“What’s going on out there?” Diane is out of the peripheral view of the warehouse.
“Maguire is back,” I say, almost unable to believe it myself. I’d gotten so tired of everyone asking me the progress of his recovery, which we all knew was mostly emotional at this point.
“Did you know?” Again, everyone thinks I have the 411 on everything Maguire Parrish. Of course, this time, I had a feeling our little heart to heart might have made the difference.
“Maybe,” I acknowledge.
“Does this mean you’ll move back into the garage apartment when it’s finished?”
Again, this question has been asked a million times. I don’t answer definitively, only shrugging my shoulders. Ned and Elise are the only ones who know the truth, though I wager to guess those close to me like Teagan, Josh, and even Jase can piece together a little bit of the drama that is the Sarge and me.
Within a minute, Ned pops his head in and gives me a thumbs up. He’d called me yesterday on the way home from Maguire’s house—telling me desperate times called for desperate measures. More surprising, it worked.
The whole day, Maguire keeps to himself in his office. From my desk, I can swivel around and have a bird’s-eye view from the glass windows into the factory and into his office. He’s busy at work, his sketchpad out most of the time, but at one point, he brings out his whiteboard. Every once in a while, if I watch long enough, he tires quickly with his left hand. But he perseveres.
At four p.m., I call it a day, closing up the office. I turn, walking straight into the substantial body of Maguire.
“Darlin’.”
“Sarge,” I counter. “It’s good to have you back.”
His beautiful smile emerges through his lips. “Yeah, it’s good to be back.”
We stand in silence and for one of the first times since Scott’s death pushed us together, it’s awkward as fudge in the hot summer sun. Finally, I put an end to it when I ask, “Want to come over for dinner? I know Elise has brought Scottie over a couple times a week and all, but…” I don’t finish.
“I’d love it, I can grab takeout?”
I playfully smack him. “I’ve actually learned how to make a suitable dinner.”
With that, we part ways. But this could be bad—the two of us together.
As fate had it, I’d put a roast and potatoes in the Crock-Pot before I’d left for work this morning. Scotland has begun eating solid foods and she seems to take after her mama—loving her carbs.
I’m home less than ten minutes, long enough to change into some yoga pants and get Scottie in her highchair with a teething biscuit. A light knock on the door has both our attention, I open it to Maguire still in the same clothes from work.
He smiles but bypasses me quickly, making his way to his granddaughter. “Hey, little darlin’,” he begins. Acting as if he’s about to pick her up, he stops. “What a mess you are!” he states plainly when she only laughs at him.
“Yeah, those teething biscuits mean she’ll be taken straight to the bath,” I begin, walking into the small kitchen, grabbing some plates. He stares at my plain table I picked up at Walmart and I’m sure it’s made of plywood. It breaks my heart, too, that the table Scott made for me is gone, in a heap of ashes, but neither one of us bring it up.
I continue what I’m doing, and I set the table. I stop when he’s staring at his watch. “Are we really eating at five p.m., darlin’?”
It’s funny what a difference a year makes. When my day starts at five in the morning now, yeah, dinner is pretty early. “Do you know how much effort it takes to get one little baby ready in the morning?” I finish, turning to get some silverware. “You’re up early if I remember right,” I call over my shoulder.
He has not replied to me yet. I grab a two-liter of Diet Coke from my fridge, making my way back to the table.
“Um, nothing really has been the same for several weeks but I’m trying to get it all back to normal.” When he says these words, he turns to my girl and squeezes her feet. “And being with you, little darlin’, is going to be my priority.”
I don’t see Maguire making my way down the hallway after bathing Scotland and putting her to bed for the night. Surely, he would not have left without saying goodbye. The music is on low, playing “Carry On Wayward Son.” I find this song choice satirical while I search for my father-in-law. To my right, Maguire is on my balcony with a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on the table.
“You really need some beer in your fridge, darlin’.”
I chuckle at him. “You want to go grocery shopping for me?” I question, grabbing for the wine.
“I would.” Taking his own drink, he continues, “I’d do anything for you, darlin’, you know this.” I turn my eyes down while I pour my own drink. “Shit, Holland, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean…” He trails off as I sit down, waving him off.
“So.” I’m attempting to change the subject. “What’s the plan with the truck?”
“Funny you ask, darlin’, because I plan on putting you to work. Both my PT and OT want me to exercise my hand little by little, so I’m going to be teaching you how to sand.”
I raise an eyebrow his way, taking a long sip of my wine. “Well, as long as you’re a good teacher, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, you’ll find I can teach you many things.” These words glide from his mouth with such ease. He doesn’t look up but his words certainly have hidden meaning.
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” I agree because it’s true. I’ve been with one person my entire life. I know I’m inexperienced in many areas. My eyes stay fixed on my wine glass and I tire of apologizing to Maguire and to myself for how I feel. So I don’t.
“Life was more fun when you lived on the side of my driveway, you know this, right?”
My hand trails the rim of my wine glass. “Yeah, for me, too.”
“So, come back. I’ll pay off the lease on this apartment. I’ll have the garage apartment done soon. Fuck, I’ll build you a brand-new home if you’re leery of the garage. I’ll do anything to get you back where you belong.”
