Every Little Kiss (Sequoia Lake Book 2)

by Marina Adair

“Don’t throw me under the bus just because you know she’s right,” Grace said defensively. “But if it makes you feel better, we can tackle my disaster of a life right after you find your smile.” Grace’s hand went in a circle to encompass Liv’s face. “And I’m not talking about the plastic everything’s peachy one you give everyone around town. But a real one, like you wore a second ago when you were talking about Man Cub. I’m not saying a fling is the answer, but you need to make a bold step.”

  “I dropped Paxton off at summer camp even though he was one blink away from a meltdown. That’s a bold step.” One that had her looking at her watch.

  Avery’s hand came to rest over the face of Liv’s watch. “You have twenty minutes until you need to go back to being Supermom. Right now we’re talking about you being bold.”

  “Bold is convincing my scared, crying kid it will be okay and driving off while his little eyes followed me out of the parking lot . . .” Liv swallowed down the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had haunted her all day. “I told him it would be a great day, even though I knew it would suck.”

  “That is a bold mommy move,” Grace agreed quietly, her eyes a little misty. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough to drive off.”

  Liv’s went misty too, because Grace knew just how painful the inability to protect a child could cut. She had tried for years to have a family, only to have her dream of motherhood end seconds before it was supposed to begin. It took days for her to admit her baby was gone and months for the sorrow to fade enough to leave her house. In the end, Grace found herself divorced and childless, in a home built for a family.

  “I almost turned around,” Liv admitted.

  “But you didn’t—you showed him that you believe in his strength. So even if it’s an awful day, he has the confidence that he can push through it,” Avery said. “And before you know it, he’ll be jumping out of the car, excited to see his friends.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Liv asked, as terrified that day would never come as she was that it would.

  “He will. The more he steps out of his comfort zone, the more he’ll come to understand that sucky days happen, just like magical ones.” Avery leaned in, her tone careful. “It’s going to be up to you, though, to show him it’s okay to wish for the magical ones. And to enjoy them when they come.”

  “What does that mean?” Liv said, her voice a little cutting. Because she worked hard to make every day magical for Paxton, and her friends sounded as if she were holding him back.

  And that hurt.

  Avery and Grace were her two closest friends. Had been since Liv started at the hospital. Avery had been in long-term care waiting on a kidney, Grace had suffered a shocking miscarriage, and Liv had buried her husband. They’d connected over cupcakes and bonded over loss, eventually promising to be one another’s lifelines.

  Although right then, it felt as if they were lifting the rope just out of reach.

  “Only that you deserve some magic.” Avery’s face softened. “I survived because I received a kidney transplant, but I am living because my mom showed me how to be more than a survivor—she showed me how to be a warrior,” Avery said, her voice so full of conviction Liv felt her chest swell. “That was her biggest gift to me. And it’s a gift you can give Paxton.”

  Avery took Liv’s hand. “You are an amazing mom and friend, and your devotion to Paxton is breathtaking. But you are more than a mom and a widow, just like he’s more than his condition. You deserve to have things in your life that make you happy.”

  Liv wanted to be happy—she really did. But she didn’t know how to do that without losing focus. She’d pieced their lives back together like a patchwork quilt—she’d found a job, figured out how to change a flat and fix the garbage disposal, and even weathered two winters at high altitude. But happy? That still hadn’t happened.

  “Which is why I want to volunteer to help with Wagon Days,” Liv offered. “I hear they need some extra hands. I happen to have two available.” She wiggled them for show.

  Her friends looked at her as if she were crazy.

  “What? It’s a great way to get involved in the community,” she defended.

  “You do know that the State Line Seniors are hosting the first annual Carson City Campout and Carnival the same weekend as Wagon Days?” Grace asked.

  “How is that an issue?”

  “Because the State Line Seniors have been trying to one-up the Women of the Wagon Trail since the state line was drawn,” Avery pointed out. “They hired some fancy carnival company to bring in rides for the kids and a paintball alley for the teens and dads. They booked Adelle to perform and even got Cesar Millan as a judge for their Pets on Parade.”

