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Trinity pffts and waves her hand in the air. “Please, have you seen my ass?” She twists in her chair and pats her hip. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”
Hope chuckles and I lift my chin at Trinity, thankful she came over this morning to keep Hope distracted before the grim morning ahead of us.
The funeral is brief. Apparently Hope’s mother left lengthy instructions for what she did and didn’t want. None of it included wasting money on frills. I can respect that, I guess.
A few friends from her mother’s job make an appearance. Everyone seems to know who Hope is, so at least it’s not like the woman pretended she didn’t have a daughter even if she treated Hope like she didn’t exist.
Hope’s stepfather is a quiet man. Everyone grieves differently—I’ve been made painfully aware of this over the years—but he’s almost robotic in his words and movement.
“Does he have any other family?” I ask Hope.
“Two sons a little older than me, but they live in Texas, I think. At least they used to.”
“Hope,” Bruce says, coming closer. “I’m so glad you came.”
Hope steps forward to give him a hug, which I don’t think he expected because he stares at her for a few seconds before giving her an awkward embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
He glances down at her stomach as if he’s trying to decide if he should ask if she’s pregnant. I realize it’s her stepfather and he’s not being inappropriate. I still don’t like the way he looks at her and I move in closer, curling my arm around her waist and hugging her to my side.
“Bruce, this is my husband, Rochlan North. I sent mom an invitation to the wedding… but.”
He shakes his head. “You know how forgetful she could be. I think she set the invitation aside and meant to send you something,” he rattles off a list of lame excuses while his cheeks turn red.
“It’s fine,” Hope says. She rubs her hand over her stomach. “We’re expecting…I was planning. Well, when you called the other day, I thought it was mom and I was…” her voice trails off and her eyes shine with tears. She sniffles and shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, Hope,” Bruce says. “Let me know before you’re ready to leave, I have some things of your mother’s for you.”
“Oh, okay.”
Bruce steps away to talk to someone else, and Hope shakes her head. “I’m kind of ready to leave now.”
“What do you think he has?”
“Who knows. She either lost or got rid of all my dad’s things years ago. I doubt it’s money. Anything she had would go to Bruce.”
We stay for a few more minutes, but it’s painfully awkward. Hope’s tired and I’m more worried about her health than sticking around an “appropriate” amount of time.
I tap Bruce on the shoulder. “We have to leave. Did you want to walk us out?”
“Sure, sure.” Finally, he seems a little more animated as he follows us outside.
In the parking lot, he pulls two medium-sized gray plastic totes that smell like mothballs out of the back of his car. “Some things of your mother’s I thought you’d want.”
“Oh.” Hope stares at the bins. “Thank you.”
I shove the boxes into the back of the SUV for Hope to deal with later. Or never since she doesn’t seem at all interested in the contents.
Later at home, she’s exhausted. “Do you want me to carry these upstairs and put them in the spare room so you can go through them later?”
“Sure.”
I tuck her into bed first, then bring up the boxes. For a few minutes, I stare at the space. Hope and I haven’t talked about where we’re going to put the baby yet. This room’s the only one that makes sense right now.
Unless we build an addition. I left room on this side of the house just in case we wanted to expand for some reason in the future.
I guess the future is here now.
After checking on Hope one more time, I head downstairs and run into Murphy.
“Everything go okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. We didn’t stay long.”
He lifts his chin toward the staircase. “How’s she doing?”
“Taking a nap.”
“Think you can come over to the house site with me for a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
Knowing her phone’s on silent, I send Hope a text to tell her where I am and head out with Murphy.
“What’s on your mind?”
“What isn’t?” he answers, pointing toward the back of the concrete slab. “The windows. We were talking about doing a curtain wall of windows for the view. But now that I’m thinking about it, I’m worried they’ll be a pain in the ass maintenance-wise down the road.”
“I think you’re right. They look sleek, but they’re made up of a lot of component pieces. If one or two end up defective, with the kind of winters we get up here, you could have a mess of leaks and damage.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“If you decide you still want something like that, we’ll find you a professional window installer. I don’t want to trust that to the contractor.”
