Brodie shook his head like it was of no consequence, but he found Maeve’s blush surprisingly endearing. Turning back to Zoey, he said, “I think your mom would make a wonderful girlfriend, but right now we’re all pretty happy as we are.”
Zoey started paddling again, mollified. Brodie glanced at Maeve who gave him a small smile of thanks. For the tiniest moment he imagined what it would be like for her to be his girlfriend. Warmth sprang to mind. The colors of fall.
But at the same time a claustrophobic pressure on his chest that made him fear for hyperventilation again.
He started paddling with more effort, wanting to get back to the cabin and away from the questions.
But the questions didn’t stop. His daughter, it turned out, was a one-girl question machine. She fired them out like bullets.
His daughter.It shocked him to say it in his head. He went back to calling her Zoey.
“Do you like ducks? I think they might be my favorite bird. What’s your favorite bird?”
“A flamingo. How could you not choose a bird that stands on one leg?”
“Do you think fish can see what we see?”
“Yes.”
“If you had to be a tree, which one would you be?”
“That one.”
“Why do you look at your phone so much?”
“It’s an addiction that I will try and break now that you’ve pointed it out.”
Along with the questions came the activities. Brodie’s body ached. They’d canoed, they’d rock-climbed, they’d walked, they’d made small houses out of branches and leaves, they’d had a diving competition, swimming races.
The pinnacle came when Zoey opened a trunk in one of the bedrooms and found all of Aunt Eleanor’s pageant clothes. “Oh, my goodness!” Her eyes lit up. “This is awesome!”
Later, Zoey stood admiring herself in the mirror wearing a dress that was so big it pooled around her ankles with giant puffed sleeves and so much diamanté it glittered like aluminum foil.
Brodie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind her, slumped in a chair wearing a tiara and a sash, his arms forced into a too-tight spangly jacket, his eyes drooping with tiredness.
Maeve came into the room and let out a snort of surprise when she saw him. “Oh, dear,” she said, in a sympathetic doctor voice.
Zoey spun round, panic in her big brown eyes. “We’re not leaving, are we?”
Having previously been aghast at the idea of cutting the weekend short, Brodie found himself longing for home, to pour a gin and tonic and have a lie down. He was exhausted, mentally, physically.
Maeve, clearly sensing his fatigue, said, “We should head home, Zo, it’s been a long day. Everyone’s very tired.”
Brodie felt a flicker of relief at the idea.
“No!” Zoey looked like she was going to cry, all the tiny diamantés shimmered as she moved. “Please?” She turned from her mom to Brodie. “Please make her let us stay, please!”
Brodie could barely haul himself up from the chair. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said, and even to his ears his voice lacked conviction.
Maeve raised a brow, the corner of her mouth turning up like she could see through the lie. “I think we should probably leave you to it, Brodie, it’s a lot for one day.”
He rolled his shoulders as best he could in the satin jacket, willing his energy back. He thought of life in the band, the grueling tours, the jam-packed schedules with one day off a year, the promos, the interviews, the rehearsing. What had happened to him over the years? His dad would say he’d gone soft. He thought wistfully of the time spent lying on the deck of his yacht, arms behind his head, soaking up the sun.
“No.” Zoey started to cry silently, her shoulders curled forward so the puffy sleeves of the gown flopped forlornly like an under-stuffed toy.
A voice inside Brodie said that he didn’t need this. He’d done enough to impress the kid. They could pack up, he could jump in the car and get the heck out of there.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say,Your mom’s right, but something stopped him. It wasn’t the tremble of Zoey’s bottom lip—which, while heartbreaking, was something his well-hardened heart could deal with—instead, it was the stoicism of Maeve’s body language. She, too, had rock-climbed, she’d come on the walk with them, she’d been cajoled into the diving and swimming races, she’d faced a similar barrage of questions, she’d helped Zoey when her house of leaves and sticks kept falling down. The only thing she hadn’t done was dress up in gaudy pageant attire, but that was only because she had volunteered to clear up after their picnic dinner. And yet she would bundle the upset child into the car and drive her back and put her to bed and wake up in the morning and do it all again.
