Chapter 29
Kace
"Noooo! I don't want to go!" Dani screams.
Two days after leaving Lindsey looking devastated in the hospital, my fingers are knuckle deep in my hair and pulling hard. "Dani-girl, you begged for these dance lessons. You have to go. Pierce is waiting to drive you to class."
"No! I don't want to go! I can't," she says, sobbing so hard she's choking on every other word.
I stare at her and bite back a groan. This isn't my kid. Dani has her share of occasional meltdowns but this? This is over the top for her. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Why don't you want to go to dance class? You love dance."
A loud bawling wail tears out of Dani's tiny chest, too big and too gut-wrenching to ignore. She's in full-blown Chernobyl meltdown, and I falter and turn to the doorway of Dani's bedroom when I sense a shadow there.
Mads isn't one to hover, but she's been doing it a lot more lately.
And she looks as gutted by Dani's tears as I feel.
She's been on edge too, reverting back to the mood she'd stayed in when Pamela first dumped her with me.
Mads snaps her replies and stays cooped up in her room when she isn't working or with Dani.
And I know why.
It's one thing to know Lindsey's in the hospital and unable to be there because of it, but I didn't allow the girls to go visit, informing them that Lindsey needed rest more than company.
That worked. Then. But she got out of the hospital yesterday.
And when Madi came home from work, demanding to know why Lindsey is now staying at Bronwyn's—WWIII began.
Dani's red face suddenly turns pale, and her eyes widen before she opens her mouth and empties her stomach all over her belly, my shoe and the floor.
Madi makes a gagging-groaning sound, and I say Dani's name, sounding angry when I don't mean to.
The moment she's done, she sobs harder, louder, and I wonder if my eardrums are going to explode.
Vomit doesn't faze me at this stage in my life, but the crying is fraying my last nerve. I sigh and dig deeper for patience, more or less coming up empty. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you cleaned up."
I ignore the mess for now and grab a crutch, leaving one behind so I can urge Dani down the hallway to the bathroom with a hand between her narrow shoulders. She's still crying. And I hear her mumble "Lindsey" over and over again.
I get Dani stripped down and into a warm shower, even going as far as offering to let her have my shaving gel to play with as a distraction. She just shakes her head and pulls a towel into the shower with her, wrapping it over her head to hide under while the water rains over her.
I plop down atop the toilet and set to work cleaning myself up, letting Dani take some time to calm down and hoping the spray of the water will somehow work magic on both of us.
The shower thing is a trick I learned by accident when Dani had the flu.
But the comfort it usually brings seems to be missing today as Dani continues to sit there and sob.
Being a single dad has never been easy, but in the last few days, things have heated up. I feel guilty and to blame because I know why that is. But I can't alter the course. It will only mean more damage if I do. "Dani," I say softly, my voice emerging soft but gruff. "What's going on, baby girl?"
"I want Lindsey," she chokes out, sniffling.
"Dani, I know you miss her, but she's staying with Bronwyn."
"Why? Why is she staying there? Why isn't she coming home?"
"I told you why."
"No, you didn't," Mads states flatly from the doorway. "All you did is confirm that she's living there again and not here. You didn't say why."
I feel both their heated gazes on me now and squirm despite being the adult in the room. "Because it's for the best."
"Why?" Dani demands again.
I really hate that word.
"Are you lying? Is she dead?"
Dani's voice rises shrilly and echoes off the shower walls, and I groan as I shake my head, reminding myself the parenting books say that Dani's reaching that stage of development when life and death become more real to her.
"Dani, come on. You saw her on video when she was at the hospital, remember?
Lindsey is fine. I promise. The hospital released her, but she needs to take it easy and rest. Not take care of us. "
"But if she's sick, she should be here so we can take care of her," Dani says.
Both girls wait for my response to that, and I fight off a curse and more than a little guilt because I've felt the same way ever since leaving the hospital.
"Bronwyn is Lindsey's family, baby. I know you're concerned, but Lindsey staying here was never meant to be permanent.
She was going to leave when my foot got better, remember? "
"But your foot isn't all better," Dani argues, resting her chin on her knees as she sits in the tub, arms around her legs, and stares at me with accusing eyes while wrapped in her towel. "You're not better, and now she's not here and we need her. She has to go to class."
"Why? Honey, Lindsey has to rest."
"But she said we'd make cupcakes," Dani whispers.
I dig my elbows into my thighs and lean forward. "Cupcakes?" This is the first I'm hearing about cupcakes, and I'm lost.
Dani's lips tremble and fresh tears appear. "For my birthday at dance. The mommies bring cupcakes, and Lindsey said we'd make some and take them for my friends. I can't go without Lindsey. Or the cupcakes," she mumbles in a barely audible whisper.
