by Beth Wiseman
“Mom, is there a man staying here overnight?” Brooke brought a hand to her chest. “And please tell me we are only talking about one man.”
“Brooke! Of course it’s only one man.”
“Are you having sleepovers?” Brooke closed her eyes, waiting.
“Sometimes. But it’s still not what you think.”
Brooke’s eyes flew open and she stomped her foot. “Mom, this is the first time in my life that I think I’ve ever been ashamed of you. This is not how you raised me, and how would you feel if I was avoiding you, having casual sex with men, then hiding it from you? Tell me, Mother. How would you feel?” Her eyes began to tear up, and Patsy’s along with her. “I love you, Mom. So much. And I want you to be happy, but you’re being . . . irresponsible.” Brooke lifted her chin, swiping at her eyes. “And you know this isn’t right.”
Patsy’s heart was beating fast, her palms were sweating, and her knees were weak. She opened her mouth to say something, but her lip trembled so much that only a small sound came out before tears started to pour. Hearing Brooke say she was ashamed of her was almost more than she could bear.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you’re upset. But this just isn’t right.”
Patsy hung her head but managed to say again, “It’s not what you think.”
“At your age, I’d think you would be mindful about—”
As the bedroom door flew upon, Patsy was fairly certain she might have a heart attack.
Brooke couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. He was older, thinner, and bald now, but the man standing ten feet from her was unmistakably her father. Brooke felt like she was in some sort of time warp, because this couldn’t possibly be happening.
“I’m sorry, Patsy, but I can’t stay in there and listen to her talk to you like this.” Her father walked to Mom’s side and put an arm around her. Thankfully, he wore slacks and a shirt, not a robe like her mother. He stared long and hard at Brooke. “We wanted to tell you when we thought you were ready.”
Brooke took a step backward, toward the door, one hand over her mouth.
“Brooke, please.” Her mother moved toward her.
“Get away from me.” Brooke held up a hand toward her mother as tears streamed down both their faces. “You just stay here with him and play house.” Oh, God, please don’t let this be happening.
“We’re married, Brooke.” Her mother cried as she spoke. “We remarried yesterday. We’ve always loved each other. Please be happy and—”
“Be happy?” Brooke glanced at her father, crocodile tears swimming in his eyes, then she pointed a finger at her mother. “I watched you struggle all those years after he betrayed you! And what about me? He just took off without—”
“Let me just talk to you.” Her father stepped forward, but Brooke took another step back.
“Mother, I am not talking to him. And I can’t believe you did this!” She avoided her father’s gaze on her and glared at her mother. Brooke had never been this angry at her. “I can’t believe this.” She reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open.
“Brooke, honey, please, just listen. You know your father is the only man I’ve ever loved. You know that.”
“Then go to him, Mom.” Brooke turned around and forced a fake smile. “Because I’m done . . . with both of you.”
Seconds later she was out the door. She heard her mother lean against it, sobbing, and it took everything Brooke had to keep walking to her minivan. She hated to see her mother hurting. But she hated even more to be in the same room with her father.
Owen was pleased with how well his new window air conditioner was cooling the rest of the downstairs. It was going to be three weeks before the AC people could get out to repair the central air, so he’d picked up another window unit yesterday. They were inexpensive enough, and there was no way he was going to keep working in this heat without air-conditioning.
He’d also arranged for Internet service and picked up a forty-two-inch television, which he’d moved from the bedroom into the empty living room when Brooke agreed to come over. He’d brought in the small kitchen table and the two chairs, rounded up an old barstool that had been in the house when he moved in, and unfolded a lawn chair. It was the most ridiculous dinner setup he’d ever seen, but it was working fine. Brooke’s kids were happily munching on pizza and entertained by the television. Spencer kept staring at Owen, though, and when Owen carried the empty paper plates to the kitchen, Spencer followed him.
“Do you want to date my mom?”
Owen stuffed the plates in the trash. “Nope.” He turned and faced the kid. “Don’t get me wrong. I think your mother is great, I’ve just got my reasons.”
They stood facing off for a few moments.
“I’m sorry about what I told you—you know, about Mom.” The kid avoided Owen’s eyes and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
Owen turned on the faucet and washed his hands. “It’s cool. I can understand you wanting to look out for your mom.” He turned to face Spencer as he reached for a kitchen towel. “So, uh, did you ever find out who sent her the flowers?” It was none of Owen’s business, but he’d been curious ever since Brooke mentioned it.
“Yeah. My grandpa.” Spencer leaned against the kitchen counter, frowning. “Me and Meghan have never met him before.”
Owen wasn’t sure what to say, or how much Brooke would want her kids sharing.
“He wants to see us and my mom, I think. That’s why he sent her the flowers.” Spencer walked out of the room, leaving Owen wondering about the situation, but he followed Spencer back into the living room.
“Why don’t you have any furniture?” Meghan asked when they walked in.
The little girl had been asking questions all night, but she was the cutest thing—very animated when she talked, lifting her hands, twisting them together. Much like her mother in personality and looks. She had Brooke’s big brown eyes and sandy-blond hair.
