Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  I put a ball of dough on the sheet and looked their way to see they hadn’t moved. Olympia was watching my hands. Auden was watching me.

  I didn’t stop talking.

  “I know that the weather is going to turn here soon so I probably shouldn’t worry about the deck until next year.” I grinned. “But I haven’t had weather in a long time. I’m looking forward to it. And knowing what it was like in Boston and Lexington, I know by the time summer rolls around again I’ll want to be ready to enjoy that deck right away.”

  My kids said nothing.

  I still didn’t quit talking.

  “So that’s it. Those are our plans for this weekend. Sound good?”

  “Did Dad shout at you?” Auden asked tersely.

  I froze at his question, except my eyes slid to my daughter to see she was shuffling her feet and rolling her lips.

  She’d told her brother what she’d heard.

  I looked back to Auden, not even knowing how to begin to handle this.

  “Yes, honey,” I answered honestly.

  His jaw went hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed before he bit out, “He came here and got in your face.”

  Even though I suspected (though I hoped not), that Martine and Conrad would throw me under the bus and did (often), that was not me.

  So I didn’t do that.

  “I believe we’re all aware that prior to me arriving in Magdalene, I gave your dad reason to be angry with me,” I reminded him softly.

  “You were here by yourself?” Auden asked belligerently.

  “Well, yes, sweets. I didn’t know anyone back—”

  “You were here by yourself,” he repeated, a statement this time, his tone angry.

  I turned fully to them, doughy hands and all.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Are you eating?” Auden asked confrontationally, a change in subject that made my head twitch.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re too skinny,” he informed me irately. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I…” I shook my head. “I lost some weight but—”

  “You’re super-skinny, Mom,” he bit out.

  God.

  He called me Mom.

  He hadn’t said my name in so long, it hurt.

  Killed.

  I didn’t burst into happy tears.

  I told him, “I was busy when I got here, honey. I lost track of what I was eating. I know I lost some weight, but I’m eating again. Promise.”

  After I said this, Olympia shifted a bit to her brother’s side and asked like she was making an accusation, “Are you dating?”

  I stared at my girl.

  How could she know that?

  She must have seen more of the interaction with Boston, Mickey and me than I thought.

  “Well…yes,” I answered carefully.

  My daughter had not shared that tidbit with her brother. I knew it when his eyes got wide before his brows snapped together. “You’re dating?”

  Now how did I handle this?

  When that question hit my brain, it struck me that my children were living with their father and his new wife and they’d been doing it for years, so they knew very well how divorced parents moved on.

  They also weren’t kid-kids anymore. They were old enough to know at least some of the ways of the world, especially those their father already taught them.

  “Yes, I’m dating,” I declared. “And it’s healthy,” I went on. “It’s part of getting on with my life and building a life, enjoying it and maybe, someday, finding some happiness for me.”

  “Are you dating that guy?” Pippa asked and I looked to her, worried she meant Boston Stone as she’d seen me with him and clearly seen me accept a date with him.

  To confirm what she meant so she had a straight answer, I queried, “What guy?”

  “The old, hot firefighter guy,” she answered.

  Mickey.

  Funny she thought he was old. He seemed criminally vital to me.

  I shook my head. “No, Pippa, I’m not dating him. He’s…a friend.”

  “You’re not dating him?” she pushed.

  “No, honey, I’m not.”

  “He’s into you,” she declared.

  I blinked.

  “Jeez, Pip, shut up, will you? Auden muttered and ended on, “Sick.”

  She looked to her brother. “You weren’t there. This slimy guy was hitting on Mom and he swooped in and got in his face. It wasn’t sick. He’s old but he’s hot and that definitely was hot. And he wouldn’t even let Mom put her groceries in the car, that’s how into her he is. And he practically got in a smackdown with that slimy dude when he tried to put Mom’s groceries in her car.” She drew in a deep breath and shared, “And he was the one who saw Dad shouting at Mom.”

  Clearly, my girl had been on the sidewalk a whole lot longer than I suspected.

  Auden’s eyes cut to me. “Did this guy see Dad shouting at you?”

  “He kind of…saved me,” I told them.

  Auden’s eyes went stormy. “Saved you?”

  “Your father was emotional,” I thought it safe to say.

  Auden’s jaw went hard again and his eyes sliced to the wall of windows.

  “So!” I said loudly, deciding that although I was beside myself with delight my children were talking to me, this particular conversation needed to come to an end. “Here we are. Your mom is moving on, dating, the house is getting shaped up and we’re spending time together. Now, it’d be great if you’d dump your things, get settled, take some time to make a list of stuff we need to go out and buy tomorrow, then later, we’ll have dinner and watch a movie.”

  They both stared at me.

  “You can do that now,” I prompted. “I’m going to finish these cookies.”

  Auden looked me up and down and asked, “Are you going to eat some cookies?”

  I really, really hoped that question meant my boy was worried about me. I didn’t actually want him worried, but I thought it said good things that he’d feel anything.

  “Yes, baby,” I answered gently.

  His jaw went so hard at that, a muscle jumped in his cheek.

  Then, without a word, he prowled across the space to the hall.