  “The dog whisperer to the stars?” Grace asked, shaking her head. “There goes the Wagon Days Darlings for the parade.”

  “Did you say Adele?” Liv asked, wondering just how connected these State Line Seniors were—and how bad it would be if she found herself in Carson City.

  “Adelle Lewis,” Mavis said from behind, a group of blue-haired biddies standing in her wake. “She was Miss Nevada 1956. Won her crown by maneuvering her baton and tassels in a perfect horizontal twirl. But her real claim to fame is her immunity to gravity.”

  “With Adelle and her tassels, we’ll lose the Moose Lodge, Senior X-Treme, and the Sequoia Senior Guard,” Patty Moberly said, coming forward. “The carnival rides take away the families, and without them our parade is sunk, and LuLu has worked so hard.”

  “The parade is the kickoff for the weekend,” Shelia, the head of the parade committee, said, stepping out from behind Mavis. “It’s what gets people in town and ready to spend a day at the fair. Without a parade there is no fair. The schools count on the money. Last year’s event funded the kids’ music program.”

  It also funded the academic-outreach program for kids who had a hard time merging into mainstream schooling. Kids like Paxton.

  “Which is why we need to rethink our game plan. Give residents and tourists a reason to come here,” Irene, the Wagon Days chairwoman and Avery’s mother-in-law, said.

  “Maybe we can bring back the Mango Mamas. I heard that the lead singer is almost recovered from her stroke,” Shelia suggested.

  “Their mangoes are too ripe to stand up to Adelle’s tassels.” Mavis shook her head. “We need an overhaul.”

  “Wagon Days is in three weeks, and there isn’t time to change everything.” Irene held up a three-inch worn leather binder. “This is every contact, sponsor, committee list, map, and booth that has been approved for this year’s Wagon Days.” She slid it across the table. “I’m not willing to do everything needed to change a year’s worth of work.”

  A symphony of amen and uh-huh arose, and the room filled with suggestions and opinions, people dividing into two sides, arguing about patchwork quilts versus a party barge.

  Liv wasn’t crafty or into boating, and she didn’t know who the Banjo Brothers with the flaming fiddle were, but there was one thing Liv did know. Years in the ER had taught her how to manage and solve problems.

  As Dr. Brown had pointed out, Liv was great at finding common ground. What she needed to work on was her ties to the community. And maybe this was the way to do both.

  She ran a finger down the spine of the binder and felt her heart give a little jump. Because it was more than lists and ideas—it was three generations’ worth of stories and friendships and traditions. Traditions Sam had been a part of.

  Traditions she wanted her son to experience.

  She picked up the binder to flip through it. The corners were worn, the leather touched until it felt like butter. But inside sat a treasure trove of connections and opportunities. Opportunities to grow and build roots, two things her little family needed.

  “I’ll do it,” Liv heard herself saying. She even looked down to realize she was standing, her hands sweating from the sudden shift in attention. Meaning she was the center of everyone’s attention.

  Instead of smiles
of delight, Liv was met with horrified gasps, and Gretchen, their oldest member, checked her hearing aid. “Didn’t the girl just move here?” Gretchen asked.

  “Two years ago. Long enough to appreciate the traditions, but fresh enough to have a new perspective,” Liv said, wondering when she’d become the kind of person to get involved. She looked at her friends. “Right?”

  “You still walk around like a deer in the headlights when it snows and a neighbor asks if you need your driveway shoveled,” Avery said innocently.

  “Because I can shovel my own driveway.” And clean her own gutters, mow her lawn, and when she really wanted to have fun, she changed the oil in her car. “And with your help, I can make this event representative of the entire community. The founders as much as the newest generation.”

  “We need some young families to breathe new life into the event,” Mavis agreed. “Leapfrog races and panning for gold aren’t doing it anymore. Kids nowadays want interaction, adventure, thrills, and unless we give them something new, the State Line Seniors won’t be our only problem.”

