“Deal,” she nods excitedly.
I start down at her legs, tucking the comforter in on either side, working my way up until I’m around her right shoulder. “There,” I say, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
She giggles. “Good night, Daddy.”
My heart lurches. “Good night, Claire.”
Her eyes stay on me until I close her door. I leave the house and find Aubrey in the same position I left her in.
“Where’s your dad?” I ask. His truck’s in the driveway.
“Asleep. He has an early wake up tomorrow. He’s going to Tucson for work.”
I lean against one of the brick pillars that support the patio roof. “Does that mean he’ll stay overnight? If so, you don’t have to eat alone tomorrow night. I can take you and Claire out.”
“That’s very sweet, but it’s only a day trip. He should be home by dinnertime.” Aubrey shifts, her eyes on me. “How was Claire?”
The laugh I held back comes out now. “She said she told you no way, Jose.”
Aubrey laughs too. “We’re going to have to work on her sass.”
“She wanted me to tuck her in.”
Aubrey rolls her eyes. “I know ‘snug as a bug in a rug’ as well as you.”
I shrug. “What can I say? Yours must leave something to be desired.”
She scoffs. “Hardly. I wouldn’t have given in so quickly if my dad weren’t sleeping.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s been killing me that I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.” I look into her eyes as I say it. I need her to understand how serious I am. “I want to tuck her in. Every night.”
“Isaac.” Aubrey sighs. I can’t help that it makes me think of the last time she said my name like that, thought the tone might have been different that night five years earlier.
“Give you time, I know. I get it.” I push off the wall and head for my truck. When I get there, I turn and say loud enough for her to hear me, “If she wants me here tomorrow night, I’m here. OK?”
Aubrey nods. “OK.”
My truck thunders to life, and when I pull away, I see Aubrey hasn’t gone inside yet. Her head’s tipped back, her hands cover her eyes. Is she crying?
I nearly stop the truck, but something tells me not to. Whatever Aubrey’s feeling, she needs to feel it by herself.
Claire asks for me the next night. And the night after that. Then the next two.
The first two nights Aubrey leaves me alone to say good-night, but on the third night she sits on the end of Claire’s bed while I read to her.
On the fourth night, Aubrey tells Claire a bedtime story about a girl named Natalie who lives in Africa.
When Claire falls asleep, Aubrey walks me out to my truck.
“Where did you get that bedtime story?”
She smiles shyly and taps her head.
“Seriously? That came from your imagination?” I lean a shoulder against the closed door of my truck.
She looks down and says nothing. Does my open admiration make her uncomfortable? I start to ask, but she grabs me and pulls me in for a hug. It takes me by surprise and lasts maybe three seconds. She pulls back but I can still feel the heat of her against my chest, as if I’ve been seared by her touch.
“Aubrey, I—” I stop. I can't tell her that the three seconds she just spent in my arms felt more right than anything I've ever felt. I can't scare her away. Not now. Not when I'm so close to convincing her to move in. “Never mind.”
Relief floods her face. “So, um,” she rocks back on her heels and presses her lips tightly together. “Thanks for coming over again tonight. To say good-night to Claire, I mean. Drive safe.” She turns back and hurries up the sidewalk.
I climb into my truck for the fifth night in a row and pull away, my thoughts focused on Aubrey. What is she guarding inside that heart of hers? It must be extraordinary. Tonight, I caught a glimpse of it, and it felt like looking into the sun—blindingly bright in the moment with dazzling pulses of light to follow.
One of the benefits to working with my best friend is that I get to see her all the time. Sometimes, this positive becomes a negative. It’s hard to hide from people who know your heart.
“Broker meeting should be interesting.” Britt says when we get in my car at eleven. We’re headed to a lunch meeting with an influential broker, the kind of person who can send us a lot of business.
“Um-hmm.” I input the address of the restaurant into my phone’s GPS and start driving. It’s twenty-five minutes away, someplace in north Scottsdale with a view of a golf course.
