by Amelia Stone
And he gave me an answering scowl that told me he wasn’t finished with said interrogations. We glared at each other, silently arguing for a bit. It was mostly in the eyebrows, really.
Jenny chuckled and shook her head. “You two,” she muttered, giving me a squeeze on the shoulders that told me she was glad to see me. She wasn’t much of a hugger.
Sage gave me one more dirty look, then turned and headed to the back of the house. I watched his retreating form, debating for a moment or two whether to follow, or whether to turn around and go home. On the one hand, I’d have to fend off all their questions about the state of my emotional well-being (or lack thereof). And now there would be the added headache of talking about Graham.
On the other hand, tacos. And Violet.
Mind made up, I headed into the house.
“Hey, Dad,” I called out, poking my head into the living room, where he was indeed sitting in his ancient La-Z-Boy, watching a documentary on climate change. I smiled at the familiar sight. The TV might be newer, but I’d seen the old man in this same position, in this same room, in that same chair, countless times during my childhood.
My brother and sister-in-law had bought the little bungalow I’d grown up in when they moved back to South Bay a few years ago. Sage decided not to re-enlist at around the same time my dad retired from the SBPD. Violet was three, Jenny was tired of moving around from base to base, and Sage was just plain homesick. So Dad sold them the house, then moved into the basement apartment. Jenny restored the original woodwork and redecorated the house – with the notable exception of Dad’s recliner – and Sage went to work for the police force.
Time marched on, much the same as it always did, inexorable and cruel.
“Hey, honey.” He gave me a warm smile and heaved himself up, limping over to me.
I frowned. “Hip bothering you again?”
He waved a hand, like it was no big deal. “Just getting old.” Then he folded me into a dad hug.
And ugh, the goddamn tears started again. So much was wrapped up in that one hug. Sadness over Daniel, and an older, lingering sadness for my mother. Reproach for having stayed away so long. Love for his only daughter. So much love.
My dad gave the best hugs, the kind that could cure cancer and rescue stray puppies and tell you everything he was feeling, all in one squeeze of his arms.
“Missed you, little bird,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head.
“Missed you, too,” I sniffed.
But before the waterworks could start for real, a little hand tugged my arm, and I pulled away, looking down at my niece.
You have to help me make the beans, she signed, bouncing impatiently. Then she took hold of my hand, dragging me into the kitchen, where Sage was leaning against the fridge, still frowning at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Sing me a new one, will ya?”
I could hear Jenny’s laugh filtering in from the laundry room, which was on the other side of the kitchen. “He doesn’t know any others.”
“Nothing wrong with this one anyway,” he growled. “Gets results.”
I stuck my tongue out, which made Violet giggle. Then she tugged my hand again.
I’m making dinner tonight, she signed.
I nodded seriously. Makes sense. You’re a big girl now.
She nodded her own little head proudly. You can help. But then she frowned. You have to. Mommy can’t do it. She says the smell of cooking makes her tummy hurt.
“That it does,” Sage agreed, watching our conversation. “Morning sickness is kicking her ass this time around.”
I swallowed a wave of bitterness, trying not to let my jealousy show on my face. It was not Jenny’s fault that kids were just another one of the futures stolen from me by Daniel’s much-too-early death.
But try telling that to my fucking heart.
“Are you okay to eat, Jen?” I called.
She poked her head in the kitchen. “I’ll eat when it’s cold. It doesn’t smell as bad then.”
I frowned. “You’ll be able to smell it cooking from the living room,” I pointed out.
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to work in a few minutes. I won’t get home until eight.” She gave her husband a pointed look. “As long as Sage does the dishes and opens the kitchen window, I should be fine.”
“I guess I can,” he grumbled, though everyone knew he would do it or suffer the wrath of his pregnant wife.
“Won’t the smells in the shop bother you, though?” I asked.
My Aunt Louise had a shop right down the street from Soundtrax, where she sold all kinds of beauty products that she made herself in the shop, using natural, organic ingredients. Jenny worked there part time, and she always came home smelling like the French countryside.
“Louise has this ginger tea that works miracles. I’m actually going to bring some home. Sage switches to nights next week, so I need to be able to cook for Violet.”
I nodded. “Hope it works.”
“Me too.” She gave me a smile before she disappeared into the laundry room again.
Sage opened his mouth to say something, but Violet tugged on my arm once more, saving me from his nosy questions.
I can smash the garlic by myself, Auntie. But you have to cut the onion because I’m not allowed to use the knife. Then we add the spices and the beans and some water and cook them…
She continued to give me the instructions, but I knew the recipe by heart. I bit my lip to keep it from wobbling. We were making frijoles from scratch, using my father-in-law’s recipe. Daniel and I had made them at least once a week for years. He ate refried beans with almost everything, even when it wasn’t a Mexican meal. His dad’s frijoles were his favorite thing to eat in the whole world.
Violet skipped over to the pantry to grab the bag of pinto beans. As I watched her go, Sage caught my eye, giving me a challenging look, as if to say, can you do this?
