Chapter 20
Game night is awkward.
The only salvation is that Mom must think it’s due to our fight, and Abby doesn’t seem to notice. Either that, or she’s trolling us.
Abby lays down her Scrabble tiles and exclaims, “HARD.” Caleb coughs into his fist as she looks at him, puzzled. “Triple word score,” she continues, proud and oblivious.
I jump up from the table with my water glass in hand. “Does anyone need anything from the kitchen?”
“But it’s your turn,” Abby says.
“I’ve got you.” Caleb swipes the glass from my hand, eyes twinkling.
I reluctantly sink into my chair and take stock of my tiles. Because this game is trying to destroy me, my only options are MOAN and MOUNT. I decide the latter is less dangerous, but maybe it’s worse?
I think that kiss melted my brain.
Caleb returns and slides a fresh glass of water in front of me as I lay down my tiles, but I don’t announce my play.
I can’t look at him or my mom, and I can barely face Abby.
She could have caught us. What was I thinking?
Well, I wasn’t thinking, obviously. I’ve spent one week in Grand Trees, and I’m behaving like the teenager I was when I left.
Or that teenager’s rebellious cousin. I never let infatuation make me foolish.
I didn’t date the wrong boy. I certainly didn’t hump the wrong boy in clear view of the people who should be the last to know about it.
Because Mom and Abby cannot know about this, whatever it is. I can’t predict how either of them would react, and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. There’s no sense in disrupting this strange, fragile, extended family dynamic because of my impulsivity.
I haven’t kissed anyone but Jeff in more years than I care to count.
So maybe a fling isn’t such a bad idea for my battered heart.
But is it a good idea to get involved with someone tethered to Grand Trees and all the trauma the town conjures for me?
Should my first flirtation postdivorce be with someone so tied to Mom?
If I pursue this attraction, it could complicate everything I came to do: find peace with this place and rebuild my relationship with my mother.
When I look up from the Scrabble board, Caleb is watching me, chin in hand, gaze traveling over my face as if he’s asking himself the same questions. Or perhaps he’s reading my apprehension.
Mom plays her hand, and Abby adds the points to the score sheet as I attempt to look away from Caleb.
But the intensity of his expression hooks me like a snare, and I can’t catch a full breath.
I know his taste, the texture of his hair, the grit of his beard against my skin.
And whether or not it’s a bad idea, Caleb is the only idea in my head as the memory of his touch possesses each nerve.
I’m grateful when Caleb puts us out of our misery on his next turn with a benign, but game-winning, JUKEBOX.
Abby groans. “You know, some parents let their kids win. You are allowed to do that.”
Caleb chuckles. “And you’re allowed to beat me fair and square. You should try that next time.” He bats her ponytail, and she twists her mouth, leveling him with her sternest glare. Her face is too sweet for real sass, but she gets an A+ for effort.
“Do you see how he treats me?” Abby looks from me to my mom, mouth agape.
Mom laughs, her sober expression finally breaking. “He didn’t take pity on this little old lady either.”
“Ian lets me win,” Abby says.
I bristle, expecting Caleb to react in jealousy or offense and ready to come to his defense.
“That’s because Ian is nicer than me.” Caleb stands and plants a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m going to help Grams, and then we have to head home.”
“Did Mom give you an answer yet?” Abby asks, grabbing his arm.
“Not yet. But I’ll talk to her again this week,” Caleb assures her. I’m curious about what he needs to speak with Lina about. I have a vague recollection of Abby asking something similar last week at the festival. What conversation is so fraught?
I don’t argue with Caleb when he helps Mom into her room, offering me a reprieve from caretaking while she and I cool off. We’ve managed to avoid speaking directly to each other since our fight. Caleb and Abby have been effective buffers.
I clear the dinner plates as Abby puts away the game board. She follows me to the kitchen, carrying the drink glasses.
“Have you recovered from your night with my dad?” Abby giggles.
My face heats and I stammer. “What? I haven’t . . .”
She tilts her head in confusion as she places the glasses in the sink. “In the cabin. He’s a big baby about earthquakes.”
“Oh, right.” I catch my breath. “He really is.”
She laughs. “I knew it. He told me he was all brave.”
