by Freya Barker
Millie leans forward, leaning an elbow on my backrest, as she waits for Freddy's reaction.
"Sounds like you have it all planned," she finally says, with a slight edge to her voice that has me turn to look at her. She's looking straight at me, and I wonder if I totally misread the situation. Wouldn't be the first time.
Millie, for once oblivious to the undercurrents, chirps happily, "Yes, we have. You don't even have to worry about anything."
"I see." Freddy taps her lips with her index finger, making my daughter squirm in her seat. "Well...I guess option three sounds like the way to go, but..." she quickly adds when Millie starts squealing in my ear, thankfully silencing her. "I have a few conditions."
"Name them. Dad will do anything," my daughter spits out immediately, and this time I swivel my head around to shoot her a very stern look. Something Freddy clearly finds funny, since she bursts out laughing.
"That is good to know," she says with a wink in my direction. "Because I'm already working on my honey-do list, and at the top is a new kitchen."
"Done."
I swear Millie doesn't even breathe before she jumps on that one, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling. I give up trying to rein her in—she's on a roll—mostly at my expense.
"Great, but I also want something from you."
"Me?" The accompanying grimace on her face is priceless. Didn't see that one coming.
"You help me look after the animals, and that includes mucking the stables, scooping the dog poop from the yard, and cleaning the kitty litter every other day."
It's quiet in the back of the car, and I glance over at Freddy, who's looking out the window, a little smile playing on her lips. She turns when she feels my eyes on her, and I take one of her hands and lift it to my mouth.
"I love you," I tell her soundlessly, but she hears.
"Love you too," she returns, her eyes conveying the truth of her words.
Our moment is short-lived when my master negotiator daughter throws back a counter-offer.
"Fine, but then can we move in this weekend?“
THIRTY-TWO
Freddy
In the end it isn't until October they move in.
Mostly on my insistence that the house is as ready as we can get it before winter hits. I'd thought it would be November at the least, but I underestimated Newt's dogged determination and Millie's driving force.
Not quite two months since we came to a three-way collective agreement on our future, the first of the boxes are sitting on my porch and more are on the way.
I walk around my brand-spanking-new kitchen, with matte, off-white cupboards, gorgeous granite countertops, and brushed steel hardware. Newt insisted on new stainless steel appliances and an industrial range hood, with a fan almost strong enough to suck the entire pot off the stove.
The whole thing had cost a mint in supplies, but because Newt had done all the work himself—occasionally helped by Jim, who is pretty handy with tools as well—it saved us a huge chunk in labour. My contribution was the brand new, turquoise Keurig, holding a place of honour on my new counter.
On top of renovating the kitchen, Newt, as promised, cleared a swath to the lake and laid a flagstone path from the grass to the water's edge. The plan is to start building the dock in the spring, but for now his boat is loaded up on the trailer and parked behind the barn.
And finally, every room in the house—except the bathrooms, those will get done over the winter—has a fresh coat of paint. Millie was allowed to pick her own colour, a periwinkle blue, but the rest of the house was done in various shades of clay grey. We all worked on that a couple of weekends in a row.
My house...our house...is beautiful.
We'll still have a bit of tweaking to do in terms of some of the furniture, seeing as we ended up with two of everything, but that won't take much. My couch is pretty old and ratty, and too small for three bodies and a bunch of animals, so we'll toss that one out and use Newt's. I also prefer his bed, seeing as it's brand new and king-sized. My queen is already in Millie's room and the bunk beds I had in that bedroom before have been taken apart and stored in the rafters of the barn.
It's a bit puzzling to store everything for now, but it will all find a home next summer when Newt hopes the new two-bedroom bunkie down by the water will be ready.
That was his idea. He knows Alex and the boys like spending time here during the summer when they can, and that would've been a bit of a challenge now. Not with the small cabin he's drawn up.
