Hopeful Whispers

by Bink Cummings

  Standing before the third door, I’m greeted with a handmade sign that says Daddy’s girls only. Shocked by the text and intricate craftsmanship, I read over each letter five times, debating if I should yank the sign off the door, so Rox and Scarlett don’t see it. By the sixth read through, I squash that desire like a bug. I’m doin’ the right thing by allowing it to stay. That’s the adult thing to do. It is. I know it. If only my gut would stop nagging me. This is one case she’s not right. Ryker designed this cabin. It’s his domain. It’d be disrespectful to tarnish the personal details even if they may pose uncomfortable questions. For all the girls know, he’s designed this room for Vanessa’s baby. Only I know the truth. If they ask otherwise, I’ll change the subject. They needn’t know.

  Satisfied with my decision, a ball of something pleasant unfurls in my center as I push open my daughters’ bedroom door and gasp. Wow! Just wow. That’s… Wow. Afraid to enter in fear I’ll suck all the magic from the space, I observe the colorful retreat from the doorway. Pinks and blues swirl in a symphony of glitter and fluff. There’s a massive white bookshelf stuffed to the gills. Butterflies and fairies galore. Even the pink and blue fuzzy, oversized rug that’d look hideous in any other room, adds to the girlish ambiance.

  “Mom? You down there?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  Slappy footsteps amble up the hall and stop beside me. A heartbeat passes in eerie silence followed by an ear-piercing squeal. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Roxie! Oh my Gosh!” Scarlett jumps up and down, clapping, her blonde hair bouncing wildly. Roxie comes running and skids to a halt next to her sister. Wanting to appreciate this moment in all its glory, I step back as a stupid bout of happy tears skew my vision. I don’t think my smile could get any wider at this point.

  “Is this… It’s… Oh,” Roxie stammers, frozen in place while Scarlett changes from clapping to a weird celebratory dance that includes twerking.

  “Woo hoo! This is our new bedroom. Woohoo! I call the pink side!” Scarlett sings.

  Having created quite the buzz, the men decide to join us. Six bodies in a hallway’s never felt so crowded. Yet, enjoyably so. Kade throws an arm over my shoulder. Holding out his phone with his free hand, he shoots a video of the girls exploring their bedroom.

  “This is aweeeesome!” Scarlett plops on her bed, and her flats go flying.

  “It is.” Roxie, my ten-year-old, is more mature with her approach. It’s slow and deliberate. If it weren’t for her massive smile, you’d doubt she loves the space at all. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she tests the density with a hefty bounce. A tiny laugh emerges.

  My heart swells even bigger.

  If I could kiss Ryker right now for giving this to our kids, I would. It’s a shame he missed it.

  “Aww.” Bear sniffles.

  “Are you cryin’ again, Pops?” Kade teases, camera still rolling.

  “Shut it,” he grumbles.

  Grinning, Dad chuckles and bumps his hip against Bear’s. “It’s okay, ya big softie.”

  Bear wipes his eyes with the heel of his palms. “Shut up. I officially became a grandpa today.”

  “You’ve been one for years,” Kade remarks absentmindedly, watching the girls.

  “You can’t be a real grandpa unless the kids know about you. Now that Kat told them who I am, I get to play the part.”

  Happy to have given him this gift, that I didn’t realize was a gift at all, I reply, “As long as you don’t let the girls watch any more Titanic, or do or watch things I don’t approve of, then you can see them as much as you’d like while we’re here.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with Titanic?” Dad interjects, arching a stern, irritated brow.

  Apparently, someone’s a bit touchy I commented on their movie choice.

  “It has sex and boobs.”

  Duh.

  Dad huffs, shaking his head, lips pursed. “They covered their eyes for those parts. Just like you did when you were a kid watchin’ Captain Ron.”

  Oh, god. I completely forgot about that.

  “Or Dances With Wolves. Or Cry Baby. Need I go on?”

  Wait. Cry Baby?

  “When did you make me cover my eyes during Cry Baby?” Yes, I know it’s silly to ask, but I’m curious. ‘Cause I don’t remember having to cover my eyes during that movie at all.

  “All that messy kissing. And the bucket washing scene,” he explains. “I have no idea what you ever saw in that film. It puts the cheese in cheesy.”

  Affronted, I scoff and cross my arms under my ample chest. How dare he insult Cry Baby Walker.

