by Levine, Nina
Five hours later, I receive a call from the detective handling Jolene’s case, and as we talk, I realise my divorce is not as close as I hoped.
“We need you to go back and see your wife. Tomorrow,” he says.
I grit my teeth. “I told you I was done. I’m not going back.”
“If you don’t do this, Mr Hardy, we will bring you in for questioning over the armed robbery.”
“If I do this, will it be the end of it?” If he agrees I’ll ask Barry to work out a deal with him.
“That depends on whether you get the information we need. You bring me the information as to Jolene’s whereabouts on the day in question and whether she ever visited that carwash, and we’ll renegotiate our terms.”
As I listen to him, my mind has already drifted away. Callie feels further out of my grasp than ever before. Because I’m lying to her if I don’t tell her what’s going on. But to confide will only be bringing her further into a fucked-up situation I don’t want to taint her with.
12
Callie
“Thank you so much for doing this, Callie,” Paris says with a huge smile as she grabs her bag to leave.
I arrived at Luke’s place ten minutes ago, and she gave me a quick tour and a few instructions for Sean’s dinner and bedtime.
“Anytime. I’m happy to help wherever I can.”
She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Luke hit gold with you.”
“I feel the same way.”
She sighs and a dreamy look floats across her face. “Love. I can’t wait to experience it one day.” She swipes her keys off the kitchen counter. “I better go. Otherwise, I’ll be late for my shift.”
She exits the house in a mad whirlwind. She informed me she’s studying nursing and has to take on shifts at the hospital. Apparently, she can usually get shifts that work in with Luke, but not tonight.
“Callie!” Sean’s panicked voice echoes through the house, and I freeze with my own panic.
What the hell were you thinking offering to babysit a four-year-old?
You have zero experience with children.
And now you want to potentially kill Luke’s offspring?
Oh, shut up.
I run towards where his voice came from and find him standing near the toilet with a sad expression on his face. “I had an accident. I weed my pants.”
Oh, the poor little poppet.
“It’s okay. I can get you some clean clothes.”
His brow furrows, and he looks at me like I am stupid. “Silly, I need a bath. I’m dirty.”
Right.
I knew that.
He stares at me, clearly waiting for me to make the next move. I wonder exactly how smart four-year-olds are. I mean, is he smart enough to know I have no fucking clue what I’m doing?
Fake it until you make it.
Quick, just run the damn bath.
“Okay, let’s get you in the bath then.” I head into the bathroom and drop to my knees in front of the bath. Turning the taps, I say, “How hot do you like it?”
“I like it really hot, but Daddy doesn’t.”
“Well, Daddy would know best, so I won’t make it too hot.”
“Maybe we could have it hot. I won’t tell Daddy.”
I turn to look at him. He’s watching me with expectation. And as much as I don’t know Sean, I recognise the sneaky glint in his eyes.
Oh, God, what was I thinking wondering how smart four-year-olds are? Maybe they’re not all smart, but this one certainly is.
I smile. “Sorry, mate, but we have to do what Daddy says.” As much as I want to win him over, I’m not doing it by upsetting Luke.
He shrugs. “Maybe we could have extra ice cream later instead.”
Dear Lord.
Is this going to go on all night?
A girl’s only got so much willpower, and those puppy-dog eyes he’s using on me might just crush my strength.
I decide it might be best to ignore that for the moment. I jerk my chin at him. “Let’s get these clothes off you. And then we can talk about what games you play in the bath.”
His eyes light up at that. Stepping closer to me, he lifts his arms for me to take his shirt off. “Paris has ice cubes we play with. They’re in the freezer.”
I finish taking his clothes off. “That sounds like fun. Let’s go get them.”
The bath is slowly filling up, so I have plenty of time to grab the ice cubes. I have no clue why playing with them would be fun for a child, but then again, my parents were never about the fun.
A few moments later, I’ve located the cubes, and I realise why Sean loves this. They are coloured. I would totally have loved to play with coloured cubes that melt in the bath, too.
I pass the tray to him and let him carry it back to the bathroom. He guards it zealously as we walk, and I smile at his determination. I love how something so simple as coloured ice cubes are this important to him.
The bath has enough water in it when we return, so I turn the taps off and help him in. He immediately begins emptying the trays, and soon we have a bath full of colour. His excitement is contagious, and we spend the next ten minutes splashing around and laughing. There’s possibly a little too much water on the floor, but I was so caught up in playing that I didn’t notice it happening.
“Uh, oh,” he says as he eyes the floor. His gaze meets mine. “Daddy would not be happy about that.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Pressing my finger to my lips, I say, “Shhh, we’ll clean it up before he gets home.”
Oh, God, I am going to hell.
Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.
Straight to hell for encouraging a child to withhold the truth from their parent.
His mouth curls up in a cheeky grin, and he nods. “Yeah.”
I spend the next ten minutes cleaning him and then drying and dressing him. When he stands in front of me in his bedroom all clean and happy, I feel a sense of accomplishment.
Maybe I can do this kid thing after all.
