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Octavia frowns, tilting her face up to me again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… did you get a chance to talk to Mary before we left?”
“I tried.”
“She didn’t say much, I take it?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Could it be the baby? What if she’s jealous?”
“Dammit, you think so?” I look down at the brush I’m still holding, distracted. “She never seemed jealous of Cole, not even when they were younger. And we haven’t done anything different this time around.”
“You’re right. But the baby is a change, another change in our lives, their lives. They lost their mom, moved to St. Louis, then to Destiny, got me along for the ride and moved back to St. Louis. And then came this trip. It’s the first time we’ll be apart since I first entered their lives. Maybe she thinks I’m going to steal their father away from them?”
I turn to brush my lips over her hair. “Fuck. You really think it’s that?”
“Maybe. You could confront her, ask her directly.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want her to think any of this, to be sad. They’re our kids. I love them.”
And I love her. More than she can ever know. For loving my kids. For loving me.
“I know it. They know it, too.” I take a deep breath, drawing in her scent. “Maybe it’s nothing. I’ll talk to Mary again, as soon as we’re back. It’ll be all right.”
* * *
Fixing the house and garden takes longer than I’d expected. By the time I trudge back into the house to take a shower and wash off the paint and sweat, it’s midday. I wander back down to help with the cooking, and finding everyone half-asleep on the sofas, I make a strategic decision and order pizza.
Nobody ever died from eating take-out on occasion. That’s always been my motto, though when Octavia walked into our lives and started cooking home-made food for us, my kids breathed a sigh of relief. I swear I didn’t know kids could get fed up with pizza, but there you have it.
Waiting for the delivery, grinning at the sight of my pretty, pregnant wife sprawled on the sofa, Melissa tucked against her side, and Evan snoring on the armchair in front of the TV, I step outside.
The lawn is mowed, the fence repaired and painted, the house looks like new. I’m pretty damn pleased with my day’s results. And then I feel kinda guilty because I normally don’t have this kind of time to take care of our house back in St. Louis.
The guilt reminds me of the shop.
I speed-dial Kaden’s number and walk down the path to the garden, frowning at a weed that managed to escape the mower.
The line rings and rings, and then goes to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message, my stomach knotting with familiar anxiety. I call again. And again. Then I call the shop directly, and still no reply.
Shit. I hate how panic makes my hands shake.
Breathe, I instruct myself. Fucking breathe, Matt. Kaden is fine. Hailey is fine.
Everyone is just fucking fine.
Next time I call, Kaden picks up. “Hansen Brothers Garage, how can I help you?” he all but yells into the phone, and his pissy, gruff voice relaxes the twisted knot inside me.
“Kade. Why the fuck weren’t you picking up the phone?”
“Matt?” He sounds out of breath, as if he’s been running. “The hell, man? I was busy. I’m alone here today, if you remember.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You know I had to come help Evan out.”
“I know. Shit, relax.” He lets out a long breath. “It’s just that you, or me, being away, is something that’s bound to happen, sooner or later. We have kids. There are emergencies.”
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