I don’t doubt any of the words he confesses. I stay silent, my fear of the proximity being my downfall.
“Darlin’?” he questions.
“I can’t—not now. I’m not saying not ever, just not now.”
His lips form in a thin line and he rubs at the back of his neck. “Will you keep an open mind?”
“Give me time, and I’ll try, okay?”
He stares now, straight at me. “Well, it’s all I can ask for.”
And after our little exchange, we sit in comfortable silence, like we’re returning to where we had once been. It’s where I’d hoped we’d eventually get back to.
Chapter 5
“Good morning!” I yell, opening the door to her kitchen. It’s been our tradition since moving to town, Elise, Scottie, and I get together for brunch and shopping almost every Saturday. Elise Landon has become my person in life. I never realized having a motherly element was as crucial as it is, knowing now how much I depend on her.
“Where’s my girl?”
And though I know she loves me like a daughter, she’s looking for my daughter. Taking Scotland out of my hands, she gives me a tea, and I follow her into the sunroom.
“Sit down and tell me about your dinner with M the other night.” She doesn’t mince words.
“How in the world?” I ask.
Elise doesn’t judge me, nor does Ned but it’s uncomfortable for anyone to know I love my father-in-law as I do. What they don’t know is how deeply I long for his touch. How I dream he shares my bed with me. Or how I wish I could feel him as we forge our two worlds together. The desire, the feelings, the love only manifests further with every second we’re away from one another.
“M needs someone to talk to about it, Holls. Just like you have me to bounce stuff off of.”
I don’t try to keep in m
y laugh. She usually has to coax me to tell her what is going on.
“What?” She acts all innocent.
Oh, how I love this woman.
“Are you serious? You’re nosy as a bunny on Easter, Elise.”
She’s bouncing Scottie on her lap, not looking at me. “Your mommy makes no sense most of the time, you know that, right, sweet girl?” Her tease is met with laughter from both of us.
“Okay, you brat, let’s get going. Scottie wants mimosas and quiche,” Elise demands.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’s Scottie who wants those mimosas.”
I’m ignoring my texts while I’m trying to maneuver the stroller and my sleeping daughter through the antique store Elise insisted on bringing me to. She swears I must breathe some life into my dreary apartment. To me, the apartment isn’t our home. Eventually, I want to buy, but for now—our small little place is all Scotland and I need.
“Are you going to answer your phone or ignore it all afternoon?” Elise sasses at me.
I know who it is. Maguire, Teagan, Elise, Sarah, and Jase all have their own exclusive text alerts. “It can wait,” I insist. One little glare has me fishing through my purse when I roll my eyes at her.
Maguire: First lesson, tonight. We can start when little darlin’ goes to bed. I still have the bassinet for her.
Oh, Maguire, Maguire, Maguire. First off, last time I left her, with me less than twenty feet from the door, it almost was a tragedy. And Scotland is too big for the bassinet.
Before I answer, I move my gaze to Elise.
“Hey, are you available to watch Scottie for a while tonight?”
An amused smile appears. “Was the text from Jase?”
Oh, she’s a troublemaker. When she winks at me, it’s obvious she’s aware of who it is.
“Well, if it were any of your business, I’d tell you, but since it’s not…” She playfully smacks me, while Scottie stirs a little and I move her stroller back and forth, trying to lull her back to sleep. “Honestly, as you know, it’s Maguire. We’re going to start fixing Scott’s truck together.”
I don’t know how she does it, but she can get one eyebrow much higher than the other one. “Oh, yeah?” It’s her subtle way of hinting she wants more information but won’t ask.
“With his hand, it tires easily so I told him I’d help.” I pocket my phone for the time being and turn back to her. “Just a couple of hours? Is it possible?” I ask.
“Tell you what, Holls, you need a break. And I need some one-on-one time with my girl without her mama telling me every three minutes it’s time for bed. So—let me keep her and I’ll give you the night off. And I promise to adhere to her schedule sort of—closely.”
She’s got me there. Our Saturdays are the only time I let her miss a nap. Even when looking for a daycare, it had to be with someone who promised to keep her on the schedule I worked so hard to start. I could use a night to myself.
“You got yourself a deal, but you promise to call me if she needs me for any reason.”
“Pfft…we’ll be fine, little mama.” She takes the stroller, using the name Teagan calls me when I grab for my phone again.
Me: Okay, I’ll be out around six.
I swing by my apartment before driving out to Maguire’s house. I pause in my living room, making sure this is in fact my place. I’m not sure how he did it, but this is not the same apartment I left this morning. In front of me, right behind my door, my cheap and ugly plywood table has been replaced with a new table. On further inspection, I realize it’s not new when I reach for a note sitting by itself on the top.
Darlin’,
I can’t have you eating dinner, making memories with Scotland over such a cheap and meaningless piece of furniture. I hemmed and hawed over making you a new table. Then I remembered, Scott and I worked on my own table I had in my kitchen. Now, it’s yours. It’s a little different, a little more modern but he used his own two hands to make this, alongside me. I can make myself a new one but you deserve this. Don’t get all proud and try to return it. I also couldn’t bear for you to have bare walls. I found old pictures of you and Scott along with many of Scotland to hang for you. Mira has made a couple new paintings, too. Please, accept this gift. If you’re not going to be close to me, you’re going to be happy and cozy in your new apartment. I really wanted to get you a new couch since yours is as uncomfortable as a block of ice, but I didn’t want to press my luck.
