Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Millikin

  Claire’s hair brushes my skin as her head peeks out from the side of my leg. Her eyes blink up at Lucia. “I do like cupcakes.”

  Lucia feigns surprise. “Well, then, I think you should be my helper.” She holds out a hand. Claire takes it and looks at me. I nod, and they leave together.

  Lauren bites her lip and glances my way. “Do you mind if I go with them? I want to talk to you more, but…”

  “It’s OK.” I reassure her. “We can chat after you spend some time with Claire.”

  She hurries after them, sending a smile and an excited wave back at me.

  Isaac rolls his eyes, but there’s too much affection in them for the gesture to be negative. “She babysat all the time. And now she’s a kindergarten teacher.”

  Even if Lauren didn’t love little kids, I would get it. Claire is a person others want to be around. It’s impossible not to love her immediately.

  After watching her leave, Paul turns to me. “Aubrey, let’s sit outside in the sunshine while you tell me more about yourself. Isaac, can you grab us some drinks? Your mother has something she’s put together in the kitchen.” Paul cups my shoulder and squeezes lightly. “This way.” He walks past the couches and toward the back of the house.

  As I follow him, I throw a glance back at Isaac, who hasn’t moved. His gaze is fixed on me. I take a step, bump into something, and catch myself on the couch. Isaac’s lips twitch, but he’s not laughing. I get the feeling he’s thinking really hard about something. Or maybe he’s remembering.

  I go after Paul, hurrying now that I’ve paused for so long. From the big windows, I see he’s already outside, standing just beyond the patio door.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, when I arrive in the doorway.

  “No problem. My son distract you?” He laughs.

  “A little.” My face is hot.

  “Do you garden?” He leads me off the patio floor and onto a green lawn.

  “No,” I say, though I’m not sure he has heard me. Walking on large, flat pavers, we cross the backyard and around the side of the house.

  “I think everyone should garden. It’s good for the soul.” Paul stops and steps aside.

  The entire side yard, at least ten feet across and fifteen feet long, is filled with plants.

  I walk around the raised beds, peering into them, as Paul talks about what fills each one.

  I listen, watching his excitement as he regales me with the garden’s history, how it almost wouldn’t grow. He also tells me all the plants he cannot get to grow for the life of him.

  His glasses slowly descend the slope of his nose because he talks with such animation. So different from my own father. My dad’s words slide out of his mouth like they’re facing resistance.

  “Paul,” Lucia’s voice rings out.

  “Better get going.” He pulls his hands from the mint, a few stems in his grasp. “The boss is calling.” He winks at me.

  All afternoon I keep waiting for the questions to come. They must want to know the sordid details of how they have a family member they knew nothing about. At some point, will one of them demand a paternity test?

  The questions never come. Not when we’re eating lunch or enjoying the cupcakes. Not when we play catch with a football, or when Lauren tells me about her job. When Lucia asks me to help her in the kitchen, I think, this is it, but it doesn’t happen. She hands me soapy dish after soapy dish, and I rinse and dry them, waiting for the accusations and questions to leave her lips. But they never come. Instead she talks about Isaac’s job, how fortuitous it was that we ran into each other again, how happy they all are to have me and Claire in their lives now.

  I knew it the moment I saw their smiling faces lying on top of the contents of a moving box. This family is perfect.

  Everything changed after the day at Isaac’s parents’ house. When Isaac walked us to my car that afternoon, I said what I’d been thinking. Instead of thinking about it one more time, I blurted out my decision.

  And made Isaac the happiest man in the world. The consequences of my words are almost worth the joy of seeing him that happy. Almost.

  Isaac doesn’t waste time. That’s one more thing I can say I’ve learned about him.

  One week after telling him we’d move in, we’re doing just that. I started packing two days ago. Claire’s room first, and now mine.