His gaze shifts at the mention of the professional installer. Money’s a concern for Murphy. Given everything he’s taken on this last year, I’m more than willing to help him out. Problem is, he’s a proud, stubborn bastard—like the rest of us—who doesn’t want to accept help.
“I feel like it’s something I should do myself,” he says.
“Why? That’s not your specialty.”
He gives me an uncertain look.
“You start taking your bike to a mechanic, I’ll call you a lazy pussy. You hire the right person to build your house, you’re a smart man. See what I’m getting at?”
Finally, he cracks a smile. “Yeah, I get you, Prez.”
“Better to do it the right way the first time than try and fix shit you cheaped out on later. So if you need help—”
“I’m not taking money from you. You’ve done enough for me—”
“You’ll do whatever your president tells you to do and shut your mouth.”
“Rock, you can’t always pull the president card. That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.”
“No shit.” His face smooths into something more serious. “You’ve got your own kid coming. You can’t be helping me out too.”
A childhood spent not knowing where your next meal’s coming from seems to do two things to people, either they’re impulsive and piss money away the second they get their hands on it or they hang on to it with an iron grip, knowing you can’t count on it to always be there. Murphy falls into the second category, which I respect.
“You heard Teller, we’re all going to be sitting a little prettier once we can start accessing the cash from his tech investment. Your first payout alone should cover the house and then some.”
“You know I don’t like to spend money before it’s in my hand, Rock.”
“And who taught you that?”
He smirks at me.
“Listen,” I say a little less sternly, “I know you. You’re not gonna suddenly get greedy and put sold gold fixtures or some crazy shit in the house, so do what you need to do and don’t worry about it. One way or another I’ll make sure you’re covered.”
He swallows hard and nods. “Thank you, Rock.”
“Any time.”
His phone buzzes and he checks it. “Heidi’s on her way home.”
“Good. Let’s head back so you can meet her. And I want to check on Hope.”
At the house he stops. “Thank you again.”
“Come here.” I pull him in for a quick hug and slap his shoulder. “You’ve got this. No doubt in my mind
. Proud of you.”
He nods and continues through the woods to meet Heidi at the clubhouse.
The house is quiet, and I assume Hope’s still asleep. I can’t help checking on her, so I toe off my boots and head upstairs.
I find her in the sitting room going through the boxes her stepfather gave her.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a soft smile. “How’d it go at the house site?”
“Fine. Murphy just had a few concerns.” I lift my chin. “What do you have there?”
She beckons me closer. “Picture proof I was a pudgy, awkward teenager.”
I take the framed photo she hands me and study it, not seeing anything she mentioned. A younger version of Hope—with fuller cheeks, fuzzier hair, and incredibly sad eyes stares back at me.
“I definitely would’ve tried to talk you into a ride on my ’76 Super Glide to see if I could get you to smile.”
“There wasn’t a lot to smile about that year. We moved around a lot. I still missed my dad something awful. My mother wasn’t always the calmest, most reassuring person in the world.” She takes a deep breath. “She was never someone I could count on.”
She touches her fingers to the glass. “I want to go back in time and tell this Hope that one day she’ll be happy, but first life will make her stronger.”
The wistful catch in her voice kills me. I never want her to feel that kind of uncertainty or fear again. I swallow hard and rest my hand on her more noticeable bump. “You and I will reassure our child of that every time they need to hear it. Together. I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I’m still feeling down the day after the funeral. It’s dinner night at the clubhouse and I consider asking Rock if we can skip it, but he’s already dressed and waiting for me when I get home.
“Hey, baby doll.” Soft country music spills from the speakers in the living room and he wraps an arm around my waist, twirling me into the house.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Can’t I be happy to see my girl?” He spins me again and yanks me against his hard chest.
I can’t help laughing. “I’m clumsier than ever.”
“More beautiful than ever,” he counters. “Dance with me, pretty girl.”
