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I couldn’t really argue that. My mother and my grandmother had played a big role in my life. Both women were gone, but I knew they’d have been so happy to see me as a father. Surprised, too. My mother had passed only a couple years prior, and I was her only child. She had always assumed our family would stop with me. But she’d been wrong. Not that anyone could have expected that I’d one day be the father of twin girls, especially at my age.
“So do you forgive me?” Elle asked, her brown eyes wide and innocent. “About the article, I mean.”
I thought for a moment. Truthfully, I couldn’t stay mad at her for long. She was Carl’s daughter, and nothing she ever did could make me hate her. Even if she was a journalist.
“Yes, but please come to me before writing anything else in the future. And my daughters are off limits. Got it?”
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll respect your wishes, Jeremiah. I just wanted to help.”
“I know.”
She was like her father. Carl was quick to anger because he was passionate - like Elle. He also had a good heart, but he always thought he knew what was right for someone else. Elle took after him more than I could have imagined.
“George Holt is a terrible man,” Elle commented, frowning. “Like, really bad. There’s no way he can be mayor of Liberty.”
“I know.”
Elle seemed relieved that I agreed with her. I knew George well enough to know that he had an agenda. He had been a developer himself, and he’d been trying for years to grow Liberty into a tourist town to rival some of the other ski towns in the U.S. But the townspeople didn’t want that. It would mean the raising of rents, many would likely be displaced, and small businesses would be replaced with large corporations. We favoured our local coffee shops over Starbucks. It’s what made Liberty what it was.
George wasn’t born and raised there; he didn’t get it. He was everything Liberty wasn’t, and there was no way he would win the election. Unless no one ran against him. As the current mayor, taking over after my father died in office, it was a given that I'd run for re-election and win. Until the latest scandal.
We finished feeding the babies, but Elle continued holding and rocking Grace gently as we talked mostly about frivolous things. Elle always could carry a conversation all on her own.
“I think Grace might be getting sleepy,” she said, her voice low.
“Amelia too,” I commented, noting the little girl’s eyelids drifting closed. “It’s about their bedtime anyway.”
I stood, and Elle did too. She followed me to their nursery at the end of the hallway, next to my bedroom. She stared around the room, her mouth opening as she saw the cribs. The baby beds were ornate and heavy, well-made and sturdy. Above each twin’s crib was their name, carved in wood. Amelia’s was painted in purple, my grandma’s favorite color, and Grace was painted a soft blue, my mother’s favorite.
“Wow, did you make these?” Elle asked, running her hand over the crib.
“I did.” I smiled as I watched her trace the name above Grace’s crib. “I made everything in here, actually.”
“I knew you were good with woodworking, but wow,” she breathed. She placed Grace down in the bed and stared at her for a bit, a small smile on her face.
I did the same with Amelia, watching as she fell into a deep sleep. I turned on the baby monitors and motioned for Elle to follow me out. I pulled the door, but left it open just a smidge so a small light from the hallway could creep in.
We walked back into the living room, and I thought that might be it. Elle had apologized. I forgave her. We put the kids to bed. Now she could leave.
But she sat down on the couch again, heaving a sigh. “You don’t happen to have anything to drink, do you?”
“I might have some beer in the fridge.” I scratched my beard.
“Ooh, can I have one?”
My first instinct was to tell her no, that she was too young. But she wasn’t too young anymore. She was a grown woman, not Carl’s little girl.
“Sure,” I said, making my way into the kitchen. I grabbed one for her, then decided it wouldn’t hurt to have one now that the girls were down. Only one.
I opened the bottles and walked back into the living room, handing one to Elle before taking my place in the large leather chair across from her again.
She drank from the bottle before giggling. “It feels weird to be drinking around you, ever since that time you picked me up from the party. You know, I don’t drink much these days, thanks to you.”
“Good, I’m glad my talk stuck with you.”
“It did,” she said, turning the bottle around in her hands. “I mean, that and my daddy yelling at me, but you talked to me like an adult. I really appreciated that.” She took another swig, made a face and put the bottle on the table.
“You were sixteen. Not yet an adult, but not a child either.”