  To Liv’s surprise, a wave of bobbing gray buns flew through the room. A burst of warmth skated through her body, and deep down, Liv knew this moment was important. For the town and for her.

  “What if we sprinkle some new booths in, add some local celebrities to the parade, and find some entertainment that would appeal to the whole family? If we play to our strengths, we can figure this out.”

  “Backwoods Brewhouse has more than a dozen local craft brews on tap. I bet a craft beer booth would bring in the male demographic,” Avery said with an encouraging wink.

  “People always tell me that they’d love to see more notable artists come,” Grace added. “If we played this off like more of a craft beer and art festival and less like a small-town fair, I know of several artists who would show up.”

  Shelia frowned. “But we are a small town. That’s what makes us special!”

  “What makes us special is our community.” Liv looked at the group, and a small spark lit in her belly. It wasn’t just hope, it was a challenge. And Liv loved a good challenge. “There isn’t a resident in town that one of us isn’t connected with. Why not ask them and then plan a day that speaks to everyone?”

  “I think we just got ourselves a new entertainment chair,” Mavis said, and the circle of smiles was enough to make Liv feel as if she’d gained a gold star of approval, but that didn’t mean the commitment was any less terrifying.

  “Finding help in this town is easy,” Irene said. “Especially with those mommy friends of yours.”

  “Mommy friends?”

  Liv didn’t have many mommy friends. Most of the moms in town with kids Paxton’s age were CMOs. Career mommy officers who played Supermom by day and Wonder Wife by night. Liv was a single working parent who pulled split shifts to pay the mortgage and fed her kid cheesy noodles and nuggets because she forgot to go shopping.

  CMOs and SWPs didn’t live in the same space-time continuum, which was why Liv’s two closest friends were career women.

  “If we have any hope of relating to the next generation of young families, we need to hear what they have to say,” Mavis explained. “And who better to do that than one of their own?”

  “And that would be me?”

  Liv was still thinking about what Avery had said when she pulled up to the park. One glance out the window told her that she’d need more than a binder and a little magic if Paxton was ever going to find his permanent smile.

  In the distance, she spotted a group of kids in blinking tennis shoes and brightly colored capes racing around in circles playing a complicated version of freeze tag with lightsabers and balloons. Their laughter carried throughout the park and penetrated Liv’s chest, swelling up until she wanted to cry.

  Oh, Pax, she thought helplessly, watching her little boy in his red Superboy cape and brave smile, pacing the perimeter of the park—all alone.

  Where was his team? And where were the counselors? And why weren’t the other mothers getting involved?

  If that hadn’t been her son wandering alone, Liv would have pulled Paxton aside and told him to invite the new kid into the group. But the CMOs just stood at the other side of the parking lot in coordinated sports tops, grouped around their hubby-maintained SUVs, talking about the latest trick to get kids to eat broccoli.

  Liv wanted to call bullshit.

  The superhero camp brochure promised positive social interaction, team building, and fun. Lots of fun for all. Even the shy ones. The only thing Liv saw was one big suckfest!

  Unfortunately, Paxton agreed. His posture said it all as his blinking shoes scuffed the ground, while he held Superdog Stan to his chest as if it was his only friend in the whole world. It wouldn’t be so bad if Paxton preferred to be the lone wolf, but he didn’t. Her son was bright and beautiful and craved connection.

  He just didn’t know how to go about it.

  The camp counselor, Captain Jason, a local firefighter dressed in a costume that was somewhere between Hercules and George Jetson, called them in, and the kids went rushing to the picnic area, which was decorated to look like the Hall of Justice. Captain Jason handed out red and blue handkerchiefs, dividing the group into two.

  One by one the kids took a side until there was only Paxton left. His eyes were big with want, but when Captain Jason held up the two handkerchiefs, Paxton froze.

  “You got it, baby. Just point to the red one.” Liv knew he wanted the red one—red was Superdog’s color—but he didn’t even move when Jason waved it his way.