“What’s going on with you?” Britt rifles through her purse. She pulls out her travel make-up bag and flips open the visor mirror.
“Isaac asked us to move in.” I glance at her. She’s staring at me, lip gloss wand poised in mid-air.
“Are you kidding?”
“Do you think I’m kidding?”
“No.” She touches-up her make-up in silence. I merge onto the freeway and wait.
She finishes and replaces the little teal pouch in her purse. “You should do it.”
I groan. I knew that was going to be her response, but still.
“How about you tell me why you don’t want to,” she suggested, “and I’ll compose valid arguments for each of your points.”
“That sounds fun,” I deadpan.
“I’m waiting.” Her voice is serious.
“We don’t know each other well enough, I don’t want any drama, and I don’t know if my dad can live alone.” I say it all in one stream of air, then suck in a big breath.
Britt turns to face me and sticks out her hand, three fingers pointing up. “First point”—she grabs ahold of one finger—“how well does anybody really know anybody before they live together? And besides, you know him better than you think.” She folds down a finger and grabs the second one, on the other side of her middle finger. “I’m skipping to your third point because I need to know more about your second one. As for your dad, he’s an adult. He can live alone. He likes being alone. And you know that’s a fact because he’s hunting alone right now. Again. Like he has a hundred other times. All alone in the wilderness. Do you get my point?”
I nod, staring ahead, watching the cars around me. I worry about my dad hunting by himself. And this morning when I told Britt he was off on his own again, she rubbed my back and reminded me how capable he is. I stuff down my worry. “What do you need to know about my second point?”
She clears her throat in an obvious, look-at-me way. I glance quickly over and snap my head back to attention, but I’m grinning. Britt has counted down so that only her middle finger is sticking up in the air. I bat her hand down, but we’re laughing.
“Don’t be juvenile.”
“All jokes aside, why do you think there would be drama?”
I check my side mirror and move into the right lane. The GPS has informed me my exit is in two miles.
“What if something happens between us?”
“Is there something between you?”
“No…Yes. I don’t know.” That day, standing there in the foyer of his place, there was something. It was so intense, I had to physically remove myself.
“OK, let’s just assume there’s an attraction. Is that such a bad thing?”
“We’re in this really awkward situation I thought only happened on daytime television. Adding to the emotion sounds like a bad idea. It’s too much, too soon. Claire needs a mom and a dad. That’s why he asked me to move in. He wants to give that to her. And I, of all people, should know how important that is.” I exit the freeway and come to a red light, signaling a right turn. This conversation is getting heavy. Thank goodness it’s just three more miles to the restaurant.
“Your second point is a front for what you’re really afraid of.”
I sink into my seat, defeated. Britt is right, and we both know it.
“You’re scared out of your mind to trust Isaac. To let him in to
your heart. Which might happen if you move in with him. But if you don’t move in with him? What happens then? Claire doesn’t get to have what you’ve always wished you could give her. The same thing life screwed you out of.”
Britt’s words are spot on. They fall perfectly in line with my truest thoughts and build on my dad’s arguments to give Claire the father she needs. Her words coalesce in my mind and form the decision I always knew I would make.
Claire fell asleep in my bed tonight, and that’s not something I usually allow her to do. I almost always make her fall asleep in her own bed, fearing the cultivation of a habit of nighttime waking I’ve heard other moms complain about.
Tonight I needed comfort. Broken arm propped on a pillow, Claire’s little body tucked into my chest, we read book after book until her eyes grew heavy. She closed her eyes, and I closed the book. I held her, listened to her breathe, counted the seconds it took for her chest to fill with air and then decompress. I carried her to bed, situating her so the extra pillow from my bed kept her broken arm at the right angle. I kissed her face and went to double-check the door locks.
Lying in bed now, after a shower, I’m waiting for a return text from my dad. I haven’t heard from him all day. Normally not hearing from my dad would have me worried out of my mind, but right now I’m filled with thoughts from my conversation with Britt.
