Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Luke
Jester smiled at Luke as he whipped him with a cat o’ nine tails. The golden retriever wore a black leather motorcycle club jacket with an insignia that looked like a grimy goat eating a human heart.
At least, that’s what Luke’s half-asleep, still-dreaming brain tried to tell him.
Being licked awake was the norm in Luke’s household, but he’d have enjoyed it a hell of a lot more if it were a different kind of mammal.
Preferably one he’d just rescued from a donation bin.
“All right, all right,” he muttered as Jester leaped up on the bed, knowing it wasn’t allowed. Luke thumped him gently on the butt and the dog jumped down, smiling up at Luke, tail wagging like a metronome–if it were set for “Flight of the Bumblebee.”
Luke’s bare foot hit the cold floor, the other foot protesting as he squinted to find his slippers. Living in northern New England meant they were a necessity, like running water or heat.
So were his glasses, until he could put in his contacts.
Jester whined, a friendly sound of pleading as his owner ineptly searched the room. Glasses were on the nightstand on Amber’s side of the bed, and his slippers, well…
He found one.
“You,” he said to Jester, growling. He waved his right slipper in front of the dog. “Find.”
Jester’s rear end faded down the hallway. Back in seconds, he gripped the left slipper in his mouth, dropping it obediently at Luke’s feet.
It was suspiciously chewed.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers in the Maine cold. At least the dog only mauled the sole, he thought, as he put the thing on and went into the kitchen to make coffee.
The day stretched before him, Black Friday some kind of existential punishment every year.
The outlet malls were a good forty minutes away, but the injuries and general mayhem weren’t confined to Conway, New Hampshire.
Plenty of smaller businesses had huge Black Friday sales these days, and the worst part was the roadside calls.
People who got up at two a.m. to drive to Conway, got their cheap stuff, had lunch, then hit slick back roads weren’t necessarily the best drivers on black ice. Luke anticipated a day of blown tires and lots of cars in ditches.
Nadine, the station admin, would have a neat, tidy spreadsheet of all the local stores running Black Friday sales, too.
As he walked into the kitchen, he found Harriet in front of the television, watching some kids’ cartoon, stuffing her face with cookies that he thought he’d hidden carefully.
His daughter’s rule-breaking tendency was testing his law enforcement abilities.
“Harriet?”
“Hi, Daddy!” Guileless, she jumped up and gave his waist a hug.
“You’re not allowed to have cookies for breakfast. You know that.”
“But I’m allowed to have applesauce for breakfast.”
The non sequitur before he’d had a single drop of coffee was a bit much.
“Huh?”
“Aunt Colleen said these are applesauce cookies. Applesauce is healthy.” The missing tooth in her smile only added to her charm.
“But I told you last night that the cookies were being put away and they’re for dessert only.”
Her little face screwed up in concentration, just like Amber’s had. “Oh. Right. I forgot.”
Holding his palm out flat, he parented non-verbally.
Harriet ran over to the bag of cookies, brought them back, and put them in his hand. They were still ice cold.
“And quit ruining my good hiding spots,” he muttered, realizing she’d had to search the freezer and look under the cauliflower–which she hated–to find these.
Tossing a filter, grounds, and water into the coffee machine, he got it percolating as Harriet, bless her, opened the back door for Jester to go out and do his business.
The backyard held a foot and a half of snow, all from last week’s three storms, but Luke had taken his beast of a snow blower and plowed an elaborate maze back there, more for the dog’s benefit than Harriet’s.
The coffee machine gurgled, sputtering at the end, the sound a trigger for Luke’s hand to automatically open the cupboard, grab a mug, and pour. Squeals of pure joy made him look out the window, finding his dog and his kid running along the paths, Harriet in jammies and slippers.
You could always spot a born-and-raised Mainer in winter by their lack of outerwear.
And their paradoxical deep respect for being prepared for the cold.
Harriet was in kindergarten now, the local school still doing half days for the little ones. After Amber had died, her life insurance money and the Social Security check he received for Harriet had been enough to hire a nanny.
Harriet had clung to him like Velcro for that first year, and there was no way she was going to handle any new change, including kindergarten.
Putting her in day care wasn’t going to cut it; she needed to be in her own home with a caregiver.
With a summer birthday, and Amber’s death, it made sense to hold her back a bit.
Instead, he kept her in her familiar preschool.
His mom had taken on the Herculean task of becoming Harriet’s caregiver after Luke’s bereavement leave, vacation, and family leave time was up, but she had her limits. Colleen and Kell helped out, and his dad stepped in sometimes, but they all had their own lives.
Last year, he’d hired Nicole, a nineteen-year-old with stars in her eyes and actress ambitions, but a bank account that forced her to face reality.
She was great with Harriet, but not the most organized thinker.
And, as he looked around his disheveled house, piles of clean laundry still sitting in baskets he plucked their clothes out of, LEGO toys a bruised-foot minefield, and picture books scattered like a tornado hit a library, he sourly realized she wasn’t completing the “light-housekeeping-duties” part of her job.