  Isaac’s been busy this week, getting ready for us. Claire called him every night at bedtime to say good-night, placated only by the fact that we’d be moving in with him and soon she’ll see him every night at bedtime and when she wakes in the morning. After Claire and Isaac finished their conversation each night, he waited on the line for me to finish my good-night with her. Every night, when I got back on the phone, he talked about what he’d accomplished that day. Aside from fixing broken bones, he also buys princess beds with canopies and constructs them. Because I guess he’s not busy enough. Apparently, when Isaac puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him.

  And now it’s moving day.

  “How’s it coming along?”

  My dad leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He eyes the piles of clothing, the boxes, the stacks of books. I’ve never considered myself a packrat, but I’m starting to think maybe I have a tendency to hoard. A little less than five years ago, I moved back into the room that had been mine all my life, and in that time, I’ve managed to amass enough stuff to furnish a small village. The donate-pile is large. I stare at the item on top—my breast pump. It was a big purchase for me. Claire was an infant, and I had to work. If I wanted her exclusively breastfed, I was going to have to shell out for it. Setting the pump in the giveaway pile was hard, but what am I supposed to do with it now?

  I swing my arm out to the room. “It’s coming, I suppose.”

  Dad nods. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays in his spot. He hasn’t offered to help since I started packing, and I haven’t asked for it.

  I start loading all my books in a box.

  “Aubs, that’s going to be too heavy. Distribute the weight between a few boxes. Books first, maybe a quarter of the way up, then clothes on top. Something like that.” Dad comes in my room, snatching an empty box as he walks by it. Together we pull the books out of the box they’re in and re-pack them as he instructed.

  “Thanks.” I pick up stacks of clothes and place them on top.

  “Anytime. Need help with anything else?”

  I look around the room. “I think I’ve got it.”

  He heads for the door but pauses in the threshold. He keeps his back to me. “Now that you’re moving out, I don’t know if I want you to.” His voice is reluctant, the words stuck in molasses.

  The tears I’ve been holding back prickle my eyes. A few roll down my face. I clear my throat, as if somehow that will stop the tears. “I know, Dad. I’m scared too.”

  “It’s all going to work out, Aubs.” He disappears down the hall.

  I want to yell after him, ask him how he can be so sure.

  “Wow, Aubrey, I have to say it. I’m hurt.” Britt stands in the front yard, one hand on her hip, the other lost in the bowels of a maroon foam finger. She pumps her arm like she’s at a game and cheers silently.

  “You can have it.” I know perfectly well she threw hers away years ago. Britt doesn’t keep things.

  She playfully narrows her eyes at me and drops the giant hand. The pointed foam finger nearly touches the ground. “Can I please?”

  “Britt, I have to get rid of stuff. I can’t take that into Isaac’s house.”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t keep a memento of the game that launched our friendship.” She fake cries.

  I laugh. “OK. Put it in the save pile.”

  She pumps her arm and smacks herself a high five, shouting “Right next to the breast pump I rescued.” She runs back into the house just as Isaac pulls up.

  “Cordova moving service, here to help you,” he says loudly from his open window, then grabs the bill of his baseball cap and tips his head.
He gets out and comes around the front of his truck.

  “I didn’t know I hired a professional,” I yell back before picking up a box from the patio where Britt has been setting them down. We have an assembly line going. My dad’s keeping Claire occupied in the back yard.

  Isaac strides across the yard and takes the box from my arms. “The pro can take it from here.”

  I frown. I don’t need that much help.

  He’s already at the bed of his truck, sliding my box across. I pick up another box and hurry to my car, placing it in the trunk. When I turn around he’s shaking his head at me.

  “Well, well, well. We meet again.”

  We both turn to find Britt on the porch, setting down another box. She wipes her hands on her jeans and walks down the steps. Isaac meets her halfway, his hand extended, but Britt hugs him.

  She steps back and surveys him, one eye closed from the sun’s glare. “Five years ago I gave you the green light, but I didn’t know you had super swimmers.”

  “Britt!” I smack the top of her arm.

  Isaac laughs. Like always.

  “What can I say? I eat a lot of protein.” He shrugs, and now Britt’s the one laughing.