  Bear shoves Dad’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re gay?”

  “Yes,” he clips, glaring at his smirking partner.

  “Then you’d know why Kat loved that movie. The man rode a fuckin’ motorcycle and kissed so fuckin’ sexy you know he’d give great head.”

  One second, Dad’s standing here slightly riled up; the next, he’s shoving Bear down the hall, back toward the living room. “Great head, huh? Says the man who ain’t gettin’ any for a long fuckin’ time. How about you walk a little faster. You owe me a BJ,” Dad admonishes.

  Weird.

  Eyeing Kade, I thumb point the way they went. “Care to explain that?”

  He shrugs. “Ghost’s a little possessive. And given the week he’s had, he deserves a blowjob.” Kade winks and pulls me closer to lay a sloppy kiss on my forehead.

  Ewy. Gross.

  Wrinkling my nose up at him, smothering a grin, I swipe the wetness away with the back of my hand.

  “A little possessive?” I comment rhetorically.

  “If you think that’s bad, at a clubhouse party a few years back, Pops drank one too many. Some hang-around started chattin’ him up. Standin’ a bit too close. Ghost saw, kicked the dude out, and nobody slept well that night.”

  “Why?” I massage my bump as the girls stay occupied in their new room.

  “Let’s just say Pops was too busy makin’ up to Ghost. They were louder than usual. Scarred the brothers for life. Lesser men can’t handle havin’ a club brother fuckin’ dudes. Imagine havin’ a gay prez and VP. It sure as hell ain’t easy. They take a lotta shit and dish it out tenfold to maintain their reps. Can’t have anyone thinkin’ they’re goin’ twinkle toes faggy.”

  I bristle.

  Kade runs a hand over his short hair. “And, no, I’m not slurrin’ some homophobic rhetoric to be a dick. It’s somethin’ we gotta think about every day. Appearin’ weak’s a death sentence. There’s a prez from another chapter who hates Pops ‘cause he’s bi. When our parents got together, Big held church with all the club prezzes. I wasn’t there, but I know there were words and fists thrown. One thing every member knows is ya don’t fuck with Big Dick’s orders unless you wanna lose territory or your life. He busted some heads. Squared shit up. Now we gotta maintain the status quo. Which is harder than ya think when you got a handful of homophobic brothers always tryin’ to stir up trouble.”

  Unsure of how to respond, I keep it simple. “Makes sense. I can’t imagine it’s easy runnin’ a club. Let alone bein’ gay in a straight man’s world while doing it.”

  “Pops is good at it. He was born a biker.”

  That he was.

  A companionable silence descends upon us as we exchange quick smiles and side hugs. Content, I watch the girls in their element. It’s refreshing. I couldn’t tell you the last time I took a moment to simply watch them play—be. I’m always too busy running here or there. Working. Cooking. Cleaning. You know, normal life crap. I swear it feels like only yesterday I brought Scarlett home from the hospital for the first time. It’s crazy how fast time flies.

  Kade films more of the girls, and I excuse myself to explore the rest of the cabin. Not that there’s much left to discover.

  Touching the final knob at the end of the hallway, I peer over my shoulder. Kade’s too engrossed in my kids to pay me any mind. It’s show time. Giddy with anticipation, I close my eyes, turn the handle, and slow
ly cross the threshold one careful step at a time. Blindly padding deeper into the boudoir, I transition from hardwood underfoot to something plush. Worried I may bump into something if I go any further, I wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings and … chicken out. What if it’s ugly? What if I hate the design? What if there’s nudie magazines on the nightstand? Or a Harley Davidson comforter? Maybe a life size blow-up doll of Angelina Jolie, if Ryker’s into her. I don’t know. He used to enjoy her movies. For all I know, that was one of his many lies, concocted to appease me. To make me fall head over heels long enough for him to knock me up twice before yanking the rug out from under me.

  Enough.

  I shouldn’t dwell.

  Now’s not the time for it.

