Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  Thinking about it made her head hurt. She was too tired to think, tired of lying, tired of crying, tired of being scared.

  “I don’t know why I can’t sleep in front of the TV,” she said in a whiny voice. Maybe if she whined they’d leave her alone. It worked with Grandma Jolene. “You’d let me sleep in front of the TV if I was having a sleepover.”

  “Not on a school night,” Grandma Tess said.

  Uncle Matt rubbed his face with his hand. “Look, it’s late. We could all use some rest. Why don’t we just move one of the guest TVs into her room for now and figure out the rest in the morning?”

  “No cable,” Grandma Tess said.

  “Fine. Then give her a night-light and a radio.”

  Grandma Tess sighed. “I’ll get something.”

  She held out her hand to Taylor. She had nice hands. Her nails weren’t painted pink like Mom’s, but they were short and clean and didn’t scratch. Taylor liked her, but she wasn’t Mom, nobody was Taylor’s mom anymore, her mom was dead.

  Grandma Tess smiled. “We’ll find a light, and then I’ll tuck you in.”

  A light would help—maybe—but Taylor wasn’t taking any chances. “I want Uncle Matt.”

  She didn’t want to sound mean, but she was really tired. If Uncle Matt stayed with her, it would almost be like having her father there.

  She wasn’t afraid with Uncle Matt. Even on the motorcycle. Uncle Matt was calm and strong. Grandma Tess was nice, but she couldn’t keep Taylor safe any more than Grandma Jo could.

  “Sure.” Uncle Matt tugged the brim of her cap down over her nose, the casual gesture better than a hug. “Let’s go.”

  She pushed the cap back on her forehead. “You’ll stay with me?”

  The two grown-ups looked at each other again, but she kept her gaze fixed on Uncle Matt. Please, oh, please, oh, please…

  “I could do that,” he said slowly. “Just until you fall asleep.”

  “You promise?” she insisted.

  His eyes narrowed. She squirmed a little under that steady look, but her fear was too huge to let her back down.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I promise,” and she relaxed.

  Grown-ups lied all the time, but she figured she could trust Uncle Matt.

  “Good,” she said, and trudged with him up the stairs.

  JOSH WAS EATING cereal at the kitchen counter when Matt stumbled toward the coffeepot the next morning.

  The boy smirked. “Rough night?”

  Matt glowered blearily at his son before hooking a mug out of the cupboard. His system screamed for caffeine. He’d be out all day with a group of serious fishermen trolling for stripers, holding the old Sea Lady steady just outside the choppy waters of the inlet where the migrating fish would feed. To navigate the shallow chop, Matt needed to be alert.

  He needed coffee.

  He sipped. Winced.

  “Your lip is busted,” Josh observed.

  Matt grunted.

  Josh’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “You always told me no meant no.”

  He’d raised a damn wiseass, Matt thought.

  Under other circumstances, the realization would have made him proud. But not when Allison had to face the boy in class this morning.

  He gulped more coffee. “I was up all night with the kid. Taylor.”

  Josh swallowed. “Puking?”

  “Nightmares.”

  Every time Matt thought she’d drifted off, every time he’d tried to leave, Taylor had forced herself awake. Finally, he’d accepted his fate and napped on a chair in her room.

  “Sucks,” Josh said sympathetically.

  Matt nodded, rubbing the crick in his neck.

  “I thought you were with Carter last night,” Josh said.

  “Miss Carter,” Matt corrected automatically.

  “Whatever.” Josh buried his face in his cereal bowl.

  Matt took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get into a discussion of his love life with Josh. He’d always kept those two parts of his life separate, sex over here, family over there, no contact between the women he slept with and the son he loved.

  But the issue had to be addressed now that Josh had brought it up. Now that Matt and Allison were…His mind fumbled with labels, searching for a word that wouldn’t be either insulting or inaccurate. Dating? Sleeping together?

  Involved.

  He never wanted to lead Josh on, to raise expectations he didn’t have a prayer of satisfying.