I took a deep breath, nodding at him. Yes, I could. I could make my husband’s favorite food and not lose my shit. For Violet, I could do just about anything.
But more than that, I could do this for myself.
Several hours later, Sage was upstairs putting Violet to bed, leaving Dad and me alone at the kitchen table. He had that gleam in his eye, like he wanted to talk. So of course I started to get up from the table, trying to make my escape.
“So tell me about what happened with the house.”
I sighed. My dad may have been a kinder, gentler soul than my brother and me. But there had never been any doubt where we each got our ballbuster ways from. He was just more subtle about it.
“Not much to tell,” I hedged. “Doorbell was pissing me off. I took a sledgehammer to it. End of story.”
He grunted. “Need help fixing it?”
I shook my head. “Neighbor hooked me up with a guy. Gabe somebody or other.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“I could have done it,” he grumbled.
I knew that. He was not a fan of paying someone for work around the house, since he was handy enough to fix most anything. But I hadn’t wanted him to aggravate his hip, so I hadn’t even asked.
Besides, Phillip’s wife’s cousin had done a good job so far. He’d boarded up the doorway first thing Sunday morning, and he’d be by tomorrow to start the electrical work needed to rewire the porch light and doorbell. I’d made it clear to him, though, that we were not going to be installing a new button.
And he hadn’t asked any questions, which was worth its weight in gold.
Dad gave me a shrewd look. “And why was the doorbell pissing you off?”
I narrowed my eyes right back at him. “Probably for the same reason you hate doctors.”
He sat back, looking surprised. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“How’s the hip, Dad?” I shot back.
He scoffed. “It’s fine. Just stiff.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but he wouldn’t quite meet my eye. “Happens in old age. It’s rai
ning. Joints go crazy.”
I rolled my eyes. “And what about the cataracts? Have you scheduled the surgery?”
He frowned. “No need to go under the knife. I’m fine. Got my reading glasses.” He patted the spectacles that were hanging around his neck by a chain. The ones that did not in any way help with his cataracts.
I shook my head. “Whatever you say, old man.”
He frowned. “Now listen here, little bird. Don’t think I don’t know what this is about.”
I gave him an innocent look. “Why, Dad, whatever do you mean?”
He let out a mighty sigh. “I do not hate going to the doctor because your mother died in a hospital.” He gave me sad blue eyes. “And I don’t hate you for that reason, either.”
I blinked. I knew that. No one could ever doubt my dad’s love for me. I knew he never blamed me for my mother’s death.
No, I was the only one who blamed me for that.
“Then why?” I asked, my voice rising slightly. “Why would you not want to get all these things fixed?”
“For the same reason you don’t want to talk about your shit with anyone,” Sage said as he walked into the kitchen. He made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing three beers and setting one in front of each of us. Then he plopped his ass into a chair, groaning. “You don’t want to get any better.”
I frowned, blinking at both of them. Sage was smiling smugly like the insufferable know-it-all he was. Dad just looked tired.
I closed my eyes. “I do want to get better,” I mumbled.
“Sorry, what?” Sage asked. I cracked one eye open, and he had his hand cupped around his ear, pretending that he couldn’t hear me.
I glared at him. There was no way I was going to repeat myself.
Thankfully, Jenny came home at that moment, and the conversation ended. She busied herself with fixing a plate of cold tacos, rice, and beans, while Sage asked her about work.
But then she ruined it by asking, “Anyway, what did I miss?”
“Larkin was just telling us all about what she’s doing to feel better.” His tone made it clear that he thought I was full of shit.
“Ooh, please tell me it involves the mystery man,” she said, settling into a chair and putting her feet in Sage’s lap. “I heard he’s hot.”
Her husband scowled at her, even as he took her feet in hand and began to massage. “He is not hot. And she is not going to see him again.”
That put my blood up. “And who says you get to decide that?”
“He’s obviously bad news,” Sage argued. “He drives a car that’s older than me.”
I snorted. “I drive a car older than you, too,” I pointed out.
But he kept going like I hadn’t even spoken. “And he left the scene of a crime before police could interview him-”
“There was no crime,” I interrupted. “And,” I added, raising my voice to be heard over his objection, “you told us all that there would be no interviews.”
“And he’s too tall,” Sage complained, talking over me.
“Yes, hurry. Lock him up.” I rolled my eyes. “He’s tall. Clearly that’s a sign of guilt.”
Jenny laughed. “Gave himself away, eh?” she teased, chucking her six-foot-one husband on the shoulder.
“I don’t trust him,” my brother grumbled.
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t trust anyone.”
“Because no one is trustworthy,” he said. “Present company excluded,” he added, when Dad and Jenny made noises of protest.
“Look, you overprotective goon. Graham is an engineer,” I told him. “Which makes him both well-educated and gainfully employed. He owns his own home. He has a sister who thinks the world of him.”
“That’s nothing special,” Sage argued. “So do I.”
“I don’t even think this island of you. You’re smelly, ugly, and obviously stupid,” I rebutted. “And by the way, he’s the one who broke your baseball trophy in high school,” I told Dad, who merely winked, letting me know he already knew that.