  I huff. “I’m glad you both find this so amusing.”

  Britt curls a hand around my shoulder. “Aw, we can joke now Aubrey. It’s all over.” She leans into me. “Or it’s just getting started.” Her whisper tickles my ear. I reach up to rub away the sensation.

  She steps away. “Just a couple more boxes to go. Aubrey, come help me carry them out. I’m sure Isaac can load all that”—she tosses a thumb back at the stacks on the porch—“into his truck.”

  “On it.” Isaac goes for the first box on the stack. I don’t miss the pull in the arms of his T-shirt when he lifts the box. And neither does Britt.

  Once we're in the house and safely out of earshot, she grabs my arm and pretends to swoon. “Oh, my. Dr. Cordova just added about ten degrees to the outside temperature. And it’s already almost sweltering.”

  “I know,” I say under my breath, even though there's no way he can hear me. Through the open door I watch him cross the yard again, coming back to the porch for another box. I pull her down the hall to my room and say in my normal voice, “He’s not lacking in the attractive department.”

  “No, he’s not.” She shakes her head. “Or in the personality department. Or the career department. Or the family one.” She slides me a pointed look. “He’s a dream come true. Literally. He’s your dream of having a perfect family, come true.” She goes to my closet and pulls open the door. “So why are you holding back?” She doesn’t look at what’s inside the closet, just at me. Obviously she already knows what I’ve left in there.

  My sigh is deep, with a little groan thrown in. I don’t know how to explain why I’m keeping extra clothes and shoes for me and Claire in there. Safeguards, maybe. My just in case pile. When you’ve spent your whole life protecting yourself, you don’t just turn it off like a light switch. The night doesn’t automatically give way to the day. It goes in stages. And I can’t jump all-in with Isaac. I just…can’t.

  “We’re becoming roommates for the sake of our daughter, Britt. We’re not involved romantically. There is no ‘holding back.’”

  But there is, and she knows it.

  And how could there not be? The instinct to defend is primal, fundamental. And when you’ve been burned, the instinct only gets stronger.

  Britt closes the closet and doesn’t say another word about it.

  “Got it all, Aubs?” My dad stands at the end of the driveway, arms crossed.

  “Yes.” I feel Britt’s look, but I keep my gaze on my dad.

  “I’m gonna get going,” Dad says. “Someone spotted that lion from last weekend.” He looks unsure of what to do next. He’s ready to go on his short trip to whatever mountain range he’s been called to, but he’s hesitating. He won’t be coming home to me and Claire, and I think we’ve both realized this is an effect of the move we hadn’t considered.

  “Be safe.” I pull him in for a hug, blinking back tears. “Call me when you get in.”

  His neck moves with his gulp. He steps back. “Will do.” He turns to Isaac. “You take care of my girls.”

  Isaac sticks out his hand. “Always, John.”

  They shake, and my dad moves to my car, tapping on Claire’s partially rolled down window. He’s already said goodbye to her, so he only waves.

  He gets in his truck and backs out, throwing up a hand to the three of us in the driveway. I see him swipe the back of his palm across his eyes before putting it in drive.

  “You ready?” Isaac asks.

  I move my eyes off my dad’s retreating truck, nodding.

  Britt hugs me. “See you at work on Monday.”

  I echo her words. She gets in her car and pulls away from the curb. I watch her go, fighting the urge to run after her. They've really left me with him. And now I'm supposed to leave here. With him. The realness of this is finally hitting me.

  “I think it’s our turn.” Isaac grabs my hand and runs his thumb across the top of it. His gentle touch soothes my nerves.

  “Mommy! I’m bored.” Claire yells from her car seat.

  We chuckle and head for our cars. Isaac pauses at his open door.

  “See you at home.” The words put a smile on his face. He climbs in and shuts the door.

  Those words… I wish they put a smile on my face. They strike fear in me. But also hope. Hope this all goes well. This thing we’re doing, in the name of giving our daughter the very best.