I flip on the faucet and scrub the remnants of Carmela’s enchiladas from our dinner plates. Abby grabs a towel and stands beside me, drying as I wash.
“He was,” I say, defensive on his behalf for some reason. “He acted as a human shield when he heard the tree falling.”
“Ah,” she says. “That’s noble. I guess he’s not the worst.”
I laugh. Teenagers. That’s some high praise right there.
“He does that for me all the time. But not, you know, literally,” she says. “Like with my mom. She’s stricter and sometimes kinda stubborn.” Her sentences all sound like questions.
“Oh.” I hand her another plate. The kitchen window faces the ravine, and I can see the end of Dry Creek Loop, just paces away from where I mauled Caleb a few hours ago.
Whether it was ill advised or not, I’m grateful that the kiss is the first thing that comes to mind instead of the accident.
I’m editing this place, redlining terrible memories and rewriting better ones. I look away as Abby continues.
“I spend about half my time at each house. And my dad is super flexible with the schedule, but my mom isn’t.
And I want to change it. But it might hurt her feelings coming from me, because I want to spend more time at my dad’s.
There’s no room at my mom’s, and when the baby comes, I won’t get any sleep.
And I have school and homework and swimming, and .
. .” She trails off. “It’s just easier at Dad’s. ”
I cast a glance at Abby. Her shoulders are tense, and she’s picking at her cuticles again.
This must have been what they were talking about earlier.
Custody. I was old enough to choose where I wanted to go when Mom and Dad split, so it wasn’t an issue for me.
At fifteen, my word was gospel, and at that point, I didn’t care about hurting Mom’s feelings.
I relished it. I never bounced around in an overnight bag or felt like a wishbone being pulled between two homes. I was just left behind.
I don’t know which is worse, honestly. At least I wasn’t conflicted or guilty. Not until years later.
“It’s not that I don’t love my mom or want to be with her and Ian,” she adds in a hurried rush. “It’s just . . .” She sighs. “Dad’s house is home, I guess. And sometimes it feels like Mom started over, and there isn’t enough room for me there.”
I’m amazed she can be open and vulnerable with me, a near stranger.
I’m not as transparent with my closest friends and family.
But maybe my distance is exactly why she’s sharing with me, and I don’t want to let her down.
“I don’t know your mom well, but it sure seems like she loves you very much and that you are just as much a part of her family as your younger siblings. ”
Abby stretches to place the stack of plates in an upper cabinet. “I know I’m lucky that way. My parents get along. They share custody without any drama. They both love me, blah blah.”
I chuckle at her flippancy. “But it sounds like it’s still hard for you.”
“It’s just easier at my dad’s because he’s easier going.”
I cackle. “Your dad. Easygoing?”
“About the little stuff? Totally. I can leave my room a mess, and he’ll shut the door and let me clean it when I’m ready. If I tell him a teacher is unfair, he believes me. Some days, when I’m overwhelmed, he’ll let me stay home from school, or we’ll have a Daddy and Abby day.”
There’s a balloon inflating in my chest, creating pressure and static everywhere. I smile, pushing past the weird fondness blooming without my permission. “But he doesn’t let you win at Scrabble.”
She rolls her eyes. “He never lets me win at anything.”
The man in question strolls into the kitchen, shoving his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, with a subtle smile in place.
“Are we still on this?” He chuckles, and the sound makes me warm all over because I know what his voice feels like against my skin.
“I let you win the most important thing.”
“Oh really? What’s that?” Abby asks as she gives him the side-eye.
Caleb crosses his hand over his chest. “My heart.”
Abby groans as my stomach does an idiotic little flutter. “Oh. My. God. You’re so cheesy.”
“It’s in my job description. C’mon, kiddo. We gotta go.” Abby hangs the dish towel on the oven handle and waves at me as she follows him. Houdini rouses from his corner near the sliding glass door, scampering behind her.
Caleb turns to me at the spiral stairwell. His gaze skates over my mouth once before he gives me a look I can’t read. “Good night, Eden. I’ll see you this week?”
I nod. Good or bad, that much is certain. I can’t avoid him, and I have to finally admit I don’t want to.