My phone dings. I grab it, assuming it’s my dad. It’s Isaac.
My mom would like to have you and Claire over next weekend. She’s dying to meet her. And you.
My eyes stay fixed on the screen. I take a deep breath and respond, then lay back on my pillow. I’ve seen Isaac’s mother once, in that picture in his apartment, but I can’t recall any details. I looked at the whole of the photo, the pretty picture it created, and not the parts. What will she think of me? I’m some girl who appeared out of nowhere, claiming her son is my daughter’s father.
Panic makes my stomach turn, and I do everything I can to squash it. Isaac’s mom can’t be awful, right? She raised Isaac, and he’s open and loving. That had to come from somewhere.
I knew this was coming, but the inevitability doesn’t ease my trepidation. Claire has a whole family she doesn't know. A dad who wants her to live with him. And then there's me, her mother, the person who's supposed to manage it all as if she knows what's best. As if I know how this will all go. How it will all end.
I don’t.
I’m Alice, falling down the hole. What will I find at the bottom?
Saturday afternoon. One p.m. That’s the time set by Isaac’s mother. Claire, my dad, and I went on a long walk after breakfast this morning. It helped me clear my head. It allowed Claire the chance to get out some energy. I’m not sure what it did for my dad, but he’s the one who suggested it.
Claire walked between us, complaining that we couldn’t swing her the way we usually do. “I hate this arm.” She lifted her crooked arm, swathed in blue. At her appointment this week she’d picked a new color for her second cast.
“Hey,” I say sharply, using my mom voice. “We don’t hate.”
“Fine. I really dislike it.”
My dad smiles at me over Claire’s head. He came home from hunting late last Tuesday night and got an earful from me about checking in. “Who needs a wife with a daughter like you?” he’d griped. Then he stomped around the kitchen while he made himself dinner. I went to bed.
By the next morning we were fine. We hardly ever bicker. We’re a team. Two halves of the same whole. Besides, I think our real problem is that we’re afraid to live apart from each other.
Pretty soon, that’s just what we’re going to do. Because this thing with Isaac is bigger than me. Bigger than my fear.
I’m going to tell Isaac today, when I see him at his parents’ house.
“I’m so excited, Mommy.” Claire’s bouncing in her car seat as we wave goodbye to my dad. He turns for the house, and I drive away, wishing he’d said yes when I invited him to come with us.
“Me too, baby.” I hope she doesn't pick up on the hesitation in my voice. The nerves in my stomach have grown exponentially as the day has progressed. I’ll consider myself lucky if I make it through the drive without hurling into the passenger seat.
“Harlow has a daddy, too. And a grandma and grandpa. Just like me.”
I catch her face in the rearview, see the happy smile and bobbing head. What would it be like to live life like Claire? With a heart open wide?
Claire chatters to herself and to me. She informs me of the shape of the stop sign, makes sure I know a bird flew past our car at a stoplight, and softly sings a song about a chicken who couldn’t lay an egg.
I follow the directions spouting from my phone until we pull up to the address Isaac sent me last night.
“Are we here?” Claire asks, kicking the back of my seat in an excited rhythm.
I peer out the windshield. The house is older, ranch style, with a big front yard. Mature citrus trees line the west perimeter of the lawn, creating a wall of deep green leaves. There isn’t any fruit on them now, but I bet in winter they are bursting with vibrant color.
Isaac steps from the house and makes his way down the front walk. He’s waving. Seeing him kicks me into action.
“Hi,” I call, getting out of the car. I saw him last night for Claire’s tuck in, just like every night, but he looked tired. I almost suggested he sleep on the sofa, but the words stuck in my throat. Despite what I’m going to tell him today, having him sleep at my dad’s felt too close.
He jogs the last few feet to us, heading for Claire’s door. “How are my girls doing?” His face is lit up.