“Well, I have to get all the painting finished, and these floors need refinishing.” Owen kicked at the worn wooden slats. “I guess I’ll get some furniture after some of this is done.” Although, at this rate, he’d be without for a while.
He looked at his watch. Almost eight o’clock. Now Meghan was the one staring at him, her elbows resting on the table, her cheeks in her hands.
“Do you have kids?” She smiled, as if hopeful.
“No. I don’t.” Owen sat down in the green lawn chair across from where Meghan was sitting. He’d found some 1980s phone books in a kitchen cabinet for her to sit on.
“Don’tcha want kids?” Meghan frowned.
Owen crossed an ankle over his leg. “I always thought I did.”
Meghan threw her hands up in the air. “Then have some!” She laughed.
Spencer leaned over and whispered to Owen, “Just ignore her. She thinks babies come from a stork who leaves them on the front porch.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “Because that’s what Grandma told her.”
“Quit talking about me, Spencer!” Meghan told him. Loudly.
“Shut up and quit yelling, Meghan!” Spencer replied even more loudly.
Brooke, where are you?
Both kids seemed to have lost interest in whatever they’d been watching, and Owen didn’t have any other way to entertain them. Not even any ice cream or cookies. They went back and forth again, yelling at each other to shut up, and Owen knew he was out of his league.
He checked his watch again. “Well, your mom is taking longer than we thought, so should we look through the pictures while we wait for her?”
Spencer and Meghan both got quiet and nodded, and Spencer reached for the photo album. He opened it, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Owen. “This is a real sad letter.”
Owen unfolded the piece of paper and read it, a melancholy settling over him. How awful for Adeline, wandering around this big house. Alone.
He scratched his chin. Not so different from me.
Ten
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Brooke hurried back to Owen’s house with crazy images in her head of her children tied up in the basement or something worse. But as she ran up the sidewalk and onto the front porch, the sound of laughter calmed her nerves. About her children anyway.
She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes before she knocked on the door. Spencer opened it, his face lit up with a smile Brooke hadn’t seen in a long time. He reached for her hand and pulled her into the entryway.
“Mom, we’ve been looking all over the house for the hidden bunker!”
“Really?” Brooke sniffled as she let Spencer drag her into the living room. Meghan ran to her, hugging her legs.
“Mommy, we’ve had so much fun. This house is so big, and there’s a big black cat that runs in and out of it and up and down the stairs, but he doesn’t really live here.”
Brooke glanced at Owen, who grinned and shrugged. “I guess he kind of lives here. But not by my choice. I had to put a litter box upstairs since he tends to dart up there without permission and I can’t always get him down.”
Spencer still had hold of Brooke’s hand, which felt nice. He didn’t let go until he had pulled her to a small table in the middle of the living room. He pointed to the open photo album.
“Look how the house used to look.” Spencer glanced at Owen and grinned. “It didn’t have much furniture back then either.”
Brooke leaned down. “I see that.” She looked at Owen. “Sounds like you guys had a great time.” She sniffled again but smiled, glad to see everyone enjoying themselves. “So no hidden bunker?”
Spencer frowned. “No. We even looked in the basement.”
“I didn’t go.” Meghan made a face. “It’s dark and scary down there.”
“I wasn’t scared!” Spencer shot back. “It’s like a cave, and there’s all these pipes and little rooms and things to hold up the house. It was cool. But we didn’t see a bunker.”
“Not really much of a basement,” Owen explained. “Just kind of a glorified crawl space—not finished or anything. No bunker there that I could see—or anywhere else in the house.”
Spencer’s face lit up. “But Mr. Saunders said we can come back and look again.”
Did he now?
Owen motioned for Brooke to follow him toward the kitchen. “I want to show your mom something. We’ll be right back.”
As soon as Brooke was out of the children’s earshot, the tears came. She put her hand over her mouth.
Owen placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I could see that something was wrong, and it looked like you were about to lose it. Is there anything I can do?”
Brooke fought to control the sob in her throat as she shook her head, and she didn’t resist when Owen wrapped his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest and cried. She knew she’d behaved like a child in front of her mother, but the sting of seeing her parents together had fanned a long-burning flame. She finally eased away from Owen and apologized repeatedly.
Owen still had his hands on her arms. “Is your mom sick?”
“In the head,” Brooke blasted before she thought about what she was saying. She took a step back, and Owen’s hands fell to his sides. “Thank you for watching my children, and I am so sorry that you are seeing me like this. Everything will be fine. I just need to get the kids home and figure out—” She stopped. Owen was still a relative stranger, and she wasn’t about to start spilling the details of her past.
A few awkward moments went by. Then Owen said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
He sounded so sincere. Brooke looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”
She wanted to run back into his arms and cry some more, but she had to put her adult face on. She dabbed at her eyes and allowed herself one last sniffle. “We need to go.”
“Okay.”
Owen followed her back into the living room and stood behind her while she talked to the children. Spencer tried to throw a fit about leaving so soon. That’s surprising. Owen promised Spencer that they’d look around again soon.
“Come on, you guys. Thank Mr. Saunders for a nice time.” Brooke grabbed Meghan’s hand, and Spencer and Owen followed them to the door.
