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“Hey.” He cleared his throat. “Brought you something.” He pulled one beer out, using his pocket knife to pop the cap off. “Figured you were going to need a drink.”
He set the beer on the headstone and opened the other beer for himself, taking a healthy swig before he spoke again. He couldn’t say it, not yet, so he said, “Cody’s getting big. Good kid, smart as a whip. He can look at something and see the way it fits together, how it works. Bet he’ll be an engineer or something. He’s got Annabeth’s smarts—he’s gonna be a man you’d be proud of.” He stooped to remove the dried leaves that piled around the base of the headstone.
When the stone was clean he sat, leaning against it as he turned his gaze back to the sky. “I need you to hear this from me.” He swallowed down some beer, easing the tightening of his throat. “Annabeth—” He broke off and took another sip. “I had no right to... I... She’s going to have a baby.” He cleared his throat again, the press of guilt and self-loathing all but choking him. “My baby...and I’ll do right by her.”
He paused, closing his eyes. “You know. You know how I felt about her.” He turned the bottle in his hands. “I’m not you, never will be. Cody’s always gonna know who you are and what kind of man you were.” He took another sip. “I’m hoping you’ll be okay with them being my family now.” He stared up, letting the howl of the wind fill the night.
“I’ll take care of them,” he promised softly. He meant it, wanted it, but had no idea where to start.
He sat there, ignoring the bitter cold, and finished his beer with his best friend.
Chapter Four
“You’re sick?” Josie asked.
“Yep,” Annabeth lied, pulling everything from the last kitchen cabinet. She’d been cleaning since four this morning. Her brain wouldn’t turn off and she couldn’t sit still. As silly as it was, she’d hoped she and Ryder would be figuring this out together. Instead, she was grappling with what to do—on her own. Her neatly color-coded poster hadn’t offered much comfort this morning.
Instead of succumbing to a full-blown sob-fest, she’d busied herself. How many times had Grandma Flo told her a real lady never let her emotions run amuck? Best use that pent-up energy to do something. So all morning, she’d been doing. Specifically, cleaning. The tiny bathroom had been scrubbed, sterilized and organized. Her bright yellow kitchen smelled fresh, but she wouldn’t be done until each and every cabinet and shelf were orderly.
“Does this have anything to do with my wayward brother-in-law’s late-night visit?” Josie asked.
Annabeth dropped the can of peaches she’d been holding. “What... How...”
“Lola heard him—er, his bike.”
Ryder and that damn bike. “Dammit—”
“She promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone else,” Josie interrupted.
“You believe her?” Annabeth knew Lola Worley far better than Josie did. While Josie was off exploring the world, Annabeth had stayed put and knew all about Lola’s favorite pastime: gossip. Lola was Josie’s soon-to-be stepmother, so Annabeth wasn’t sure Josie could see the older woman objectively. To be fair, Lola was a lot less inclined to poke her nose into other peoples’ business now that she had a sweetie, but...
“I do. She likes you, Annabeth. Last night’s visit might be newsworthy but she’d never cause you trouble.” Josie paused, then said, “I’m coming over.”
“No,” Annabeth pleaded. If she had a supportive shoulder to cry on, she might actually cry.
Josie argued, “It’s not like you to get all hermit-like. Whatever is going on, we’ll figure it out. And, if you’re getting thoroughly laid, I promise not to be horrified or judgmental, okay?”
Annabeth laughed then. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, Josie, I wish.”
“Hmm. Okay, well, I’m coming. And I’m bringing wine.” And she hung up.
“Ma?” Cody was coloring at the table. “Can I build a tree house?”
“I don’t think we have a tree big enough for one, sweetie.”
“’Kay,” he said, the brown crayon in his hand never slowing. Tom was curled up on the table in front of Cody, his long white-tipped tail swaying back and forth with a slow, undulating rhythm.
“You want a tree house?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He stopped coloring. “What about that tree?” He pointed out the small window above the kitchen sink.
“That would be the perfect tree for a tree house. Only problem is, it’s not ours.” Her gaze lingered on the empty house she’d loved since she’d come to live with Florence as a little girl. The Czinkovic house was like a dollhouse. Wraparound porches on both stories, picture windows, detailed trim-work and a massive yard with fruit and pecan trees. It was the kind of house a little girl imagined living in, with her perfect family at her side.
She glanced down at her son. All he wanted was a tree house. She wished she could give him what he wanted. After all, a tree house wasn’t all that much to ask for. “If it was our house, I’d help you build one.” Her gaze lingered on the house. “After we were done building your tree house, you could help me paint the big house. Maybe a dusky pink or purple—”
Cody wrinkled up his nose. “Ma! I c-can’t live in a pink or p-p-purple house!”
She sat beside him, slipping an arm around him and pulling him close. “Okay, little man, what color then?”