My insides quiver. From happiness at being called his girl? Or just more nerves?
“We’re good.” I force a smile.
Isaac pulls Claire from the car and up into his arms, careful to put her on his left side, so her cast faces out. Claire wraps her good arm around his neck.
He knocks on her cast with two knuckles. “I’m glad you went with blue.”
She beams at him. I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. Then I remember the gift I picked up for his mother and go to the passenger side, where I grab it from the floor.
“Ready?” Isaac asks.
I nod.
“My mom is probably hovering by the window watching us right now. She’s been driving me nuts since I got here.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and I feel that familiar stab in my chest. What would it be like to have a mom to roll my eyes at?
He leads me to the house, Claire still in his arms, and the door opens before we get to it. A woman with shoulder-length dark hair stands on the threshold, a smile as big and ready as Isaac’s on her face. He must get it from her.
Her shiny eyes are on Claire, fingertips pressed to her lips.
“Mom, this is Claire.” Isaac steps to the right, so I’m fully in view. “And Aubrey. This is my mother, Lucia.”
Lucia comes to life. She leaves her spot in the doorway and closes the few feet that separate us. Her arms are open, and she comes to me first.
Me.
Before I can register what’s happening, she pulls me in. She’s soft and warm, and she smells like honey and vanilla. My chest aches. When she pulls back, I feel sad.
“Aubrey, it’s wonderful to meet you.” Her face is inches from mine, her smile lovely. Genuine. She turns to Claire and Isaac.
“Dios mio, this baby.” She holds her arms out. “May I?”
Claire pushes off from Isaac before I get a chance to answer.
“Be careful of her arm,” Isaac warns, situating Claire on Lucia’s left side. She gives him a brief reproachful look before returning her attention to Claire. “He thinks I don’t know how to handle your special arm.” Her voice is soft, admonishing. “He forgets how many bones he broke as a child.”
“Daddy broke a bone too?” Claire’s eyes are wide.
Lucia turns back to the house. Isaac steps aside, ushering me in before him.
“Oh
yes,” I hear her say. “An arm, a wrist, one in his foot, I don’t know how many toes, his collarbone.” She glances back at Isaac and winks. “That’s why he became an orthopedic surgeon. He was inspired by all that time he spent in a cast as a child.”
I step inside and follow Lucia to the living room, where she sets Claire’s feet down on the carpeted floor.
“Lauren. Paul.” Lucia directs her yell off to her right. “They’re here.” She smiles at me, eyes dancing, and claps her hands together quietly.
I feel Isaac’s breath on my ear, his chest against my upper back. “I should’ve warned you before, but my dad can be—”
“I have a joke for her,” a man yells. “Do you think she likes jokes? Wait, is four too young for jokes?” The owner of the voice isn’t visible yet, but his voice thunders down the hall. I can’t make out the muffled response, but there’s definitely a second voice. Claire’s hand grabs my knee from behind, an overgrown nail digging in.
Isaac’s dad steps from the hallway, and he’s nothing like I thought he would be. Average height, average face, and blond. Talk about brown being dominant. The Punnet Square called this one. Isaac looks just like his mother.
“Aubrey, so good to meet you.” The man comes forward, his hand extended. He introduces himself as Paul.
The younger woman two steps behind him looks like an even split between the two parents. She has her father’s blond hair, but her mother’s big, brown eyes and high cheekbones.
“Hi, I’m Lauren, and I’m just going to hug you,” she laughs as she wraps her arms around me.
“Hello,” I say when Lauren steps back. Glancing down, I say “This is Claire.”
Claire’s hiding in my legs, her face pressed to the back of my knees. Gently I use a hand to coax her out, sending an apologetic glance at Isaac’s family.
“She’s probably a bit overwhelmed.” I explain.
Lucia nods knowingly. “Hmm… I wonder if Claire likes cupcakes? I have some that need frosting, but I’m not sure who can help me with that.”
Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1) Page 13