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“No. But she’s here if necessary.” I raise my brows and my curt statement ends his line of questioning.
“I can’t wait to see you next week,” Rainey says, as I send her to Izabeth for help putting on her winter coat.
I choose to ignore the tension between Dunbar and myself because it was a good visit overall. I lean in to give him a brief hug and whisper I’m proud of the work he’s putting in.
“Thanks. I start a new job next week.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the automotive place a few streets over agreed to hire me to fill in a few days a week.”
I’m surprised he found something this quickly with his recent arrest. I turn to join Izabeth and Rainey, both ready to leave, but Dunbar stops my forward motion when he grabs my coat sleeve, jerking me back to him, and making me uneasy.
‘Would you have some cash to help me out until I get my first check?”
I ask him to let go of my arm and pull it away, burning up that he’s asking for money. The direction of our two visits triggered hope. But a moment like this is how mine and Dunbar’s song and dance always begins.
“I told you on the phone the last time you asked. I can’t give you money anymore.”
“I get that. I just need enough to get some food and pay my friend for gas. You can’t help with that?” His blue eyes narrow at me, daring me to tell him ‘no.’
“I don’t think so, Dunbar.”
He pleads, reminding me he doesn’t have anyone else—I’m his only sister. He claims he’s sleeping on his friend’s couch, but they’re both broke, and there’s nothing in the house to eat.
“Have you checked with Georgia about qualifying for help?” He brushes off my suggestion.
“Her first available appointment isn’t until Thursday morning.” I’m tempted to ask him how soon after his release he reached out for her help, but it doesn’t matter.
“Please, Noah. Anything you can give me will help. I’ll pay it back with my first paycheck.”
He wears me down, knowing I won’t allow him to starve. I fish two fifties from my wallet, desperate to end the conversation. “Here.” I shove the money into his hand. “This is it,” I say, serious as the day is long. “I have nothing else to give you. I won’t give you another penny after today.”
“I understand.” He pulls me in for another hug, which I accept while inwardly clawing away from his arms, unsure if he just played me—again.
Chapter 31
Logan
NoahrequestedwekeepValentine’s Day relaxed and pressure free. Girls I dated in college liked to lay the same trap, and wait for me to fail by doing exactly what they asked. Trusting blindly that Noah won’t play games, I planned a movie night with the girls and the four of us dined on a picnic of Chinese takeout on the living room floor.
It’s my second Valentine’s Day without Hannah. It’s not as depressing as the one just a month after her death, but she’s in my thoughts all day long. After work, there’s a bouquet of peach roses on the dining room table. I assume Iz bought these for Noah—it’s something she’d do. I read the note attached to the flowers, and I’m floored—totally speechless.
The flowers are forme. From Noah. The bouquet of peach roses are an acknowledgement of my late wife, according to the card from Noah, symbolizing both sympathy and gratitude. I’ve not found myself truly choked up in over two months, but one heartfelt line hits me particularly hard:I never had the privilege of knowing Hannah, but the stories you share leave no doubt she’d be proud of you and Maggie.
None of my fears about the impact moving in with Noah could have on Maggie ever came true. Rainey hasn’t just helped Maggie get out of her comfort zone, she’s pulled her out into the wide open. Most nights, Noah and I have to physically remove one girl from the other’s bed. Otherwise, they’d play and giggle until the early morning hours.
Maggie’s still getting plenty of time at the farm. Rufus’ taken to randomly calling in the middle of the day to ask if he can pick Maggie up for supper after school. Like clockwork, she’s full and home by 7 p.m. Claire schemes up excuses for weekend days with Maggie, normally inviting Rainey along, refusing to leave her out. Their love for my daughter is bigger than I dreamed possible.
Since spending time with her dad over the last two weeks, Rainey’s become noticeably more cheery. Today she’s hopping up and down waving when she sees my SUV pull up in front of the school. Maggie looks plain annoyed.
“Hi ladies,” I greet them, “How was your day?”
“Great. It was really, really, really great.” Rainey overenthusiastically shrieks every word of the sentence.
The look on my daughter’s face says it all—Rainey’s peppy outlook is grating on her, and she’s had enough. Rainey talks the whole way home. She tells me all about the activities they did at school, how excited she is to see her dad tomorrow, and how she’s going to help Claire cook tonight. I’m happy that she’s happy, but the barrage of auditory stimulation is a bit much for me, too.
“We’re five minutes from home. Let’s play Quiet Mouse.” Hannah came up with this game—maybe found it online—when Maggie first became talkative and we needed a few minutes of silence. It was a hit, and I shamelessly still use it as needed. Today, it grants me—and Maggie—a peaceful ride home with no talking for the price of a piece of candy each.