I feel like someone sucker punched me. Cupcakes and mommies, huh? That's what this is all about? "That's why you cried so hard that you got sick? Because you don't have…cupcakes?"
"It's a big deal," Madi says from the doorway, her tone scolding me. "The kid who brings them is like a princess for the day, you know? She's been talking to Lindsey about it for a while. If you'd paid attention, you'd…have heard about it."
For the love of— Why can't anything ever be simple? And how did I find myself sitting here being schooled by a teenager when I'm the dad who should be on top of things like this?
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches, and I'm pretty sure I crack a tooth. "Dani, how about if Pierce stops by the store on the way there and gets cupcakes? I can ask to see if she can stay with you."
Dani shakes her head before going face down atop her knees. She pulls the towel completely over her head until she's a sodden lump in the tub.
I throw my hands up in the air, giving up and begging God for Solomon's wisdom because I sure don't have any of my own at the moment.
Unable to handle the moods trapped within the confines of the bathroom, I grab my crutch and stand. "I'm going to go tell Pierce to head home and clean up the carpet in the living room. Stay with Dani, will you, Mads?"
"Uh, no," she draws with more than a little attitude. "I have to go to work."
I frown at Madi. "Since when?"
"Since always? My schedule is on the fridge, and I reminded you this morning. Bronwyn asked if I could work a few more hours each week because of all the wedding stuff."
"How are you getting there?" I vaguely remember Mads mentioning work, but it was during yet another Dani meltdown when I hadn't cut her toast the way Lindsey always cut it.
"I was gonna walk. Unless you'll let me take my Vespa?" Mads asks hopefully.
I don't like the thought of her walking the streets all the way to the bookstore.
Carolina Cove is a good, safe town, but no town is completely safe.
Nor are teenage girls. And with the influx of tourists here during the summer, the thought leaves me boiling with unease. "You don't have a license yet."
"Yeah, not my fault," the girl mutters. "I'm ready to take the test."
"You need an appointment," I say as a way to avoid yet another landmine of a topic—that of her guardianship.
I feel bombarded on all fronts. Health, work, Dani, Lindsey—now Mads and Pamela.
I can't put it off any longer. I know this.
But I hate the thought of being that guy.
The one that takes a kid away from my own family, even if they're not competent.
"I'll call and make one," she says.
"You'll need paperwork, Mads."
"Oh."
Her disappointment is evident. "I know. I'm going to take care of it," I all-but growl, hating that I sound like such a grouch.
"In other words, I probably shouldn't hold my breath," Mads mutters, sounding like a kid who'd just lost all hope. "So much for my birthday present."
A curse leaves me, and Dani's eyes widen as her head pops out from beneath the towel.
"Daddy, you said a bad word."
"Yeah, well, sometimes Daddy's allowed." Especially when I can't catch a break coming or going. I've texted Pam and called twice, and she hasn't responded to my voicemail asking her to call me back to discuss Madi's presence like adults. Time to get a lawyer. For all our sakes.
"I gotta go, or I'm going to be late," Madi says.
Now her voice has taken on an edge, and the hopeful-driver tone is long gone. Replaced by depressed teenager with a chip on her shoulder.
"Go outside and ask Pierce to drop you off at the bookstore. Please," I add when I see clouds gathering in Madi's eyes. "Let her know Dani's staying home."
"Nooo! What about dance? My birthday! I wanna go!" Dani screams, scrambling to get out of the tub. "It's my birthday class!"
I turn in time to see Mads heading out the door as fast as her legs can carry her. I envy her that. Especially now when I feel trapped by the cast and Dani's mood swings. "Baby, you just spent the last thirty minutes crying because you said you didn't want to go."
"I do wanna go, but I want Lindsey! She's s'supose to take me and have cupcakes."
"I'll go with you." I'm not sure how I'll get us there other than asking Pierce to swing back and pick us up, and it hits me how much running around Lindsey did to keep us all on schedule. No wonder she exhausted herself. I hope she's actually resting and feeling better.
I try and fail to ignore the fact I miss her. The scent of her, the feel of her sitting next to me on the couch. Her laughter and the way her eyes light up when she smiles. Just her presence makes the house feel different, and I didn't realize that until now.
"But only the mommies stay," I hear Dani say in a too-soft, heartbroken voice. "Lindsey's not my mommy, but she's going to be a mommy, and she's like one because she takes care of me."
Suddenly everything makes a little more sense…
I'd convinced myself that distance was a good thing. The answer.
But listening to Dani cry for Lindsey, I wasn't so sure anymore.