  “Did you dump my new comforter?” Pippa asked and her voice had an edge of ugly but there was something else there that was reminiscent of my little Pippa.

  “No, Pippa, you didn’t put your other stuff back in your room so I got rid of your old stuff.” I tipped my head to the side. “I hope that’s what you wanted.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered, turning away. “It wasn’t that ugly.”

  She liked it, my stubborn baby girl who was perhaps too much like me.

  I grinned at the cookies.

  My children spent time settling.

  Then they actually did as I asked and made lists.

  We had dinner.

  We watched a movie lounged in front of the TV (and they ate cookies!).

  We went out the next day and spent the entire day shopping (neither of my children was averse to either of their parents dropping a load of cash on them, one thing that hadn’t changed), after which we had dinner out and went to see a movie.

  And Auden drove as I sat beside him, Pippa in the back seat, and we went to the furniture place. I fell in love with two lounge chairs I bought on the spot (and could tell, even though neither said much, though Pippa mumbled, “They’re pretty cool,” that my kids liked them too) and paid a fortune for shipping.

  We stopped for lunch on the way to, and after we drove back, they went home to their father’s.

  Through this, they were not affectionate. They were not chatty. They sometimes were surly, but that was thankfully rare. Mostly they were indifferent or acted like they were putting up with me.

  But they gave me the whole weekend.

  And they spoke to me.

  So I’d take that.

  Oh, yes, I’d take it.

  Absolutely.
<
br />   Chapter Eleven

  Want More

  A couple of days after my children left, I was rushing to get ready for my date with Bradley.

  It was our third.

  And it was not working.

  Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, he was interesting. Yes, he was interested in me.

  But what I was trying not to admit to myself, and failing, was that he wasn’t Mickey.

  He wasn’t so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. He didn’t make me feel so hard I lost sight of everything, even if with Mickey, much of what I felt with him was angry.

  Mickey was not an option for me. He didn’t find me attractive. I knew that.

  And he’d still ruined me.

  Also, who actually did make people call them Bradley?

  That reminded me of my father, who persisted in calling my brother Lawrence, when my brother hated that and everyone, even my mother, called him Lawr and he allowed me (and my kids) to call him Lawrie.

  So I was going to have to end it with Bradley, something I had no clue how to do because that, too, was something I hadn’t done in decades.

  Fortunately, in all the time he’d been gone, Boston Stone had only called twice, and one time I had been working at Dove House so he left me a message (that I didn’t return), and the other time I’d been having lunch with Ruth and Dela so it was rude to talk to him, except briefly.

  In that brief time he’d told me he was coming home imminently, so I’d have to deal with him too.

  I could have worse problems, I knew, having a husband who’d ended it with me. Being on the other side of that was always the wrong side to be.

  So I had to be a grownup and get on with it.

  I was digging through my makeup tray trying to find the lipstick I was looking for when my phone on the bathroom counter rang.

  I looked to it and my heart stopped beating.

  It was Conrad.

  He’d never phone unless something was wrong with the kids.

  I snatched it up, sucking in breath, took the call and put the phone to my ear.

  “Conrad?”

  “I’ll thank you to phone your brother and tell him to stop badgering me.”

  I shot straight and looked unseeing into the mirror.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked.

  “He’s phoned twice, laying into me about turning my children against you, and I’ll not have it, Amelia.”

  “Our children, Conrad.”

  “What?” he clipped.

  “Our children,” I repeated. “And if Lawrie’s calling you and you don’t want to hear from him, don’t answer the phone.”

  “If this is your latest tactic—”

  “Right,” I cut him off. “We’re not doing this,” I declared firmly. “I had no idea Lawrie was calling you but he’s a big boy. He does what he does. I can’t control him. I’ll phone him to ask him to stop. If he doesn’t, you be a big boy and don’t take his calls. Problem solved. What I won’t do is have you blaming me for something I didn’t do. And, I’ll ask, since I didn’t do it, that you don’t bitch to our children about their uncle badgering you when calling twice is hardly badgering, and doing that bitching blaming that on me. Truly, Conrad, with all that’s happening, you should man up and not complain to our children about the situation you created.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked hostilely.

  “Think on it,” I answered. “Now, I’m late preparing for a date and I have to get going. But I’ll say one last thing and that is, you made it clear that communication between us should be curtailed completely. I’ve had you communicating with me twice while I’ve been in Maine, and twice it was unpleasant and unnecessary. So that goes both ways. I’ll leave you to your life. You leave me to mine. And in between, we share our children. Now, have a good evening, Conrad.”

  “Amel—” he started.

  I hung up and when I saw his name pop on my screen when my phone started ringing again almost immediately, I ignored it and kept digging for my lipstick.

  * * * * *

  “Yes, two. I have a reservation. Bradley Tinsdale,” Bradley said to the hostess as I stood by him, holding his hand, looking into the restaurant called The Eaves that I knew was very nice because I could see it. But also because Josie and Alyssa had both squealed over it when I told them Bradley was taking me there (well, Josie hadn’t actually squealed, but her excitement was clearly evident).