  Liv opened the door, ready to scream that he wanted red, when she paused.

  One of the other boys, Tommy, a neighborhood kid with whom Paxton sometimes shared comic books, grabbed the red handkerchief and waved him over. Liv held her breath as Paxton picked up the pace and raced across the field. But instead of standing next to Tommy, her son took the material and then stood a few feet behind. Holding himself apart from the group.

  Liv glanced at the moms on the other side of the parking lot, and a wealth of guilt welled up, filling her chest until all the denial and anger and helplessness she’d clung to spilled out, leaving nothing but acceptance.

  And the reality that maybe the girls were right. She’d been so busy watching out for Paxton, she hadn’t realized that Paxton had been watching her.

  Liv had moved him here so her son could grow up in the town his father loved. In a place that valued family and friendship. Yet neither of them had allowed themselves to enjoy everything Sequoia Lake had to offer. They’d been too busy trying to survive to have fun.

  And they both desperately needed to stretch their wings and find some fun.

  Liv glanced in the rearview mirror and cringed at the woman she saw looking back. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the hollow smile. And the wrinkles.

  She leaned forward to inspect her forehead. When had those appeared?

  Fingers on her temples, she tugged and tugged until they flattened out, and then she smiled her brightest smile.

  “Now you just look scared.” She let go and watched them bounce back into place, cursing gravity.

  Riffling through her purse, she applied a layer of lip gloss, then let her hair free from the messy bun and narrowed her eyes—getting up close and personal with herself. “Your son needs to be a warrior, so time to get busy fixing that.”

  Liv gave her hair a little fluff and put a welcoming smile on her face. She was done hoping and praying for tomorrow to be better, so she was going to bring the better.

  Feeling stronger, she hopped out of the car, and when her foot hit the asphalt, she felt something deep inside shift. And when she took that first step, it wasn’t just a step, it was a strut.

  A Mama’s almost got her groove back strut that took her across the parking lot and straight for her biggest insecurity. The career moms who did it all and did it well. She was zeroing in, ready to put it all on the line, even if it meant hosting Scrapbook Saturdays, when a big m
an wearing a bright orange SAR shirt and department-issued ball cap pulled up in a Jeep.

  “You look determined,” came the masculine voice from within the car. “Where are you running to?”

  Harris peeked his head out the window, and Liv’s heart gave a disappointed thump.

  “I was going to go talk with the other moms while I waited for camp to let out,” she said. Harris looked at the other moms, then back to her, and raised an amused brow. “You know, in case they’re looking for a backup cutter for Scrapbooking Saturday.”

  He hopped out of the Jeep, and woo wee, was the man big. Funny, built, and did amazing things to his uniform. Half the town was in love with him, and the other half were men.

  “Scrapbooking Saturday has been moved to Tuesday nights at my place because it conflicted with summer T-ball practice,” he said, resting a hip against the grill, dead serious. “You’re always welcome to join in. You can even bring Paxton. The kids all play in the backyard.”

  Oh yeah, when he wasn’t flying his chopper and saving lives, he was the single parent to an adorable little girl, making him the complete package. Only, for whatever reason, his package didn’t do anything for her.

  “I’m not really into scrapbooking, but I’m branching out.”

  “I have more stickers and paper than I could ever use.” He winked. “And I make a great cosmo—just ask the ladies.”

  “I bet.” Liv laughed easily. She knew Harris well enough from the kids’ preschool, but he was also related to Avery’s husband, so they socialized from time to time. “Is Emma enrolled in superhero camp?”

  “Yeah, and Friday is my day to bring Popsicles, but we won’t be here. I was hoping to see if someone would swap days with me.”

  Liv put on her best one with the community smile. “Well, I don’t have a Popsicle day. I could fill in.”

  “No Popsicle day?” he asked in mock horror.

  “I was late in signing Paxton up for the camp, so I didn’t make it to the parent meeting. Actually, I was surprised when they called and said they had an open spot, all paid for. I heard that this camp had a waitlist that’s like a year long.”