Then again, neither was he.
“DADDY!” Harriet and Jester reappeared, the dog’s paws covered in snow that would soon melt on the hardwood floors and carpet, another reason for perpetual slipper wearing. No one wanted soggy socks slipped into winter boots.
“Yes?”
“What am I doing with Nicole today?”
His phone buzzed. Reminder: meeting with chief.
He had thirty-eight minutes to shower, shave, and head out the door.
“Not sure,” he said, drinking more coffee. “Sweetie, you watch TV. I’m going to shower real quick.”
“K.” Already sucked into some show involving a panda and a talking pillow, Harriet ignored him.
Jester, too.
His shower, shave, and dress routine was interrupted by the groan-worthy realization that his red uniform shirt was a wrinkled mess. Hair still wet but face shaved, he wandered out into the living room in his red uniform pants and white t-shirt and found it.
The iron and ironing board were still in the corner from Wednesday, when he’d done the exact same damn thing.
Turning the iron on, he shook it. Good. Enough water in there for a steam press and he’d be fine.
Ding dong!
The doorbell instantly made Jester bark, Harriet squeak, and Luke’s skin tingle in surprise.
Who could that be?
His family didn’t bother knocking. Delivery guys left stuff at the door. Their town was so small and rural that no one went door to door selling anything or trying to convert you.
But neighbors did plenty of stopping by on the fly, so this could be anyone from old Mrs. Petrinelli from down the street needing someone to restart her wireless router to Annabeth Khouri with a box of baked goods and a smile that said “date me.”
Harriet jumped up and beat Luke to the door, opening it as he protested.
Before them stood Kylie Hood, looking ten thousand times better than last night, if that were possible.
And she was holding an enormous gift basket that practically glowed.
“Hi!” she said brightly, a little nervous in a way that made him smother a smile. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind. I looked up your address and didn’t know how to call you, and I wanted to thank you.”
“CUPCAKES!” Harriet shrieked. “With GLITTER!”
Kylie bent down at the knees to talk to his little girl at eye level, a gesture he had grown to appreciate in adults. It signaled to him that Kylie viewed his daughter as a full human being, worthy of respect.
“Yes! This is a fairy basket,” she said, then stood again and thrust it at Luke, who instinctively reached forward. Their fingers brushed against each other as he did, the zing from physical contact with Kylie a pleasant surprise.
“Fairy basket?”
“Everything in here is fairy inspired.”
“Are you a fairy? I thought you were a trash witch,” Harriet asked, touching Kylie’s arm with her fingertip, pressing lightly over and over as if testing the merchandise.
Luke cleared his throat and gave Kylie a raised-eyebrow look. “She is not a trash witch.”
Kylie laughed it off, but Luke wondered what the difference was in his child’s strange little imagination.
“First of all,” he said, mind scattered but suddenly unable to focus on anything but Kylie, “you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. I can’t repay you enough for helping me. But fairy muffins are a start.”
He walked to the table and shoved aside a pile of markers, glitter pens, and a huge drawing tablet to make room for the basket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She just stood there, looking around.
Harriet pawed at the cellophane. “I want a fairy muffin!”
“You already had cookies for breakfast, kiddo.”
“Strict dad,” Kylie joked, and he rolled his eyes.
“She got into them before I was up.”
“Hah!”
A look passed between them, one that made him smile even more as they connected.
Man, he’d missed her.
Yet he hadn’t thought of her in a long time.
Why was she suddenly in his life again?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harriet emerge from the kitchen, scissors in hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Opening the gift! If it’s a gift, you have to try it, right?”
This was a battle he didn’t want to have.
“Fine,” he said with a long sigh. “One muffin.”
Kylie stepped forward and gave his arm a nudge. “Pushover.”
He put his hands on his hips, skin buzzing from that contact. “When it comes to her, yes.”
Kylie stepped close to him and whispered. “I made a dozen. That way there’s plenty for all of you.”
“All of us?”
“Sure! You, Harriet, and Amber. I heard you guys got married.” Kylie looked around the living room. “Is she at work?”
His heart sank.
His body tensed.
And grief hit him like a wave, almost knocking him off his feet.
Eyes darting to Harriet, he checked to see if she’d heard Kylie’s comment. Based on the way his daughter was biting her lower lip and cutting open the basket with fierce determination, she hadn’t.
Whew.
A frown on Kylie’s face bought him time, the words in his mouth but not quite in order. Before he could reply, his phone rang.
He muttered a curse and jogged to it. Nicole. The nanny. Probably calling with some ridiculous excuse for being late.
“Hi,” he said tersely into the phone before she could say a word. “Not today. Have to be on time. Big meeting at work.”
And then he walked right past Kylie into his bedroom because waves always pull you out from shore.
Especially the big ones you didn’t see coming.