  Eight years ago, when Kimberly remarried to a fellow professor, her new husband had encouraged her to invite Josh for a visit. Matt had been terrified. When he’d granted Kimberly visitation rights in the divorce agreement, he’d never imagined she would voluntarily seek contact with their son. At eight years old, Josh had been a cheerful, openhearted boy ready to bestow affection on anybody who asked. Everybody loved him. He’d been excited at the prospect of meeting the mother he didn’t remember and his two new stepsiblings. In the weeks before the visit, Matt had wrestled with nightmare scenarios of Josh being drawn into one big, happy blended family in Chapel Hill.

  But all his worry had been wasted. The visit was not a success. Kimberly had no interest in Transformers or video games or, it turned out, their son.

  At the end of five days, when Matt drove halfway across the state to pick up Josh, the boy clung to him as if he’d never let go.

  Josh never cried. Never complained. But for weeks afterward, he’d been very, very quiet.

  It broke Matt’s heart. He had resolved then he would never introduce another woman into his son’s life who could let Josh down.

  But Allison was different.

  She was Josh’s teacher. They had to deal with each other on a daily basis. And deal with the talk that was bound to make the rounds, especially after Friday’s little episode under the pier got out.

  Matt drank his coffee, studying his son over the mug’s rim. “Is that a problem for you?” he asked quietly. “Me seeing her?”

  Josh lowered the bowl. Wiped milk from his mouth. “Does it make any difference?” he asked, not bitter, not snarky, just…

  Curious, Matt decided.

  It was a serious question. It deserved an honest reply.

  “It could. You come first, Josh. Always have.”

  The tips of Josh’s ears turned pink. “Jeez, Dad. You are so lame.”

  Fletcher family shorthand for “I love you, man.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “I love you, too.”

  “Anyway, Carter’s cool. Miss Carter,” Josh said before Matt could correct him. “It’s okay if people know that you’re banging…Sorry, that you’re seeing her.” He grinned, sliding off the stool to carry his dirty bowl to the sink. “It would be bad if she were ugly or something. Because then you’d be, like, an even bigger loser. But since she’s hot, it’s okay.”

  Matt cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “Watch your mouth. Especially at school.”

  “I know. I will. I will,” he repeated when Matt narrowed his eyes. “I told you, she’s cool.”

  Matt let it drop. For now. “You finish your homework?”

  “Yeah.” Josh cocked his head. “Are you guys going to compare notes on me now?”

  “All the time,” Matt told him solemnly. “In fact, you’re all we ever talk about. I can’t wait to see her tonight to hear about your day.”

  Josh laughed.

  Satisfied, Matt poured himself another mug of coffee.

  He did want to see Allison tonight.

  And not for a parent-teacher conference.

  “GO AHEAD,” ALLISON said as she sat down with Gail Peele in the faculty break room. “Ask. As a friend, you are entitled to the inside scoop.”

  Gail Peele unwrapped her sandwich from home. “As your friend, I could pretend not to know what you are talking about. But that wouldn’t be any fun. How was your hot date under the pier with Matt Fletcher? And please don’t be afraid to give details. Jimmy and I have been married ten years. I could
use a little inspiration.”

  Allison felt heat rise in her cheeks even as she laughed. “We were not under the pier. He took me for a picnic at the beach.”

  Gail nodded. “Beach picnic is good. Usually he takes his dates off island. To Beaufort, maybe, or Morehead City. And he never, ever takes them home to meet his family.”

  Allison felt a flash of gratitude toward Matt. He was right. His invitation to Sunday dinner hadn’t stopped the talk. But it had definitely changed the conversation.

  Still, she felt compelled to say, “Sunday dinner wasn’t really a date.”

  Gail set down her sandwich. “Honey, from Matt, that’s practically a declaration. So, how was it?”

  “Dinner?” Allison grinned, aware of Suzy Warner at a nearby table leaning closer to listen. “It was wonderful. His parents are really nice. His mother made lasagna.”

  “These are not the details I was hoping to hear.”

  “She gave me her recipe.”