“Callie, I’m really hungry.”
I place my hand on his head and mess his hair a little. “Paris made you spaghetti. How good does that sound?” Before she left, she mentioned that he can be a little fussy with his food. She warned that I might struggle with dinner.
He scrunches his little face. “I don’t like sgetti.”
“Paris told me you love it.” A white lie never killed anyone, right?
He shakes his head with force, and his voice becomes whiny. “Nope, I don’t. I hate it.”
I stare down at him.
Would it be so bad if I had a quick vodka shot right about now?
“I’m going to get it ready and show you how yummy this spaghetti is. I think Paris cooked it differently to how she usually does.”
Two little white lies in the space of a minute.
Tsk, tsk.
Motherhood is definitely your calling.
He screws his face up even more than it already was. “Yuck. Paris ruins dinner when she changes it.”
Can I get a desk to bang my head on?
Please, God, help a girl out.
I pick him up and carry him into the kitchen. He fights me all the way. Legs kick at me and arms fling in the air while his head flops back to the point where I think he’s going to end up on the floor. I can see it now—Luke arrives home to find his son splattered across the floor while I rock in the corner.
How the hell do parents do this every day?
I’m pretty sure I’m not mother material.
I’m more than sure I need vodka.
After I place him down, I grab the bowl Paris left out for me and fill it with spaghetti. She’s had it simmering on the stove, so it’s a little hot. I blow it in an effort to cool it down, doing my best to ignore Sean’s protests. He’s not screaming, but I think he’s working up to it.
When I think the spaghetti is cool enough to eat, I announce that it’s ready.
He shakes his hea
d and wraps his arms around his body. “I’m not eating it!”
Vodka.
Stat.
I take a deep breath, praying for divine intervention. Naturally it doesn’t come, so I dig deep in an effort to find my stern voice. “Sean, you need to eat this so you can grow into a big, strong boy.” God, that was lame. That was something my father would have said to me.
He continues shaking his head and repeating “No,” over and over.
I begin chanting in my head.
You can do this.
How hard can this really be?
Surely, parenting is not this hard.
Just as I think I might cave and allow him to eat ice cream for dinner—because, yes, I’m a bad, bad person—my phone rings.
I snatch it up when I see who it is.
“Luke!” Please tell me you’re coming home really, really early.
“Is everything good?” His voice sounds—rightfully—concerned.
“Ummm, no not really. Sean is refusing to eat his dinner, and I’m not equipped with awesome mummy skills like other women. You found a dud in me, buddy. I mean, I didn’t even know you needed to take another bath if you wee your pants. What woman doesn’t know that?”
He chuckles. “I don’t think many people are equipped with awesome parenting skills, Callie. Put him on the phone.”
God… I owe you one for this.
I pass the phone to Sean who suddenly looks anxious when I tell him it’s his father. They have a conversation and Sean’s fight slowly dissipates. He says, “Yes, Daddy,” a few times before handing the phone back to me.
“He should be right now. I’m sorry he’s giving you hell,” Luke says. He sounds a little off tonight.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Are you okay? You sound tired or something.”
He’s silent for a beat. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
“I do worry about you.” He has so much going on; how could I not worry about him?
He ignores that. “I should be able to leave here by eleven thirty at the latest.”
“Whenever you get here is fine. Don’t stress over it, okay?”
“Okay.” Silence. And then he says quietly, “Thanks for this.” In those three words is a whole other paragraph of words. I know that he’s not just thanking me for the physical act of looking after his son, but for so much more that he probably struggles to put into words. Luke is like an iceberg. You only see the very tip of him—underneath his surface, there’s a whole lot more that most people will probably never see or understand.
“Anytime,” I murmur.
We end the call, and I smile at Sean. “Shall we eat?”
He stares at me in silence before puffing out a breath and nodding. And even though a minute ago I was thinking bad, bad thoughts about this small child standing in front of me, I’m now wondering how I could ever have thought them. Because right now, I’m reminded that this tiny human needs adults to cut him a little slack while he finds his feet in this big scary world. He needs us to teach him how to navigate it all, and sometimes that means we need to suck it up and fight our way through the chaos of childhood.
“Callie!”
That’s a tiny human’s voice.
What time is it?
It’s way too early to be awake.
“Callie, wake up!”
The tiny human pulls on my arm, and I concede defeat. Blinking my eyes open, I find Sean standing next to the bed, staring at me with excitement. “Morning,” I mumble.
I need coffee.
Right now.
God, why didn’t you intercept on this one?
Is it because I thought bad thoughts last night?
I promise never to do that again.
“You need to get up. Daddy’s cooking breakfast,” he says, his voice a beautiful wash of enthusiasm and happiness.
I force myself to wake up. Morning’s aren’t my best time. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s gotta be early. Shifting so I’m half-sitting, resting on my elbows, I say, “What’s for breakfast?”
A deep chuckle comes from the doorway, and I turn to see Luke leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest.