“Look at Mr. Saunders’s cat.” Meghan pointed to the far end of the porch.
Owen raised a palm toward them. “He’s really not mine. I don’t even like cats. But he kept hanging around, so I gave him a can of tuna.”
Brooke smirked. “Well, he’s yours forever now.”
“I don’t know about that, but he’s hard to catch. He usually stays away from people, but sometimes he does dart past me and into the house.” He chuckled. “Probably to get out of the heat. But he darts out again pretty quickly.”
The cat jumped off the porch as they all came outside.
“He’s pretty skittish.” Brooke eyed the bowl of food and water. “I see you’re still feeding him.”
Owen snickered. “Yeah. But if you want him, he’s all yours. If you can catch him.”
“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think our Kiki would do well with another cat.” She paused. “I really appreciate your help tonight.”
Owen nodded. “Happy to do it. We had fun.”
“Well, thank you again.” Brooke waved as she, Meghan, and Spencer made their way to the minivan.
Once at home, she went straight to her bedroom, threw herself on her bed, and allowed herself another good cry. She’d never felt so alone in her life. Mom was her best friend, and they’d grown even closer after Travis died. Now she felt like she had no one.
Why is this happening?
Owen went back into the house, which seemed quieter than usual now. For the past couple of hours it had been filled with laughter, silliness, and adventure. He smiled at how excited the kids had been about the prospect of finding a hidden bunker in his house. After an exhaustive search, Owen was pretty sure there was no such thing, but it had been fun pretending he was ten years old again.
He couldn’t help but wonder what had Brooke so upset, and as he got into bed, he reached for his cell phone. He put it down and then picked it up a few times, then finally let the call go through.
“Hi. It’s Owen. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” He paused. “And that you are okay.”
“Thank you. We’re all home, and I will be all right. I’m sorry for breaking down on you like that.”
Owen recalled the feel of her in his arms. “No, don’t apologize.”
“The kids had a great time at your house. Thank you so much for keeping them entertained.”
“They’re great kids.” Owen propped his pillow up behind him. “Your son really wants to make sure you don’t have any male suitors, though.”
“Oh no! What did Spence say now?”
Owen chuckled. “Don’t worry. He didn’t come up with anything new. He just wanted to know if I wanted to date you. I explained to him that I didn’t, for reasons of my own. I mean, not that I don’t think you’re—” Owen cringed, wanting to be honest without being insulting. “I think you’re great. I’m just kinda messed up.” He paused. “I didn’t tell your son that. I just said that I had my reasons. He seemed satisfied, so I think he might allow us to be friends.”
“Aren’t we all a little messed up?” she said softly. “And that’s good to know—I mean, about the dating and all. I’m just not ready for anything like that.”
There was an awkward silence. Owen knew he should feel relieved that she wasn’t looking for a relationship, but his thoughts felt convoluted. He glanced at the time on his phone. Nine thirty. Don’t do it. But as he listened to the nothingness all around him, he said, “Are you going to sleep now?”
“Too early for me. I haven’t slept well since Travis died, so I usually stay up until about midnight rewatching old movies. Sounds pitiful, huh?”
Nothing sounded better at the moment. “Want some company?”
Another awkward silence. “I, uh . . .”
“Just two friends watching a movie.” Owen sat
up and folded his legs underneath him. “It’s just so quiet in here, and I guess I didn’t realize it until after your kids left.” He paused. “Wow. I’m being pretty insensitive, though. I know you’re upset. It’s okay. Maybe another—”
“It’s fine,” she cut in abruptly. “I wouldn’t mind some company either.”
Owen got up and scurried around his room, looking for his shoes. “Great. I’ll see you shortly. Pick a movie.”
“You know it will be a chick flick.” She snickered, and it was nice to hear her sounding a little happier.
“I love chick flicks.” He closed his front door behind him.
“Okey-dokey. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He climbed in his car, started it, and pulled out of his driveway. He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d cried during The Notebook. Twice. “I’ll be ready for anything.”
“I see you pulling into my driveway, so I guess I’ll let you go.” She paused. “How’d you know where we live?”
Owen stepped out of his car and walked up to Brooke’s door. “I walked you home, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
The door swung wide, both of them with phones still to their ears. Then Meghan and Spencer peeked their heads around Brooke, and she grinned. “You said you’d be ready for anything.”
They both pressed End, but before Owen could even stuff his in his pocket, Meghan reached for his hand and pulled him over the threshold. “We’re watching VeggieTales!”
Spencer spoke up. Loudly. “Mom, do we have to watch that dumb DVD again?”
“It’s past both your bedtimes, so I don’t think anyone should get too excited. We can watch one episode of VeggieTales, but you’re both going to bed at ten, and Mr. Saunders and I are going to watch a grown-up movie.”
Owen followed Brooke into a nice-sized living room. Her house was older too, but beautifully restored. He noticed the vintage hardware on the doors, the crisp white bead-board halfway up the walls and floral wallpaper above that, and what appeared to be the original wooden floors that had been sanded and redone. He noticed things like that these days.