  I take a deep breath. The same cinnamon, vanilla, woodsy aroma permeates the room, easing my warring nerves. If it smells this good in here, too, it can’t be all bad. Cinnamon is the scent of Christmas. And Christmas signifies joy and happiness. Therefore, nothing can go wrong. I refuse to believe it will. Alright. That’s settled. I’m sticking to it. Let’s do this. I can…

  Springing my eyes open, they instantly round into saucers. Holy mother of unicorns. My heart dives to the ground like a rollercoaster and shoots back up the next hill as I take a staggering step backward. Then another and another until I’m flush with the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Only that’s not what I care about right now. It’s the pictures. Dozens and dozens of them, everywhere. Of me. Scarlett. Roxie. Some of us together. Some not.

  On the nightstand I presume is Ryker’s, is a box of Kleenex, a bottle of lotion, and a framed 5x7 of us kissing in the hospital the day Roxie was born. I remember when we took it. This was before selfie sticks and badass smartphones. Ryker had to hold out his digital camera as far as he could to snap a million pictures and pray one turned out decent. This one did. Geeze. We look happy. And young. So very young.

  One-by-one, I examine the photos in detail from the same spot. Emotions I choose not to examine too closely flood my system. I can’t believe my eyes. This isn’t just a bedroom. It’s a freaking shrine. A sweet albeit kinda creepy one.

  On the hand-hewn mantel nudging my shoulder is more of us. In the librarian worthy floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelf, where there should be novels, there’s not. Can you guess what there is? Dozens of framed memories that took place what feels like a lifetime ago. When we were happy, and I was madly in love.

  Walking into the cabin, there was no sign of us anywhere. I didn’t expect there to be. Guess I should have. ‘Cause this is insanity. Though, among the strangeness is a kind of all-consuming warmth that encompasses the space with a feeling of rightness. From the cream duvet, to the fancy sleigh bed. All the way to the elegant chandelier and bear rug sprawled in front of the fireplace. A fireplace that puts the one in the living room to shame. Not due to its size. But its beauty. The hearth’s an exquisite slab of stone. Adorning it are all the tools needed to build a fire—a small stack of wood and a basket of pine cones. It’s as if a Hallmark Christmas movie has come to life right before my eyes.

  Waddling to the far door that’s cracked open, I peek inside, expecting to see a closet. Except it’s not. Slipping in the bathroom, my eyes grow, on the verge of bulging from their sockets. There’s a fabulous sunken tub and a separate stone shower stall, complete with a dual pair of rainfall shower heads. The doors surrounding it are made of floor-to-ceiling glass. Hot damn. This is a massive en-suite with what appears to be not one but two walk-in closets. The first is full of jeans and t-shirts. The other, larger one, barren. I suppose this is where my belongings will go. Now all I need to do is have Kade carry them inside.

  Eyeing the tub, I rub my palms together greedily. I could use a bath. A long one with candles lit and soft music crooning. This is the kind of tub you do that in. Turning the knobs, the water flows heavily from the rustic faucet. There was no expense spared in this cabin, that’s for sure. It gives any HGTV cabin a run for its money. Adjusting the water temp, I get it hot enough to turn my skin red, just the way I prefer. Then I set about exploring the cabinets in search of a washcloth and towel. Thankfully, they’re easy to find beneath the sink. Even the towels are luxurious. Softer than anything I’ve dried my body on before. This is gonna be a real treat. One I need after that horrible drive.

  Making haste, I walk out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the hall in search of Kade. Only he’s gone. Crap. Voices carry from my girls’ bedroom, so I stop there first. On the floor sits Uncle Kade, legs out in front of him as Scarlett paints his toenails. It’s nice to know somebody’s secure enough in his masculinity to rock hooker red like a badass.

  “Where’d you get the polish?” I ask, amused.

  Kade and Scarlett beam up at me as he wiggles his sexy man toes. They’re like his brothers. I hate feet, but I always did think Ryker had nice ones.

  “There’s a whole set of them in her nightstand,” Kade explains, pointing to the furniture piece flanking Scarlett’s bed.

  “So you picked red?”

  “It’s a Sacred Sinner’s color. Figured it’d go well with my cut.” He points to the patch on his back.

  Nodding, I concur.

  “When you’re done, do you think you could bring my clothes into the bedroom a-lone?” I emphasize the last word, making serious eye contact because I don’t need the girls seeing the pictures in the bedroom before I get a chance to take them down. They can’t stay up with us living here. Not unless I wanna have the daddy talk today, which I don’t.

  “Did you know Kade’s our uncle?” Roxie comments from the bed, her nose stuffed in a book, back against the headboard.