  At that moment, it made me nervous because Bradley was taking me somewhere very nice, each date the escalation of nice was rising, as with each date the make out session at my door got more heated (okay, so there was only one other time, still that time was more heated).

  I didn’t know if he was hoping to coax me into bed by buying me increasingly more expensive meals (which wasn’t happening) or if with each date he liked me more and was trying harder to impress me.

  Neither was good since I was ending things with him that night (prior to any make out session happening, obviously).

  This was what was consuming my thoughts when I heard the hostess say, “Please, follow me,” and felt Bradley tug my hand.

  I followed him wishing I hadn’t used my most awesome outfit on this.

  It was my first little black dress since Conrad divorced me. Simple. Skintight. Hem well above the knee (but not skanky). V at back and front, both deep, front exposing cleavage, back exposing skin all the way down to my black, lacy bra strap (which I hoped would be attractive should the V dip lower).

  The dress was an Alyssa pick and it might be simple, but it was spectacular (incidentally, the lacy black bra was also an Alyssa pick, it was not simple and the jury was out on if it was skanky because it, and its matching panties, were sexy).

  My legs were bare but I’d used this oil/lotion stuff on them that Robin had bought me for Christmas the year before that I’d never had a reason to use. But I found the results were divine as it gave a sheen to my skin that seemed natural, was absolutely not, but it was utterly fabulous.

  On my feet I had black pointed-toed, slingbacks with pencil-thin heels, these covered in lace so the rim of the shoe was scalloped delicately…and amazingly.

  I’d also spent a huge amount of time on my hair, arranging it in a messy side bun that took ages to pull off but I thought looked great.

  Why I’d gone gung-ho, I didn’t know. The outfit didn’t say, “I’m ending it.” It said something else entirely.

  Except perhaps that night, I was using my clothes as armor.

  My mind still consumed with what would happen at the end of the evening (as well as uselessly contemplating the pros and cons of my outfit, something I should have done two hours ago), it came as a surprise when I heard Cillian cry, “Amy!”

  I was studying my toes in my amazing shoes moving across the carpet, so at my name, my head shot up, and at what I saw, my whole body jolted.

  Seated at a table were Cillian in a white dress shirt, Aisling in a pretty pink dress, and Mickey in his own white dress shirt under a well-cut, navy blue sports jacket.

  They were perusing menus.

  Oh God.

  Why?

  Why me?

  Cillian circled his hand to me as Aisling turned and looked over her shoulder, the timid smile on her face dying the instant she saw Bradley.

  That troubled me but I had no time for it because Mickey looked our way.

  When he did, his eyes dropped the length of me and shot up, cut to Bradley briefly, then back to me, his face turning to stone.

  Seeing that, how my daughter could think he was into me, I had no idea. He obviously disliked me and I knew this because he didn’t bother to hide it.

  “Do you know them?” Bradley murmured, pulling me closer to him.

  “They’re my neighbors,” I answered.

  “Put the menus at our table, please. We’ll be there shortly,” Bradley ordered the hostess.

  She nodded and swept away.

  Bradley pulled me to the Donovan table.
/>   “Hey!” Cillian cried when we got close and then announced upon our arrival, “It’s my birthday.”

  Shit.

  I didn’t know.

  I controlled the accusatory look I wanted to throw Mickey’s way and instead smiled big at Cillian.

  “First, happy birthday,” I said. “And second, please assure me that you accept late gifts.”

  His smile got bigger. “Totally.”

  “Also, assure me that you provide late wish lists,” I went on.

  He beamed. “Totally.”

  “Good,” I said, still smiling at him. “I expect that list to be in my mailbox by noon tomorrow.”

  “You got it!” Cillian cried.

  Bradley squeezed my hand and I quickly looked up at him, realizing I was being rude.

  “Sorry,” I murmured then looked to the table. “Let me make the introductions. Bradley, this is the Donovan family. Aisling, Mickey and Cillian, the birthday boy. Donovan family, this is Bradley Tinsdale.”

  Mickey stood and offered a hand wordlessly.

  Bradley took it.

  They both looked into each other’s eyes and held their grip two shades too long.

  I fought squirming.

  “Nice to meet you,” Bradley said to the table when he and Mickey finally disconnected.

  Mickey seated himself, his eyes coming to me, and when they did, it felt like they were skewering me.

  He was angry, plain to see.

  But I couldn’t imagine how that could be.

  “What?” I mouthed silently, gaze on Mickey.

  His eyes dipped, came up to catch mine and they narrowed.

  He was communicating, I just didn’t know what he was saying.

  “What?” I mouthed again, leaning forward a little to put emphasis on my soundless word.

  “Amelia?” Bradley called.

  My body gave another jolt and I looked up at him to see him watching me closely.

  “Yes?” I asked, trying to pretend he hadn’t just caught me mouthing to Mickey.

  “Would you like to go to our table or chat with the Donovans?” he asked politely, but a little stiffly.

  “We should probably go to our table,” I replied and looked to Mickey’s family, concerned to see Aisling had righted in her seat, this meaning she had her back to Bradley and me, which was impolite for a girl who was never that way. “Wish list, kiddo. Tomorrow. Noon,” I said Cillian.