I pop a dark roast pod in the Keurig. My second coffee of the day, which I intend to enjoy on the porch before the guys get back with the second load. Millie and Jordan are at the other house, helping load up and boxing odds and ends, and Newt, Jim, and Alex—who came down from Sudbury last night in a borrowed pickup truck—are driving back and forth.
With my coffee doctored up the way I like it, I take all three dogs outside, blocking the steps with the gate. The pups generally stick around, but two are harder to scoop up when the guys pull in, so it's safer on the porch for now. It's getting chilly, but the sun is out and with our long winters, I'll take all the vitamin D I can get, even if I have to wear a jacket.
I barely have my feet up on the railing when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. Probably just the guys letting me know they're on their way back.
It's not. It's Maggie.
"And? Are they moved in?"
"Really? It's nine thirty in the morning. They dropped off one load, I'm guessing they have another three runs to go."
"Shit. It's not even ten? Okay, well I guess that's what being up half the night with a puking husband gets you."
"Joe still no better?"
Maggie just spent a week mopping up after her kids who, one after the other, came down with some kind of stomach bug. She was going to give me a hand here today, but yesterday her husband apparently got sick with the same damn thing. With Maggie's luck, she'll be next in line.
"Not even a little. Seriously, you'd think he was pushing out triplets the way he's moaning and grunting. Nothing worse than a sick man. My kids handled the flu better than Joe does."
"I'm sorry," I commiserate, for lack of anything better to say to that.
"Married bliss, they say. A load of jabberwocky. Wait ‘til pretty boy gets a cold, the romance will evaporate faster than a fart in a fan factory." I snort at her colourful descriptives. "Anyhooo...reason I called: I was bored at four this morning when Joe was hugging the bowl for the third time, so I baked. Made some cheese and jalapeño stuffed bread. Normally I don't have time to pull it out of the oven before these animals scarf it down, but now with everyone still a bit green around the gills, I think I can sneak it out of the house and get it to you for lunch."
"That sounds great, absolutely. I honestly hadn't even thought as far as lunch."
"Peachy. I'll swing by with it around eleven thirty, after I hose down my bathroom and my husband."
I've barely tucked the phone back in my pocket, when Boulder starts growling and I hear the crunch of tires on my driveway. I look up and my blood instantly runs hot.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Shooting out of my seat, I'm over the gate and down the steps in a flash. Driving up is Ella's shiny Mustang. The last person on the planet I'd expect or want to see.
Last I heard, a judge ordered her into a rehab facility near Toronto for forty-five days to dry out, and a living-sober house for six months thereafter. How in the world she can be coming up my drive is beyond me.
"Are you out of your mind?" are the first words from my mouth when she rolls to a stop, and I yank her door open for her. "I have a restraining order against you. Do you want to end up in jail?"
"Please hear me out," she pleads, her hands palms outward as she slithers out of the car. I can't help but notice how much better she looks than last time she was on my property. Her eyes are clear and she seems steady enough.
"I'll give you exactly one minute before I call the cops
." I pull my phone from my pocket, punch in 9-1-1 and poise my finger over the screen.
"I'm dry," she starts. "Seventy days today. I haven't had a drop since last time you saw me. I live in Barrie now and go to AA-meetings once or twice a day. That's why I'm here, I'm on step nine of the twelve-step program: making amends."
"Damn, you've got some gall coming back here. You could've written a letter." My words are harsh but I can feel my heart softening. This cannot have been easy for her.
"I know." She smiles a little, looking off in the distance before turning her focus back on me. "And maybe I should've, but the truth is, other than to tell you how incredibly sorry I am for all the hurt I caused you, I'm here for selfish reasons. I eventually would like to have a relationship with my son. If he wants that," she adds quickly. "But that will never happen if I don't try to make reparations with the people in his life, and you're one of them."
"Am I last on your list?" I don't know why that seems important, but it does.
"Not first and not last," she admits. "I've been to see Billy at Maplehurst. He wasn't too receptive. That's why I chose you next, I was hoping..."
