Page 2 of The Single Father Upstairs

Solo contracting was the type of work that gave me the freedom to attend school events, pick up my daughter if the weather was stormy, and make dinner every night. The downside was there were no sick days, paid vacations, and my income varied, depending on how much work I got each month.

But I loved working with wood, and it had little to do with my life as a shifter and single father. I could fix Indigo’s dresser or build her a new one, but that still left me waiting on an electrician who might follow a schedule as haphazardly as Jon did.

I made a mental list of the lumber I’d need for the dresser as I was measuring the client’s kitchen and forgot about the damage to the wall.

When I collected Indigo, she flounced into the car and slammed the door. I waited for her to tell me what she was steamed up about, and I’d barely driven a hundred yards when she burst out, “Someone in my class says they’ve done a full shift. That’s so unfair.”

It was possible though highly unlikely that one of her classmates, at eight years old, had met their beast. I suspected Indigo had told them what happened last night and the other person tried to outdo her.

But if the story was true, the school had to be informed because someone that age couldn’t wrangle a beast, even if it was the size of a mouse.

“They were hustled off to the principal’s office.”

Ahhh, there was no need for me to contact the school.

“One more chapter, please.”

It was after nine and my daughter was in bed—mine, not hers, because I didn’t want her in her room until the outlet was fixed. We were negotiating what time to turn off the lights.

“Dad, does it get easier? Controlling the desire to shift before I meet my bear?”

“Yes, once you can talk to her and reason, saying she can’t take her fur in public where humans might see, it’s much easier.”

“Were you scared the first time it happened to you?”

“Oh yeah. I broke the fence, and my dad had to spend the weekend fixing it.”

Indigo laughed.

“Night, kiddo.” I turned off the light, but when I reached the doorway, I paused and glanced back at my daughter. She was my everything, and I remembered when she was smaller, I sat beside her crib, watching her chest rise and fall.

After making a peppermint tea, I stood at the window, sipping it.

“It does get easier,” people had told me, and “You’re doing a great job with Indigo.”

Maybe they were right, but there was no one else to shoulder the responsibility.

I did a walkthrough of the apartment before bed, or before my head hit the pillow on the sofa. The deadbolt was on the chain, and I checked the window latch in the living room that needed a jiggle before it locked.

But after inspecting Indigo’s damaged dresser, I decided it couldn’t be repaired and hauled it downstairs to the dumpster.

The courtyard was quiet, but me dragging the dresser that was now a pile of jagged wood over the rough concrete disturbed the silence. The motion sensor lights over the dumpsters flicked on and banished some of the shadows.

I glanced up at our apartment on the third floor. My bedroom was in darkness, but I’d left the light on in the living room. Below our place was the empty apartment that, according to Jon, would be occupied soon. Maybe the new tenant had been here already, measuring the rooms and the windows.

After dumping the drawers into the dumpster, I bent over to retrieve the rest of the dresser and froze. A scent that hadn’t been here previously wafted around me on the breeze.

What’s that?My bear had been snoozing, but he was alert as the enticing scent circled us.

A gust of wind took hold of the scent, and it scurried past the parked cars and down the street. I was tempted to run after it and demand what it was. But I couldn’t leave Indigo. Besides, who chased down an intriguing smell at night, trying to discover its source?

I do. Let’s go.

No. I pulled my bear back as he surged to the surface, wanting to take his fur.

But I remained where I was and breathed in what was left of the scent, wishing I could capture it. There was no one else in the courtyard, and no cars were pulling in or out, so the source of the scent remained a mystery.

I’m tired. That has to be it. Why would I get excited about a smell near the dumpsters? One of the tenants had thrown away some perfume or a bouquet from an unwelcome admirer.