It’s not signed but I know who it’s from. And on the table is my sewing machine, which had been in the garage the day of the fire. On it is a little sticky note. I had this looked at by an expert and it was given a clean bill of health.
I walk around my living room, gawking at all my new pictures. There’s one of Scotland and me in the hospital after I had her. I didn’t know he’d taken a picture as I was staring down at my newborn. This portrait embodies every emotion I felt, holding my baby for one of the first times.
There’s one of Scott and me at the beach and I’m laughing as he’s carrying me into the ocean. I’d been so mad at him, and wouldn’t speak a word his way. I remember it vividly. He’d gotten drunk the night before but we had plans to meet Sarah and Mark. We got there three hours late and I pouted on my beach towel. Finally, he said, “Fuck this, we’re having fun if I have to fucking throw you in the water.” After his declaration, it was almost a dare between us and as he scooped me in his arms, I had already forgiven him.
One of Mira’s paintings is of our military house in North Carolina. It was just ours, not the other houses connected to it. It brings tears to my eyes because it was our first and last house together.
The last picture hanging in the living room, is one of Scotland. Her crazy black curls remind me of both her daddy and grandpa’s hair, though Sarge’s is lighter as he grays. Both men keep their hair so short, but with Scott, if he let it grow out, it would be curly like our daughter’s. It’s one of the first smiles I remember capturing in a picture.
Down the hallway are more pictures hanging, various memories of my life with Scott. But I don’t miss the last one. Right before I enter my room, is a picture Elise had to have taken of Maguire and me at Christmas before I had Scotland. It’s both of us laughing at something he had to have said to me. This is Maguire, always making sure I have exactly what I need before I realize it.
Shitake mushrooms. He’s shirtless in my view when I make my way up the little embankment leading to his property. Did he do this on purpose?
The second our eyes meet, he grabs for his t-shirt, popping it over his shoulders. He doesn’t stop until he meets me at my vehicle. The second I put it into park, he has the door opened, looking in the rear for his baby.
“Where’s little darlin’?”
“She goes to bed so early now with my work schedule. I didn’t want to leave her in the house when we’re this far away.” His look of disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, it didn’t take much arm twisting for Elise to keep her for the night. When she wakes at five a.m., I’m sure she’ll be ready to hand her off.” He’s nodding at me. I know him too well. “Tell you what, Sarge, want to take her tomorrow for a while?” Should I feel guilty? Part of me thinks I should but the other part of me would love to go grocery shopping by myself. Hell, I know I’ve become an adult when I consider going grocery shopping alone a luxury.
“I’ll take the little darlin’ any day of the week. You know this.” He turns away from me, grabbing a massive circular tool. It’s a little intimidating. He has extension cords and masks and gloves. This is serious business, but with Maguire, it’s so much more than just business. Plus, this is Scott’s truck.
Nothing is said of his gifts in my apartment and I pause, waiting to address it, but not sure how. He knows me so well when he finally asks, “Did you like your surprise?”
I charge at him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” I say and he leans down, kissing my forehead. We hold this position for a couple minut
es, until he pulls from me, turning toward the truck.
“Okay, darlin’, I’m going to show you what to do, but you gotta listen to me—with everything I show you.” He goes through all the steps, every painfully boring detail, demonstrating each one. Handing me over the daunting and menacing equipment, I begin slowly, with him right next to me.
It seems like I have this thunderously heavy tool in my hands. When I put it down, my hands shake. “Crap, this will take us forever at this speed.”
He winks my way—and my stomach clenches. Why can’t my father-in-law be a big asshole and not a man whose hotness factor is off the charts?
“It’s not a race, darlin’.” He takes the sander from my hands. “Think of it as a marathon not having a finish line anywhere in sight.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “So a lifetime marathon. Oh, yeah, you suck at motivational speaking.”
He’s inspecting the small area I’ve sanded. “It’s not bad for your first time. And honestly, it will take a while to get to where you can do it for longer. It’s like working out. At first, you may only be able to run a quarter-mile. A year later, you’re doing ten miles.”
My face sours at his expression. “Holy hell, Sarge—not sure you should equate it to exercise.” There’s nothing I hate more than exercise, besides tapioca pudding. At that thought, I internally gag.
“You don’t need it, your figure is…” He doesn’t finish his sentence and starts to laugh. “Yeah, you and exercise mix like oil and water…” He trails off, returning the tools to the inside of the garage.
I skip over his compliment. “Wait, are we done for the night?”
“Your arms are going to be sore. Tonight was more introductory so, yeah, we’ll start again later in the week.” I’m behind him and when he turns, he’s not aware I’m so close. “Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were practically on top of me.” I don’t move and he takes in a deep breath. “Holland, this is a dangerous game you’re playing. Sending me mixed signals.”
Different as Night and Day Page 4