"That I'd be easy?"
"Not easy, but maybe less painful. I was hoping meeting with you first would give me a little courage to see Jim next."
Just then the phone in my hand buzzes with an incoming message. I quickly scan it before looking up at Ella.
"Well, unless you want to tackle Jim right now, I suggest you hightail it out of here. Newt, my brother, Alex, and Jim are all on their way back here. I'm guessing you have maybe five minutes." Probably more like ten, since Newt's message said they were loading up the last boxes, but I'd like her out of here before I have a potential World War III on my hands.
"I don't think I'm ready for him," she says, looking nervously over her shoulder. "But I appreciate you hearing me out."
"I'm not ready to forgive you," I admit as she gets in behind the wheel. "And not because of anything you did to me, but for what you did to those kids. Jordan in particular."
"I know," she says, hanging her head. "I'm so sorry for—"
"Save it," I interrupt her brusquely. "Really, I don't want to hear words. I'd much rather see you bust your ass to get yourself turned around. Maybe I'll be ready to forgive when I can see your good intentions in action."
"Fair enough. It's more than I can ask for."
I'm still standing in the driveway staring after the dust cloud her Mustang left behind when Newt's Jeep pulls up.
Newt
"Are you fucking serious?"
I wasn't sure until I saw Freddy standing in the driveway.
That woman has some serious cojones showing up here—again. Lucky for her, Jim had to stop in town for some emergency, or he would have run the bitch off the road.
"Tell me you called the cops on her," I add when I reach Freddy.
"I handled it." She puts a hand on my chest and lifts up for a kiss.
"Frederique..."
"It's handled. She did what she came here to do, and no one got hurt."
"What did she come here for?" I insist.
"Amends, honey. She came here to make amends. Step nine of the Alcoholics Anonymous twelve-step program, apparently."
"You're shitting me?"
"I shit you not." She walks around the Jeep and opens the gate. "Come on, let's get these boxes unloaded."
"Wait until Jim gets wind of this," I mumble to myself, as I grab the first box from Freddy's hands.
-
"This stuff is da bomb!"
I hand Jordan a paper towel, since he sprayed half the slice of bread he crammed into his mouth just now, over his shirt and the floor. Boulder, who always seems to be around when food is dropped, makes short work cleaning up the floor.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Jim admonishes him.
At Freddy's request, we brought the kids over to have lunch that Maggie apparently dropped off. It's barely one and we have everything but a few large pieces of furniture left at the other house. One more run will do the trick. We'll be able to get the big stuff squared away before Alex has to head home and Jim goes in to work.
We offered to keep Jordan, but Jim nixed that, saying he'd already made arrangements. Those apparently included Phyllis, whom he finally admitted to seeing, after weeks of sneaking around. They hadn't been fooling anyone.
By six, Freddy and I are sitting on the porch, beers in hand and our feet up on the railing. The dogs and Timber are goofing around in the driveway and George is off on his own, rummaging with his snout through a pile of brush. Two of the cats—I forget which ones—are perched on the porch railing like sentries, watching the antics below. As far as I know, Millie is upstairs in her new room with her kitten, putting away her clothes and putzing around. At least that's what she said she'd be doing.
It's quiet. After the hectic pace of the past few days, a welcome reprieve.
I reach out for Freddy's hand and entwine my fingers with hers.
"Nice change of pace, right?"
Freddy looks over at me and smiles before turning her attention back on the animals. "It absolutely is. Sometimes you need time to slow down so you can appreciate the wealth around you. Most days we just run past it."
"Hmmm." I take another tug of my beer. "Are you happy?"
Again, she turns to me, this time with an eyebrow raised.
"Happy? It's too mild a word. I don't even think a word exists to describe the way I feel. Blessed comes close. I was perfectly content with my life before you yelled at me in a parking lot. Calling me a vigilante feminist." I grin at the memory. "I feel like I've had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at me this past summer, but I wouldn't trade even one second of it. Not a single one. Because what I'm left with is a life richer and more beautiful than I could ever have conjured."
