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Kennedy had a lull in her schedule since we were in the long stretch of fall/winter holidays and since she had Madelyn’s permission to come and go as she pleased, she and Steve were over there on the weekends, painting and fixing.
Steve gutted one of the bathrooms and when I figured out what they were doing, I showed up to help.
By Christmas we’d gutted the kitchen and we made a few trips back and forth, between Steve’s garage and Madelyn’s house, unloading the crazy stash Kennedy had been amassing for years, right into Madelyn’s living room.
I knew the drill: no contact while on a mission, but it had never driven me so crazy as it did this time. I didn’t want to think about why. Instead, I tried to throw myself into helping Steve as he put the kitchen and bathroom back together.
By February the kitchen was done, the bathroom was nearly done, and Kennedy had painted the rest of the house while Teagan cheered her on from a playpen set in whatever room Kennedy was working on at the time.
By mid-March spring started to tease us, the long cold spell finally snapping and I swore the snow was melting. It had been a record-breaking winter, even colder and more brutal than usual, and Steve had already ordered a refill for Madelyn’s heating oil tank. She’d drained the pipes before she left, preparing the house for a long, cold winter, but she hadn’t expected to have a miniature construction crew in there most of the time either, making preparations for her arrival.
It was a cool Sunday morning in mid-April when I pulled into her driveway and Dad and I stepped inside to find Steve already there, devoting what time he had to making sure his sister had a solid, safe, beautiful home.
Kennedy had pulled some strings with an appliance brand and as a result a brand new washer and dryer now sat on the platform in the dry, bright laundry room, just waiting to be put to work.
As it turned out, Kennedy was the first to test it. She came rushing down the stairs with Teagan held at an arm’s length. The expression on her face told me it was nothing good, and she set T directly into the utility sink before peeling off her clothes, the most ungodly smell filling the air.
Next to me, Steve dry-heaved and I couldn’t help but chuckle. The man could handle compound fractures, gallons of blood and the sight of someone’s intestines protruding from their abdomen, but at the sight or smell of baby poop he was ready to toss his breakfast.
“How’d Kennedy ever trick you into fatherhood?” I teased, and Teagan squealed in delight as Kennedy started to wash her down with warm water in the deep sink.
“Your turn next.” He grimaced, and I smacked him with an open palm upside the head.
“Shut your mouth. You know that’s not happening.”
It wasn’t exactly that I hadn’t wanted it to happen. I’d never been opposed to the idea of kids. It just hadn’t happened for me, between the timing and the woman never being right.
“T’s enough for me,” I finally said. “She’ll be spoiled rotten.”
There was a thump from somewhere in the house, like a heavy bag hitting the floor, and I glanced around quickly. Only Dad wasn’t accounted for and I turned, walking down the hallway that spit out into the kitchen. Madelyn stood in the middle of it with her mouth hanging open, turning in a slow circle. She was tanned, her dark hair highlighted by months spent in the sun, her body just as lithe and defined as I remembered, despite her loose cargo pants and a long-sleeved silk base layer shirt.
“Boots,” I grunted at her, noticing she was standing in a melting puddle of snow and she snapped out of her reverie, a wide smile stretching across her face when she saw me.
“Beckman.” She leaned over to yank at the laces, stepping quickly out of the boots before rushing me and I took two big steps forward to keep the impact from hurling us back down the hallway. She threw her arms out and slammed into me, the force enough to knock the air from my lungs and I grunted as she brought her arms up to squeeze the life out of me. She turned her face into my neck, one hand sneaking up into my hair and I realized I’d unconsciously anchored a hand to the back of her head to keep her right where she was: right where I wanted her, as close as I could get her.
“You smelling me, VanBuren?” I teased and she hummed into my neck, a warm, delightful sound of contentment.
“You try spending months in the desert with intermittent showers, bunking with a bunch of smelly guys. It’s a miracle I can still smell anything at all.”
“I’ve done it,” I chuckled and she took another deep inhalation and made an appreciative sound.
I could get used to this.
“What the hell have you done to my house?” She didn’t sound upset and I could hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway behind us.
“When you’re done molesting Beckman, the rest of us would like to welcome you home.” Steve’s deep voice was teasing, full of laughter, which was typical for him.
She finally released me and stepped back with a sigh, making me think she did so unwillingly and it made my stomach flip a little. I’d never tell her how many sleepless nights I’d spent praying she'd come home safely.
How many candles I lit for her.
How many times a day I reached into my pocket to run my fingers over the rosary beads I kept with me as I sent up silent supplication for her safety.
This was dangerous. How many times had I told myself that? I’d allowed myself to slip into an obsession with a pretty picture in my head, a fantasy that couldn’t be mine, of a happily ever after with a woman who deserved far more than what I had to offer. She deserved a comfortable life, a beautiful home and everything her heart desired. I could never be that guy. I didn’t have a trust fund or a huge investment account, a portfolio of properties, and I’d never be able to buy her expensive jewelry or take her on fancy trips.
“Adam.” Her voice was gentle and I realized she’d called me several times by the time I snapped out of it. “You ok?”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat quickly. “Glad you’re home.”
