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“All things to consider, certainly,” Rose says. “Y’all are also going to have to figure out childcare for Liam if Amelia does get a teaching job.”
My chest tightens. Liam squirms, trying to get down, and it’s all I can do not to let him in the hopes a passing server kidnaps him and takes him home with them. I grab the crayon from my pocket instead and hand it to him. “Definitely lots to think about.”
“Yeah,” Amelia says, that furrow between her brows reappearing. It’s the first time I’ve seen her excitement flagging. “It is a lot.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Rose says. “In the meantime, I’m here to help. And remember: at the end of the day, the three of you get to be together in a fabulous city in what is no doubt a fabulous home. Think of it as an adventure. One that won’t last forever, just like the toddler stage.” She nods at Liam, who’s now breaking the crayon into tiny pieces. He pops one on his mouth and gags; Amelia and I both lunge for him at the same time; he screams when I hook my finger inside his mouth and dig the crayon piece out. Then I almost scream when he bites down on my finger, hard.
“Goddamn it!”
“Rhett—”
“That’s it,” I spit, tossing Liam onto my shoulder. I stand and throw my napkin onto the table. People are staring, but I don’t care. “We’re going home. You ladies enjoy your dinner.”
Amelia’s staring too. So is Rose.
“Rhett,” Amelia repeats. “Take a deep breath.”
I shake my head. “I really am sorry, y’all. I don’t mean to lose my mind, it’s just been a long day. Rose, can I get a mulligan? I promise we’ll both”—I gesture to my son and me—“be in better moods next time. Thanks for coming.” Ducking down, I kiss her cheek, and then I hightail it out of there.
Amelia comes home an hour or so later. I’m finally on the couch, beer in hand; by some miracle, Liam went down with barely a whimper. And that means I’ve had an hour or so to think. And think. My thoughts are still jumbled, thanks to real life interrupting the little honeymoon phase we have going on at home.
But is this home? My home? My life?
How do I switch off years of competitiveness and drive and purpose?
I don’t have the answer. All I do know is that I owe my girl an apology.
“I’m sorry,” I say for what feels like the millionth time. “I really am, A.”
She nods, resting a knee on a nearby ottoman. “I don’t need to ask if you’re punishing us, right?”
I blink. I’ve shown my ass today, but I have the peace of mind not to ask what she means.
It’s a fair question.
“If I’m going to punish anyone, it’s myself.” I pat the empty spot on the couch beside me. “Now come sit. I’ve been waiting all damn day for this.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Amelia
It’s noon on a Monday. Outside, the early July heat shimmers on the blacktop, blanketing the mountains in a heavy, humid haze.
Liam, poor baby, went down for his nap fifteen minutes ago. This morning, he woke up with a slight fever, which I’ve been nursing with Tylenol and lots of liquids, per the pediatrician’s orders. If his fever peaks at 102º and stays there, I have instructions to bring him into the office. Could be a sign of an ear infection.
Rhett is in the shower after his first workout of the day, so the house is quiet, as is the farm itself. It’s one of those hot, lazy summer days when there’s no one around and nothing to do.
So I nearly jump out of my skin at the firm, loud knock on the front door. I quickly run through the possibilities of who it could be. Housekeeper? She comes on Wednesdays and Saturdays. A Beauregard sibling? But they’re all working, as is Grandma Rose.
Rhett has one of those doorbell camera things, but of course it’s on his phone, not mine. I creep toward the front door, ducking my head to look out the sidelight windows on either side of the door. My pulse kicks up a notch when I glimpse two people on the front step. From what I can tell, they’re dressed in suits.
My pulse kicks up again. I have a funny feeling about this. Not a bad feeling, per se; Blue Mountain’s front entrance is closely monitored, so I don’t think these guys are here to murder me or anything. Maybe it’s some police officers who are here about my car? I haven’t pressed charges, so I’m not sure what to expect next.
Nah, they can’t be here for me because this isn’t the address I have on my driver’s license. Which means these men are here for Rhett. And Rhett doesn’t get visitors who aren’t family all that often, which means this must be important.