I pull her up by her hand and down on my lap, the Adirondack chair creaking precariously under our combined weight, but holding steady.
"So no, happy doesn't quite fit the feeling of complete rightness—of utter bliss—that is pumping through my heart right now."
My hand wraps around her silver-streaked braid and I pull her down to my mouth. "God, I love you," I rumble against her lips, before claiming her in a deep, soul-baring kiss.
I don't even notice we're no longer alone until I hear Millie's voice.
"Ewwww!"
EPILOGUE
Millie
"Ewwww!"
I chuckle as my parents jump. It doesn't matter they've been together for five years, and married for four, they still have a hard time keeping their hands off each other.
They also still fly apart when I catch them, even though I'm nineteen and have done way more than kiss myself. But that's not information I'd share with my dad.
This time I find them in the laundry room, when they were supposed to be getting the rest of the salads outside. Figures, we have the whole backyard filled with people, and these two still prefer each other's company over anyone else's. Except maybe mine. That's not to say they never fight, because they do. Mostly when Mom wants to bring home another rescue animal.
"Christ, Sweet Pea. You scared the shit out of me."
I grin at Dad. I hope one day I find someone for whom the whole world disappears when his lips are on mine. I'm batting zero-for-three so far. To be fair, really only two, since my one experimental kiss with Jordan three years ago was just that: an experiment, and a tragically failed one at that. Good thing too, since he really seems to be into Kayleigh Piller, Maggie's oldest daughter.
"Sorry, Dad," I lie, boldfaced. "I was just wondering what happened to the food."
"You're a smartass, you know that?" Mom pokes me in the side as she slips past me into the kitchen.
I'm not sure exactly when I started calling Freddy: Mom. It may have been after we had to put Chester down, a few years ago, when I discovered him writhing in pain half inside the barn one morning. I loved that horse. I remember being pissed at her for telling
Hank to put him to sleep, but I also remember crying in my bed, and Mom sneaking in, slipping under the covers with me, and holding me tight, her own tears mixing with mine. She cried even harder when I called her Mom that first time. That was also the moment I decided that I would never again stand by helpless when an animal was in pain. That's why I applied to the University of Guelph, to study veterinary medicine.
That's only one of the reasons everyone is over here.
We've got a lot to celebrate.
"I'll take the potato salad, can you grab the French sticks from the oven?" Mom asks me.
I follow her outside where one of my annoying cousins, Luke, lies in wait with a Super Soaker and totally drenches my back. I just have time to lift the bread over my head or those would've been toast, just like my top. My aunt, Jane, catches him and takes his water gun. I'll get the little pain in the ass later, when I take him and his brother, Josh, out on the tube.
Jordan's dad, Jim, is manning the grill, his wife, Phyllis, never far from his side. They've become good friends of my parents. A little weird, since Jim used to date my mom back in the day, and I distinctly remember Phyllis making a play for my dad when we first moved here. And then there's the small issue of Jim's stepson, Jordan's half-brother, who's still in jail serving out his twelve-year sentence for what he did to me. But I guess that's what small-town living is like; everyone is connected in one way or another.
The one person I'm missing today is Jenna, she's going into her second year at Dalhousie University in Halifax and decided to stay there over the summer and work. Mom says maybe we'll fly out for a weekend before I'm off to Guelph to go see her. Her parents and siblings are here though.
"Hey girl," my uncle, Alex, pulls me in a hug. "Are you ready for the big world?"
"It's a little scary," I admit.
I love Uncle Alex. Even though we're not really blood-related, he treats me as his own, as does Aunt Jane. Another reason to be grateful for Mom.
With all the food out, I give Dad the nod he was waiting for. He puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle. "Can I have your attention, please? My daughter has something to say." His big, booming voice quiets any remaining rumblings, as he helps me up on a chair. From the corner of my eye, I see Mom look on with curiosity.