"What are you doing?" Olive asks. Her voice shocks us both out of whatever insane, lusty trance we were in. Liam backs off and I take a giant side-step, hitting my hip on the counter.
"Just having a coffee," Liam says at the same time I say, "Your dad was showing me something on his phone."
She narrows her eyes and tilts her head up at us. "What were you showing her?" she asks, obviously suspicious of us.
"None of your beeswax, young lady. Some things are for kids and other things are for grown-ups." His tone, although not harsh, clearly signals the end of the discussion. He clears his throat and turns to me. "Before I forget, I thought I’d let you know all the shops close on Canada Day. So if you need groceries, you may want to go today.”
He’s gazing again and I find myself doing it right back. “Good tip, thanks.”
“You know who’s a good shopper?” He asks, blinking and seeming to transform back into my good buddy, Liam. He points over his shoulder with his thumb at his daughter. “This one here.”
“It’s true,” Olive says, her back straightening. “I like to push the cart and I’m excellent at spotting sale stickers.”
Liam cups the side of his mouth with one hand. “And anything with enough sugar to rot all your teeth at once.”
He stares at me an instant too long, then sighs and says, “Well, I better get at it.”
With that, he makes his way outside, leaving me with a little brunette Elsa while I try to process what the hell just happened. I smile down at her. “So, tell me more about these sugary treats.”
* * *
It turns out there was no need to worry about how to fill the time while babysitting. In my entire life, I never would have guessed how long it takes to get out the door with an unmotivated child. And I know it’s my fault for saying, “No rush, my dear. We’ve got all day,” but dear lord, that girl found a million things to distract herself from getting ready to leave. First, she was sure Walt had lost his favorite catnip toy under the couch, and she didn’t want to leave him alone without having it for comfort. This led to a search for a flashlight, followed by hunting down some batteries, then finally, looking for the toy itself—which, it turns out, wasonthe couch the whole time, under a decorative pillow. Then, she wanted to draw a picture of Walt because the light was just right.
Next, it seriously took us over twenty minutes to brush the knots out of her hair. I ended up digging around in my medicine cabinet to find some detangler spray (and I’m definitely not leaving the grocery store without getting her some to take home). By the time she was dressed in her pineapple tank top and cropped jeggings, she was hungry for lunch, which then led to a trip to the bathroom that lasted nearly half an hour. I could hear her telling herself what sounded like a very exciting epic saga while I waited in the kitchen. I’m so desperate for plotlines, I almost put a glass against the door so I could rip off her ideas.
Finally, after two hours, we’re about to get in the car. Except now, I hear Nettie's voice. "Hello, ladies," she says, walking up the driveway. (Over the past month, instead of popping by through the trees, she has taken to going the long way, and I'm assuming it's because this is her version of being neighborly without being intrusive.)
When she gets closer, Nettie grins down at Olive. "I baked you some ‘happy first day of summer’ scones. I thought you and your dad could use them on your big road trip."
Olive rushes over and gives her a big hug. "Thanks so much." She takes the container and tries to peer through the opaque plastic. "Is it the raspberry white chocolate chip ones?"
“What else would I make but my favorite girl’s favorite scones?” Nettie answers before shifting her focus to me. "No pressure, but we’re having our annual Canada Day barbecue for our guests, friends, and neighbors tomorrow night. After dinner, we’ll have a few drinks and watch the fireworks from our back deck."
"That’s so kind of you to invite me. I wish I could come,” I say, surprised to discover I actually mean it. “But you’ll be pleased to know I'm going to spend the entire weekend writing."
"Are you now? Good for you, Abby.” Nettie reaches out and gives my elbow a light squeeze. “I knew you could do it."
I smile, even though on the inside, the bowling ball is spinning again.
* * *
I sit down at my desk as soon as Liam and Olive go home. Well, not right after—more like after spending way too long thinking about the look on his face when he said goodbye to me. It was that same look he had in the kitchen this morning—like he wanted to throw me over his shoulder and take me upstairs, not that this sort of behavior is acceptable these days (or ever was, for that matter). But just as a way of describing his expression.
I pour myself a glass of wine, get straight to work, and this time, the words come flying out as fast as I can type. I don’t notice the sun setting outside, or remember to eat dinner, or see the moon passing the window. I only see what’s happening in my mind’s eye as a new story comes pouring out of me.
It’s not part of my world of duchesses and dukes, but instead, comes forward in time a hundred years in London, England, during the Industrial Revolution. I know I’ll need to go back and do a lot of research later, but for now, there’s a strong, but secretly lonely, heroine named Beatrice Tisdale, who has fallen from grace. And now, considered unmarriageable, she runs an orphanage on the edge of the city. Our hero is Ian McIntyre, a carpenter who has a shop near the orphanage, who comes to her aid when a fire ravages the old building.
I don’t think, don’t worry, don’t second-guess. Only type one word, quickly followed by another. At some point, long after bedtime, Walt walks across my desk and stops in front of me, flicking his tail and staring at me.
I crane my neck to see the screen over him. “Just a few more minutes, okay?”
A few more minutes turn into hours. Walt’s long given up on me by the time I look up from the screen again. I stretch my hands, roll my neck, and then get right back to work, euphoric in my pursuit. The sky is light by the time I stop. I let out a long, satisfied sigh. I’m beyond exhausted as I drag myself up the stairs, but I am happy in a way that I haven’t been in a long time. When I get to my bedroom, I see Walt curled up on a pillow.
I collapse into bed without bothering to take my clothes off. “I did it. I finally did it.”
* * *
The next day, I have eggs sunny side up, toast, and an entire pint of raspberries to fill my ravenous appetite, then go straight back to my desk. I’m there all day and late into the evening, with passing thoughts of where those astronauts buy space diapers. Finally, when my fingers are too sore to continue, I quit. I make myself some macaroni from a box, crack open a beer, then go sit on my deck to eat my dinner directly from the pot.