  “He is, is he?” I wink at Kade, playing along.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Scarlett asks, now applying a silver glitter top coat.

  Boy oh boy. Let’s see him try to get that polish off now. He’ll need a damn chisel. Every female knows glitter polish is the devil to remove. I dunno if I should fist bump my daughter and her evil ways, or scold her for torturing her poor unsuspecting uncle. Nah. I’ll let him suffer and praise her for it later. Atta girl.

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I tease. Truthfully, the grandpa bomb was a tad much for me to handle that I didn’t think to address the uncle aspect.

  “Mooom,” they drone in unison.

  Taking a page out of Bear’s handbook, I lift my hands in mock surrender. “You’re smart. You figured it out.”

  “Does this mean Ryker’s our uncle, too? Since Grandpa is married to Papa?” Scarlett inquires innocently.

  Kade and I exchange a brief look of horror. “No!” we shout instantaneously. Needing to change the subject fast, so they don’t ask more questions, I add, “I’m gonna go take a bath. You ladies be good. No makeup on Uncle Kade. When I’m done, why don’t we order a pizza or something? I’m sure your grandpas are floatin’ around here somewhere.”

  Doin’ the nasty.

  “Okay, Mommy,” Scarlett says.

  “Can we get mushrooms?” Roxie tests, ever the mushroom addict.

  “I dig me some mushrooms, so we’d better get extra on our pizza. We can share it. That okay with you, little one?” Kade addresses Rox.

  Tipping her book down, she smiles shyly at him. “I … I’d love that. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” Kade returns, making her blush.

  They gotta quit all this sweetness. My heart can’t take it.

  We exchange a few more pleasantries before I escape to my tub that’s almost full. Forgoing the candles just this once, I peel off my clothes and submerge myself in a bathtub made for the Gods.

  Sighing, I tilt my head back and chill. Tension bleeds from my muscles. The stress of the week seeps from my pores. This was worth the entire trip. To see my children safe and happy. For them to meet their family. To soak in this tub. For a few short minutes, I’m gonna forget all the bad stuff and embrace the good that’s happened. Guess that’s all you really can do. When life gives ya lemons, yo
u grab some tequila and make yourself a pitcher of margaritas. This cabin’s my proverbial margarita. It’s inebriating bliss.

  Kat

  What a day. What. A. Day. After a bath that turned my fingers and toes to prunes, I dressed in one of Ryker’s Harley T’s that fits snuggly around my belly, and a pair of his sweatpants with ankle cuffs so they can’t drag underfoot. I might look like Tweedledee sporting MC Hammer pants, but I’m cool with that. They’re comfy. Kade delivered the suitcases to the bedroom. However, I didn’t wanna weed through them to find pajamas. Ryker’s clothes suit me just fine. And if I’m being honest, I kinda like the idea of something he’s worn before wrapped around me. Call me sentimental. I don’t care. It is what it is.

  Once I emerged from the bedroom, refreshed, I found my dad, Bear, Kade and the girls chitchatting in the kitchen. We ordered pizza, Kade discovered a marathon of Harry Potter on TV, and we settled in for a pleasant, no stress evening of family bonding. Scarlett, as I suspected, stayed glued to Kade’s hip. While Roxie, my independent child, kept to herself. It was nice to catch up. By the time the kids’ bedtime rolled around, Rosie arrived, and took up her temporary quarters in the spare bedroom, after she double checked all the doors and windows for security purposes. The men left together sometime thereafter, leaving the Suburban out back and me with its keys. Ryker has yet to be seen or heard from. Now, I’m curled up in the dark on the oversized chair in the living room, reading a blue alien romance on my Kindle. For my protection, there’s a handgun on the end table next to me. I found it locked and loaded in Ryker’s drawer underneath his sweats. Figure you can never be too careful, and I don’t think he’d mind.

  Lost in the world of weird creatures, snow, and symbionts, I’m sluggish to respond to the creaky floorboard behind me until the noise happens again. Heart jacking up my esophagus, I swiftly yet silently reach for the gun and curl deeper into the chair, hoping whomever’s in the house hasn’t seen me. There’s a rustling of fabric. Another creak. Whomever it is, is getting closer. Cold sweat beads on the base of my neck, goosebumps sprouting from toes to nose. Pressing my lips together, holding my panicked breath, I force my pulse to quit pounding fervently. I don’t want them to hear it.