  Gail pursed her lips. “Okay, better. And then?”

  Allison raised her eyebrows. “How do you know there’s a ‘then’?”

  “Because with Matt there usually is. Also,” Gail added before Allison could take offense, “today you look all sleepy, smug, and satisfied. Kind of like my cat after she’s found a fish head in the garbage.”

  Allison laughed. “What a lovely analogy. So.” She took a deep breath. “After dinner, Matt came over.”

  “Now you’re talking. And?”

  “And…” She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on her face. Okay, she was smug. “I jumped him.”

  Gail sat back in her chair. “I don’t need to ask how that went.”

  “It was…” Allison searched for words. It was wonderful to have a girlfriend to confide in, to share these new and lovely feelings with. “Intense, you know? Like he sees me, like he wants to be with me and nobody else. When he looks at me…” She pressed her hand to her heart, half embarrassed by the cliché, still stunned by the weight of her feelings. “I feel it. Here.”

  “Oh, my.” Gail fanned herself. “I may need to go home and jump Jimmy after all. When are you seeing him again?”

  “I don’t know,” Allison confessed.

  Gail frowned faintly. “You don’t think…” She paused delicately. “You don’t want some kind of commitment?”

  “Not after two dates.”

  One night, she thought.

  “Right now, I’m just enjoying the moment. Taking things as they come.” He wants me. He makes me happy. Isn’t that enough? She met Gail’s gaze. “But the next move has to be his.”

  Twelve

  ALLISON WAS SITTING on her couch that evening, working her way through eighteen five-hundred-word essays on The Scarlet Letter, when her cell phone rang.

  Matt, she thought, with a bump of heart.

  Or not.

  He hadn’t called all day. Not that she was waiting by the phone. Okay, she was waiting by the phone, but…

  His number blinked on her display screen.

  “Hi, Matt,” she answered happily, breathlessly. “I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “I meant to call earlier. The day got away from me.”

  He sounded tired, she thought, pleasure morphing to concern. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Thanks, I’m handling it.” His setting of a boundary was no less clear for being polite. Automatic. “The thing is, I’m not sure I can see you tonight.”

  She controlled her disappointment. She was not going to overreact simply because he’d taken her at her word.

  One perfect moment. Accept it and move on.

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do.” His voice was patient. Weary. “I want to see you. I don’t know if I can get away.”

  “Oh.” She shifted the papers on her lap, readjusting her position and expectations. “Listen, neither of us got much sleep last night. If you need to crash, I understand. I don’t expect you to rearrange your schedule just because I answered the door naked.”

  He laughed. “Don’t underestimate the power of you naked, babe.” His voice was warm now, and amused. “As long as we’re seeing each other, you have the right to expect that I’ll call. That I’ll see you as often as I can, whenever you want. Tonight, if possible. Okay?”

  “Very okay,” she said, the words an echo of last night, and hung up feeling better.

  HE’D BEEN SUCKERED, Matt thought, watching Taylor’s rigid little body under the quilt.

  He could have resisted tears. Maybe. He was prepared for defiance. But that brave quiver of her chin, ruthlessly controlled? The stoic silence as he’d tucked her into bed?

  He was toast.

  I’ll stay until you fall asleep, he’d promised.

  Yeah, because that had worked so well last time.

  He touched his swollen lip. Next time he sent a MotoMail to Luke, he’d hit him up for hardship pay.

  The lights were dim, the radio playing softly. The kid would not—or could not—sleep. And her refusal to shut her eyes for more than a minute was putting a serious crimp in Matt’s plans for the night.

  Baffled, frustrated, he shifted his weight in his mother’s chair.

  Fezzik twitched his tail out of the path of the rockers, lurching closer to the bed. After a moment, the dog raised his head and poked it over the edge of the mattress.

  “Quit,” Matt ordered quietly.

  With a sigh, Fezzik collapsed, laying his head flat between his paws. Matt knew just how the dog felt.

  Taylor’s pale little face popped up from her pillow. “What was that?”

