point, it really doesn’t matter. I have to wait and see if Miles has any plans to consider them in this move. My guess is that it’s only if it benefits him in some way.
“It looks like you’re doing great to me. My mom was a single mom. She didn’t always make the best decisions, but she loved Krissy and me fiercely. She sacrificed every day for us and was one of the strongest women I’ll ever know. They’ll remember that over the mistakes and bad decisions.”
I look at my kids, and my throat tingles, hoping he’s right. “I’ve always wanted for them what I never had, you know?” I blink quickly, knowing there is no room for tears in this.
Ollie zooms over the rickety bridge with his arms out the side, swaying like a plane.
“All you can do is try your best to protect them from the things that hurt in this life. But sometimes, I think maybe we can try too hard.”
I glance up at him as he watches Ollie, taking in his words and wondering if part of them is a reflection. He’s given me tidbits in these last few moments that only confirm the depth inside his big body.
“Sounds like you know a little something about this.” I give Frankie another push. “Krissy told me you raised her after your mom passed.”
He chuckles. “At nineteen, I had no idea what I was getting into, raising a teenage girl.”
“I think you did just fine. Krissy is amazing.”
“She’s. . .something.”
“She’s strong, independent, smart. She didn’t grow into that all on her own, sir.”
He runs a hand over his beard. “Yeah, but I wonder if I focused so hard on trying not to screw up that I forgot to keep living at the same time.”
“Swade, c-c-an you help me?” Ollie stands at the edge of the platform, eyeing the monkey bars.
“Hold on,” he says, leaving me pushing Frankie, whose eyes are beginning to droop.
My mind explodes with a thousand questions from the little bomb of personal insight he just dropped.
I stare at his broad back as he walks toward Ollie, wondering if he realizes what he just gave away. It feels like a giant bone I’m going to gnaw on for a while, because maybe this man feels a little lost like I do.
______
I find an open bottle of red wine in the refrigerator and pour a splash into the pot. I stir the chicken and sauce and place the lid on top.
My phone vibrates on the counter, and I swipe to answer.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. I saw you called the other evening. Russ and I were at a concert in the city.”
I hear the road noise and know she’s in the car. I peek out the window. Slade crouches beside Ollie, watching the excavator dig a giant hole in my front yard to uncover the water main.
When we got back from the park, I ran over to grab the ingredients for dinner. We had lunch, and I put Frankie down for a nap while Slade took Ollie and Grover outside to rake and clean the downspouts.
With my entire front yard being excavated, I no longer have to worry about the mounds of rotting leaves.
“It’s ok. How was the concert?”
“It was so good.” She breaks into song but trails off. “How are you doing?” Her peppy tone is bright as usual .
“I’m ok. The water main cracked or something, and the basement flooded.”
“Well, that’s crap in an overflowing toilet.”
I smile cause she’s not wrong.
“Did you get the water out?”
“Yeah, a neighbor and some friends helped.”
I have purposely not told my mom about Slade. She would make it into something it’s absolutely not, and I don’t even want to try to explain it.
“That was nice of them. So, you’re making friends?”
I feel ten again, reassuring her I know how to be social. It wasn’t easy being the girl with two different colored eyes in a small town. Children are innately egocentric and use abnormalities as a means of exclusion, so I was often forced to the outside. My mom hasn’t forgotten the struggle.
Are Slade and I friends? I’m finding I really hope so.
“Yes. Are you heading home?” I attempt to avoid more questions.
“I’m meeting Russ at the pub later. I have a box of things to send with Roxie. I found a killer dress that will look amazing on you. You have to try it on and send me a picture.”
Of course there is, like I have use for a cute dress.
“I miss you and the kids. I wish you were coming home. I need to squeeze those babies. If you can’t come for Christmas, maybe Cynthia can cover me for a day or two after the holiday rush. She owes me for having to listen to her yak about her family drama.”
My mom lives for drama. The trailer park could be its own reality show.