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The streaks of purple and hot pink spoke of another hot summer day coming.
Good for business.
That was the important part, not the ache under my breastbone. Not that I already missed her soft skin, and those big blue eyes full of playful joy.
Or the baby who was as much a part of her as her breath.
I sat in my dark truck for a damn long time, but instead of going back to The Mason Jar, I continued driving to my little house on Crescent Lake. The house I barely saw these days.
I parked and walked down the dock to my sailboat. I stepped onto the deck and down the steps to the mini bar. I grabbed the bottle of moonshine from Brothers Three and brought it back up topside and dumped myself in my hammock.
I only drank a quarter of the bottle before the motion of the water helped me drift off with a pair of blue eyes following me into my dreams.
TWENTY-THREE
August
I heldAdriana up and she squealed with laughter. At least her version of laughter. Bean was still figuring out what sounds were. As well as the difference between her grandpa’s booming laugh, which still made her jolt sometimes, and the laughter in the park.
I lifted her and lowered her a few more times. She was the perfect fifteen-pound weight. And she thought it was hilarious when I used her like a dumbbell.
I sat up slowly and tucked her in between my legs, crisscrossing them to keep her stable against me. She hadn’t quite mastered the keeping her head up thing yet.
I reached for her favoriteWinnie the Poohbook and held it up for her to see the pictures. Who knew my acting classes would make me the best storyteller in town?
We were on a blanket under the shade of an old oak. One very much like the oak beside the MJ2. This one was a bit older and much bigger, but the spot of dappled sunshine was my favorite place to hang out with my kid. On the lonely days, I let myself think about the lake and the man I’d left behind.
She gave a squeal as Tigger showed up on the page. I couldn’t help but laugh back at her and lower my voice through the growl in the recital of the story I’d read a hundred times. She was growing alarmingly fast, and I loved seeing the little changes.
When she grabbed the page and twisted, I encouraged the way she tried to touch Tigger’s face. I guess I’d have to pull that one out of the legion of stuffed animals in her nursery.
She was just starting to care about her toys for something other than stuffing in her mouth.
The summer days had been long with even longer nights, but the colic was showing signs of lessening. I even managed to get five hours of sleep at a clip sometimes.
“Emmaline!”
I looked up at my mom’s voice. “Hey, bean, it’s grammy.”
“Ugh, don’t call me that horrible name. I’m not eighty.”
I laughed. My mom was barely in her fifties and looked as if she could pass for forty. She dropped down on the blanket and gave me the grabby hands.
I held my girl out to her, and my mom’s eyes filled as Adriana made bababa sounds. “They’re almost words.” She clutched bean close to her face, kissing her chubby cheeks relentlessly.
For her trouble, she got a face of drool.
I snickered and handed her one of the receiving blankets. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a lunch with the rotary club.”
“It’s not the rotary club,” she said on a huff. “It was the Beautification Committee.”
“Same difference.”
My father was the mayor of our small town and Leah Hauser took her job as social maven very seriously.
I leaned back on my hands and tipped my head up to the warmth of the sun. “What’s left to beautify in our fair town?”
“I know you’re only asking to mock me.”