Oh, dear Lord, he’s wearing one of those thin, cotton tees that he seems to love. I’ve never seen him wear one in the last year, but all of a sudden, they’re everywhere. Tormenting me.
My eyes drop to his chest, and a shot of lust hits my core.
Quick, look up.
Look up!
I drag my gaze back up to meet his and find his eyes steady on me. Sleeping over last night may have been a bad idea. When he arrived home, I was asleep on the couch, and he woke me to suggest I sleep over rather than driving home half asleep. I’d been exhausted after my day at work and then taking care of Sean, so I agreed. I made the stipulation that we needed separate rooms, so he gave up his bed and took the couch instead. In my sleepy state, though, with him looking as sexy as he does in that T-shirt and jeans, with bare feet, I’m suddenly feeling all kinds of needy.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is all croaky still, and I cough to try to shake the croak. I push the covers off and begrudgingly leave the bed. Not just because I’m still sleepy, but also because I loved snuggling into Luke’s pillow and sheets. His scent is everywhere in this room, and it has to be one of my favourite smells ever.
Sean grabs my hand and leads me to where his father stands. Luke’s gaze moves to take in his T-shirt I’m wearing. It ends midthigh, and his eyes sweep appreciatively over me.
“Luke.” My tone is low and full of warning.
He lifts his eyes. “I can’t help it.”
I’m sure our saving grace is Sean. God knows what would happen here if he wasn’t around.
“Daddy, you need to finish the pancakes,” he says, his face lifted to his father, his eyes imploring Luke to hurry back to the kitchen.
“You’re making pancakes?” I ask.
“Yeah. Unless you want bacon and eggs? I’ve got them too, but Sean asked for pancakes.”
I squeeze Sean’s hand and look down at him before saying, “I’m with Sean—pancakes beat bacon and eggs any day.”
Sean grins up at me and nods. Pulling on my hand, he urges, “Come on, Callie. We’ve got juice, too.”
As I let him drag me out of the bedroom, Luke murmurs, “Looks like you’ve scored a fan.”
I hit Luke with a smile. “Just like he has.”
The last thing I see before Sean leads me away is a new look settle across Luke’s face. If I had to guess, I’d say it was joy.
“Morning, Callie,” Paris greets me when I enter the kitchen. “How did you guys go last night?”
Sean lets go of my hand and climbs up onto the stool at the breakfast bar. I smile at him before saying, “We had some initial teething problems, but once we got done with dinner, we had some fun with puzzles and books.”
“And Lego,” Sean adds.
“Yes, Lego too.”
Luke joins us and his hand brushes across the small of my back as he moves past me to get to the fridge. A shiver runs across my skin at his touch, and I catch his eye when he turns to open the fridge door. His gaze is full of as much want as mine.
I quickly turn back to Paris. “How was work?”
She yawns. “It was good.”
“Wait, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Yeah, but I have an assignment to work on. It’s due by midnight tomorrow night, and I still have a lot of work to do on it.”
“I don’t miss studying,” I say as I recall the headaches of assignments.
“What did you study?” Luke asks.
I groan. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to give me grief.”
He frowns, as does Paris. “Why would I do that?”
“Because everyone in my family did.”
“What was it?” Paris asks.
“Arts degree. My mum’s a journalist and my dad’s a financi
al analyst, and they both told me an arts degree was a waste of time.”
“That’s awful,” Paris says.
“Well, I never did finish it. My parents never let me forget that fact either.”
“Why didn’t you finish?” Luke asks as he pours pancake mix into the frying pan.
“I was finding it hard to afford to live while studying. And juggling work shifts with lectures got hard.”
“Your parents didn’t help you out?” Paris asks.
“No. I moved to Brisbane from Melbourne to study. They told me if I moved, I was on my own. We’re not that close.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she says.
I shrug. “I learnt to deal with it years ago. I wish I had a close family, but to be honest, I’m much happier not having them in my life constantly. We do the mandatory visit at Christmas, and that’s enough for me.”
“What is mandahtry?” Sean asks, struggling with the pronunciation a little.
Luke answers his son. “It means something you have to do.”
Sean nods as he takes that in. “Like eating vegetables?”
Luke smiles. “Yeah, like that.”
“So when I grow up, I’ll only have to eat them at Christmas?” Sean asks.
The three of us laugh, and Luke says, “No, little man. Vegetables are an always thing, even when you’re an adult.”
Sean slumps against the counter and groans. “I think God should have made ice cream a vegetable.”
“I’m with you on that, mate,” I agree.
Paris nods. “Aren’t we all?”
“You know what goes on pancakes, right?” Luke says.
Sean sits up straight and grins. “Ice cream!”
Paris turns to her brother in shock. “Since when does Daddy allow ice cream at breakfast?”
“Since today.”
Paris shakes her head and turns to me. “You need to stay over more often. Daddy Luke is like the strictest daddy in the world. We never get ice cream at breakfast.”
I love the affection these two have for each other.
“I’ve kind of figured that out since last night,” I say.
“I swear he’s overcompensating for the way his mother raised him,” she says as she grabs plates and cutlery.