  “Fezzik just wanted to say good night. Go to sleep.”

  Her head dropped down, but she whispered, “G’night, Fezzik.”

  The dog’s tail thumped.

  “Fezzik,” she said again.

  The dog lurched up, shoving his head back on the bed.

  Taylor giggled.

  The sound—happy, girly, normal—caught Matt right under the ribs. He rubbed his jaw so she wouldn’t see him smile. She needed to get to sleep. “Both of you settle down.”

  For a while, they did.

  Fezzik inched closer, haunches wriggling. Matt watched as Taylor oh-so-casually slid her hand down the side of the mattress. The dog angled his head, his big tongue swiping her wrist. Another giggle.

  Matt managed a frown. “No more noise now, I mean it.”

  “‘Anybody want a peanut?’”

  He shook his head, the smile escaping. “You’ve been watching movies with Grandma.”

  “With Mommy,” Taylor said, blindsiding him. “She liked that one.”

  Her dead mother. He looked at her helplessly, seeing all over again how small she was, how vulnerable. How could Luke have left her?

  Fezzik propped both front legs on the bed, tail wagging.

  Taylor looked at Matt. “I think he wants to come up.”

  Matt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Probably. He used to sleep with Josh before they both got too big for one bed.”

  “Oh.” She stroked the dog’s rough head.

  Fezzik panted in approval.

  Matt watched them, floundering in a flood of affection and worry. “He could stay with you, if you want.”

  “You mean, like a guard dog?”

  Something tickled the back of Matt’s neck like a spider. “Why do you want a guard dog?”

  Taylor’s eyes slid from his. “I have bad dreams,” she mumbled.

  She’ll get over it, Tess had said. You did.

  His mother knew best. God knew she had more experience with kids and deployments than Matt.

  But Taylor wasn’t only dealing with a father away in a war zone. Her mother was dead. Her whole world had been turned upside down. No wonder she didn’t feel safe.

  Matt frowned. Luke ought to be here. His rare calls, his infrequent emails, might satisfy Mom, but they weren’t enough to reassure Taylor. Maybe I can get him to Skype when
he gets back to the main camp.

  In the meantime, if it made the kid feel better to think of the dog as protection from Things That Went Bump in the Night, then Matt could play along.

  “Sure. He can be your guard dog.”

  Taylor’s hand dropped from Fezzik’s neck. “He’s your dog.”

  “No,” Matt said firmly. “He’s the family dog. You’re family.”

  Her eyes, Luke’s eyes, met his before she gave him a small, sweet, heartbreaking smile that was hers alone. “Okay. Then I guess he can stay.”

  MATT LOOKED TIRED, Allison thought. Fatigue or stress had deepened the fine lines around his dark blue eyes and dug in between his brows.

  “I didn’t know if you’d still be up,” he said. The yellow porch light picked out streaks of gold in his dark blond hair, glinted off the stubble on his jaw. “I took a chance, drove by and saw your light on.”

  “I was just grading papers.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  He stood in her entry as if he wasn’t sure of his moves. The slight awkwardness in a man so confident was unexpectedly endearing.

  “What’s in the bag?” she asked.

  He held up the small brown paper lunch bag he carried. “Snickerdoodles.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have to court me with cookies, Matt.”

  His answering smile started in his eyes. “Maybe I want to. Besides, these reminded me of you.”

  “Um…Pale? Round? Bland?”

  “The smell,” he explained. “Cinnamon, vanilla. Sugar.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her, a gentle, unhurried, hello-how-are-you-kiss that stole her breath and disturbed her heart.

  She sighed when he was done. “That’s sweet.”

  His gaze was on her mouth. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to…” She glanced toward the bedroom door.

  “Not yet. Have a cookie.”

  She searched his face, not sure what he wanted. Needed. If he hadn’t come for sex…“I’ll get us some milk. Unless you want coffee.”

  “With cookies? You’re kidding, right?”

  He followed her into her narrow kitchen, his hands in his pockets, not touching her, just there, big and warm and solid, watching her.