  “That’s all of them.” Isaac sets the final box on the floor beside my new bed. “I wasn’t sure what kind of bedding you’d like. You can get something different if you don’t like it.”

  I lean back on the bed, one hand supporting me, while my other hand trails along the stitching in the royal blue comforter. “You did a good job. It’s lovely.”

  “I thought it might match your eyes.” He bends, his gaze level with mine. Brown eyes penetrate me until my insides twist. “I was right,” he whispers.

  My breath feels hollow in my throat, and my chest feels like it’s fumbling for heartbeats.

  He doesn’t move away, though by now I’m certain his check of my eye color versus the bedspread is complete. The seconds tick by, and I’m starting to notice things, like how Isaac’s lower lip is a tiny bit bigger than his upper, and his gradual, barely there widow’s peak. And the tiny freckle beside his nose.

  I clear my throat, leaning away at the same time. I need distance. Now.

  Isaac straightens and steps back. “I’ll go make dinner.” He pauses on his way out the door and looks back at me. “You don’t care if we have ice cream for dessert, do you?”

  “No.” I shake my head slowly, a tad confused. I’m sure my face reflects it.

  He puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs. “Just checking.” He starts to leave, then turns back quickly. “Lions don’t live in Arizona.”

  I stare at him, perplexed. “Huh?”

  “Your dad. He said someone spotted a lion from last weekend.”

  “Mountain lion. Not a rawr lion,” I make claws with my hands and swipe the air.

  Isaac grins. “Can you do that again?”

  My arms cross, and I tuck my hands into my underarms. “No.”

  He chuckles and leaves. I listen to his retreat, then get up and go to Claire’s room to start unpacking her clothes.

  “What do we do now?” Claire gazes expectantly at Isaac. He pauses his gathering of the ice cream bowls, lips twisting as he considers her question.

  “Um, I don’t know. What do you normally do after dinner?”

  “Play. Read. Take a bath.”

  Isaac finishes stacking the bowls and brings them to me at the sink, where I’m rinsing and loading the dishwasher.

  “Do you ever play cards?” He goes back to the table and clears the remaining items.

  “Nope. Never.” Claire give
s me an accusatory look.

  “Whoa now.” I hold up my hands, water dripping from the spatula I was rinsing. “It’s not like I was keeping them from you. I didn’t think to introduce them.”

  Isaac comes up behind me, holding the dirty napkins and barbecue sauce from dinner. “Claire, I’m sure your mom would’ve showed you how to play a game of cards if she knew how.”

  I turn my head sharply to the side and glare playfully at him. “I know how.”

  “Oh, you do? Well then, you should join me and Claire for a wild game of Go Fish.”

  I walked right into that one. I was going to escape to the bedrooms to keep unpacking, and I think he knew that.

  It’s not that I don’t want to play with them, but I’m getting overwhelmed by the events of the day and navigating our first afternoon and evening together. I don’t know what to do next, and I’m not comfortable yet. Working on our rooms seemed like the best option.

  “Come on, Mommy.” Claire gets down from her chair and joins me at the sink.

  I drop down, so we’re eye to eye.

  “You want me to play with you and your dad?”

  She nods.

  Behind Claire, Isaac watches us as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

  “OK, I’ll play.” I push some hair out of Claire’s eyes.

  She whoops and runs out of the kitchen. I stand and look at Isaac.

  “This is a lot to take in—” I start to say.

  At the same time, he says “I know this is an adjustment.”

  We laugh once, a bit of the tension melting away.

  “Thanks for understanding.” I take the dish towel he used to dry his hands and hang it from the oven handle.

  “Thanks for not judging me when I had a second scoop of ice cream.” Isaac pats his stomach.

  His body will never show the effects of his love for ice cream, I’m certain of that. But there’s no way that statement is leaving my lips.

  I lean one hip against the counter. “You have a thing for ice cream, don’t you?”

  He laughs. “You’ve noticed?”

  “That night, you told the cab driver to take us to an ice cream place.”