Stomp, stomp, stomp.“I can’t find them!”
“Look in the bottom drawer,” I said. “Come on. We’re already late. We gotta go.”
“I don’t want to go,” Gennie shrieked. “I hate farmers markets.”
“I’m sure the frozen lemonade truck will be there.” I wasn’t above bribery. I wasn’t above lemon slush for breakfast. Not at all. “And Mr. OJ usually comes to this market. I bet he’s going to have a bunch of knives to sharpen today but you won’t get to see any of them unless you put some clothes on and come down here.”
There was a moment of silence. I expected her to flip some furniture or push her toy box down the stairs though she opened the door and came to the landing in shorts and a t-shirt that didn’t match but I didn’t care. “Only if Shay can put a fancy braid in my hair.”
“Shay? I don’t know if she’s awake, kid. It’s early.” And I didn’t know if my wife of four days wanted me knocking on her door at seven on a Saturday morning. Hell, I didn’t even know her weekend routine. Maybe she was already up and out for the day. Maybe she was still asleep, all alone in a big bed with a nightshirt rucked up to her waist and the sheets tangled around her legs and—fuck, no, I couldn’t go there right now. I had places to be and problems to solve, once again. “I can give it a try. I think I have the hang of it since the last time Shay braided your hair.”
Gennie folded her arms over her chest. “Your braids are not pretty. They’re loose and ugly.”
“Then a ponytail,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Fancy. Braid.”
“Gen, we really don’t have time for that.” She stared at me, her dark eyes hard and her hair a tangled mess. It would take me twenty minutes to deal with that. I knew I was getting something wrong by capitulating to this little terror’s demands but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to cover this market and I didn’t have time to fuck around. I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text to Shay telling her to expect us in five minutes. “All right. We’ll visit Shay. If she doesn’t come to the door, we have to leave. We can’t wake her up. Okay?”
Gennie nodded. “That’s fair.”
I motioned her down the stairs. “Come on, then. You can put your socks and shoes on in the truck. Let’s go.”
Shay didn’t text me back during the short ride to Twin Tulip. That left me standing on the porch, glancing between my phone and the windows bracketing the pair of front doors. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to see the strawberry-blonde shimmer of her hair through the window. I mean, I wanted to see her. I always wanted to see her. But I had no idea what to do with my limbs or how to produce words when I was with her, and I couldn’t repress the whisper in my head that never failed to saythat’s your wife.
When she came to the house on Wednesday to work with Gennie, I’d been stuck on the phone with an equipment supplier and only managed to wave when she left for the evening. Didn’t even get a chance to haggle over her staying for dinner. Wheatie and I spent most of yesterday afternoon planning improvements to the goat operation—of which we were in desperate need if this morning’s runaway was any proof—and I’d lost track of time. Shay was already packed up and heading out when I arrived. She had to talk to Emme about lesson plans for second grade or something and couldn’t stick around.
So, we were married but we rarely saw each other and hardly spoke. We both wanted it this way and it had to be this way yet that didn’t leave me any less off-balance. I had the definite sense that things were supposed to be different—Iwas supposed to be different—and going about my lost goats and stompy niece life as usual was like walking around all day with a pebble in my shoe.
“You’re not supposed to knock,” Gennie said. “We’re supposed to go inside.”
I cut her a glance. “I don’t think that guidance applies to weekend mornings.”
She gave me an eyeroll-shrug combo that spoke a preteen language I wasn’t prepared to hear from her yet. “She told me I could come in whenever I wanted. That I was always welcome here and I never had to knock or ding the bell.”
I motioned to the door. “Go ahead. Show me how it’s done.”
I assumed the door would be locked because it was too damn early for anyone other than farmers and lunatics to be up and out but Gennie turned the knob and stepped right inside. “Come on,” she said, waving me forward. “Aren’t we late and in a big fucking hurry?”
“Oh my god,” I muttered. I followed my niece, closing the heavy oak door behind me. We stood in the entryway, glancing to the front parlors on either side of us. They were empty save for some old rugs, an antique piece of furniture or two. Shay’s book bag sat at the base of the stairs, a pair of sandals on the next riser.
“Shay! Can you fix my hair?” Gennie yelled.
No response.
“Hello?” I called, stepping closer to the staircase.
“Maybe she’s not home.”
“Her car is outside,” I replied.
“Maybe she went for a walk. She goes for walks and listens to audiobooks.”
I glanced at Gennie. How did this kid know everything about my wife while all I had was a fondness for bread and wacky earrings? “If that’s the case, we should—” A crash came from the back of the house and then a yelp.What the fuck was that?I held out a hand, saying, “Stay right here. Do not move. Not a single muscle. Do you understand?”
“Aye aye, captain.”
I jogged down the hall, opening doors and glancing inside as I went. I hadn’t been inside Thomas House in years, and in that time, I’d forgotten thedouble the funchaos of this place. So many doors. So many little hallways. It was ridiculous.