“Traitor!” Sage grunted, reaching for his beer.
“And furthermore, Graham is just my friend.”
A friend I couldn’t stop thinking about. A friend who I wanted to get to know better, in every sense of the word. A friend who had helped me sleep through the night for the first time since my husband had died. A feat I hadn’t been able to replicate since, by the way.
“Friend, my ass,” Sage argued. “I saw the way he was looking at you.”
I shook my head. “Then you were seeing things.”
Graham couldn’t possibly want more than friendship from me. I mean, I’d practically thrown myself at him the other day, feeling up his beard and ogling his mostly-naked body. And he’d responded by taking me to brunch. If that didn’t draw a line in the sand, then I didn’t know what would.
“And he’s still too tall,” Sage insisted.
Jenny laughed. “Lock him up!”
“I’m serious,” he replied. “You guys would look ridiculous together. At least Daniel was only five-nine.”
That did it.
“Daniel is dead.”
My harshly-uttered words echoed in the suddenly silent room. I let out a ragged breath, closing my eyes.
“Daniel is dead,” I repeated, my voice rough with unshed tears. “And nothing will bring him back. Not wishing desperately for it. Not making his tacos. Not wearing his clothes. And definitely not this macho garbage you’re trying to pull right now.” I gave my brother the stink eye.
“I’m just protecting you from making a huge mistake. You don’t want to fuck around with some guy you don’t even now.”
“We’re not fucking around!” I cried. Then I took another deep breath, trying to calm down. “And even if we were, it’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t my business,” he shot back. “My little sister does not fuck around. She does not cheat on her husband.”
“My husband is dead!” I shouted. “And I think it’s high time I moved on, right? Isn’t that what everyone’s been saying? Hurry up and get over it already?” I was pushing too far now, my temper too fucking close to the breaking point.
But Sage was seriously pissing me off. Who the fuck did he think he was, telling me how I should feel? Telling me who I could and could not spend time with? Dictating my motherfucking sex life, like this was the 1950s or some shit?
Fuck. That. Noise.
“Bullshit,” he growled. “You don’t move on from something like that.” He pointed at his own wife. “I would never, ever get over it if something happened to Jenny.”
“You’d better,” she said quietly.
That seemed to shock him. He spluttered, blinking at her and breathing hard. “What?”
She glared at him. “If I die before you, you had better move on. Don’t you dare stop living your life just because I’m gone.”
He shook his head. “I am not even discussing this.”
“Oh, but you can order me to get remarried if you don’t come home from the sandbox? You can tell me to find someone new if some tourist decides to play cops and robbers with you while you’re on duty?”
“That’s different!” Sage got up, pacing the kitchen. “You need someone to take care of you and the kids.”
“And you don’t?” Jenny’s hands were wrapped around her barely-there bump. “You can’t even boil water! Who’s going to feed you if I die? Who’s gonna wash the funk out of your socks and scrub the bathroom every day because you can’t aim?”
“That’s not gonna happen!” he bellowed. “You are not gonna die!”
“It might! Your mother died in childbirth. It could happen to me!”
“Well, you’re just not allowed to die first!”
“Fine! I will live forever, alone, just to fucking spite you!”
“Fine!”
They stared at each other, and each of them seemed to deflate a little. I looked away, uncomfortable watching this. My brother and sister-in
-law bickered, and I’m sure they had their share of fights like all – most – married couples. But I’d never seen them like this.
Jenny was the one to break the silence, and I looked back up to see her once again glaring at her husband.
“Now you listen to me, you stubborn son of a bitch. Larkin deserves to be happy again,” she said, her voice low and insistent. “Her life did not end when her husband’s did. She deserves to love, and to be loved, for the rest of her life.”
I blinked, futilely trying to get rid of the tears that were once again spilling over my lashes. Jenny reached over and squeezed my hand, giving me a sad, but determined smile.
“You don’t get over it,” Sage repeated, though he sounded less sure than he had a minute ago.
“Do you want her to be like this for the rest of her life?” Jenny stood, rubbing her lower back with one hand, and pointing at me with the other. “She’s miserable, Sage! She can barely function. That’s no way to live!” She sighed, sounding tired. “I know you love your sister. Let her have what she deserves. Let her be happy again.”
But Sage shook his head stubbornly, pointing at Dad. “He never got over Mom dying. He never even thought about dating someone else.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Actually.”
With just one word, the argument stopped, and everyone’s heads whipped around to look at him. He gave us all a sheepish smile.
“I’ve dated some.”
“You-” Sage’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He swallowed roughly. “You what?”
Dad nodded. “Here and there. Nothing serious.” He shrugged. “Hard to fall in love again when you’ve already met the love of your life.” He gave me a serious, thoughtful look. “But nothing says it’s impossible.”
I blinked, still trying to bat down the fucking tears. Ugh. I was just so. tired. of. crying.
“Little bird, do you like the man?” Dad asked, his dark blue eyes boring into mine.
Slowly, I nodded. I liked him a lot. More than I ever thought I would. More than I wanted to admit. And definitely more than a ‘friend’ should.