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He starts to sing. Loudly. And poorly. I bite back a chuckle, because I doubt laughing at him would be a good idea right now.
I grab Jake’s ankles, lift them, and back up until he slides out from under the car. “That’s cheating,” he says. He wipes a hand across his forehead, smearing grease from one side to the other. He doesn’t sit up. He just lies there looking up at me.
I point to my forehead. “You got a little dirt right here.”
“You want to do that mom thing you do and lick your finger, then rub it off?”
Actually I did. “No,” I grouse, “of course not.”
“Are moms just born with an excess of spit?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Must be.”
“I’ve seen you do that with Alex and Trixie. And you tried it one night with Gabby but she sidestepped you.”
“She’s too old for me to clean her with spit.” Or so she says. I happen to disagree.
“My mom used to do that too.” He finally sits up, rolling until he can stand up.
That takes me aback a little. “You never talk about your mom.”
“She died when I was twelve.” He shrugs. “There isn’t much to talk about.”
“Cancer, right?”
He winces and nods. “Yep.”
“What was she like?”
He walks by me and puts his tools in the toolbox. “I have the memories of a twelve-year-old. They’re probably a little skewed.”
“What else do you remember?”
He smiles softly. “She always smelled like vanilla. Except for right after she’d sneak out onto the back porch to smoke a cigarette. Then she smelled like cookies and smoke. She tried to hide it from me and Pop, but I think he always knew, just like I did.”
“What kind of cancer did she have?”
Jakes eyes fall to my boobs. “Breast cancer.”
I cover my cleavage with my palm. “Are you seriously staring at my boobs while you talk about you mom’s cancer? Really?” A grin tugs at my lips.
He shrugs. “Those are some impressive boobs, Katie.”
Jake goes to the corner of the room, opens a cabinet, and takes out a few fishing poles. Then he gets a tackle box from the shelf.
“My mom was tough as nails. Kind of like you.” He looks directly into my eyes.
“I’m not feeling very tough lately, Jake.”
“She broke a ping pong paddle over my ass the time she caught me smoking with Fred out behind the storage shed.”
“As she should have,” I quip.
“And she broke several wooden spoons over my butt when I got too mouthy.”
“Sounds like you deserved it.”
“She was tough. And soft, all at the same time.”
