My husband’s body temperature ran cooler than normal for most others, so we kept the thermostat a bit higher. I ran around without a shirt on most of the time in our old apartment and now in the residence hotel where we lived. Keir didn’t seem to mind, but sweet Grace had changed everything. We’d have to make her comfort the priority. I’d just have to hold Keir in my arms to keep him warm.
“Good. Ready to go?” After donning the foam neck brace I had to wear for one more week, I slid my arms into my jacket to leave, excited for our house-hunting adventure.
We’d lived in a residential hotel closer to Sacramento since the fire. A topic of constant discussion was where we thought we wanted to live, and after each of us threw out ideas, we kept circling back to Reardon. It was like a small town—an ideal place to raise a family. We finally landed on staying in the area if possible.
Keir’s father had been friends with a fellow mortician, Darren Meyer, who owned a funeral home about ten miles from Reardon. Keir had helped him with funerals a time or two, and he liked the man, seeing in Darren what had scored him David Dearly’s friendship.
When Keir had phoned him to tell him about the fire and ask if he could refer guests to Darren’s funeral home, the man had mentioned he wanted to retire and had suggested maybe Keir buy him out and reopen Dearly & Son at that location.
My Keir, however, hadn’t entirely decidednotto rebuild on the property we owned. There was a memorial garden behind the building that we’d built together and was special to both of us, and Keir was worried about leaving it behind or trusting it to someone else.
After confirming my therapy appointment for Friday, we left the medical center and crossed the parking lot to the SUV. Keir put Grace in her car seat while I put the diaper bag inside before folding the stroller and lifting it into the cargo hold of the SUV. I tossed the brace into the cargo hold and got into the back seat with Grace as Keir jumped in behind the wheel.
“Next stop, 313 Misty Lane.” Keir programmed the address into the GPS, and we were off.
I entertained Gracie Jo in the back seat, watching as her eyes followed my finger as I made it dance in front of her while I sang along with Def Leppard on the radio.
It was amazing to me that I could remember the words to a song that was popular in the late eighties, but I couldn’t remember parts of our recent honeymoon or even falling through the funeral home floor. The human brain was a mysterious thing.
Keir pulled onto Misty Lane, slowly driving down the Valley oak-lined street. As I glanced from side to side, I saw swing sets anchored in yards, basketball nets on driveways, and bicycles laying across immaculately manicured front lawns. It appeared to be a very family-friendly neighborhood, just as we’d hoped.
Keir stopped on the street when he saw the black mailbox with three-one-three mounted on the top like horses pulling a carriage. “Looks like this is it.”
I turned to look out the window and felt as if I’d already been to the property. It was a Tudor style with a faux brick front and a raised front porch. The rest of the house had taupe siding and a beautiful mature yard with plants and trees that provided shade.
“Have we been here before?” The feeling of déjà vu was nearly overwhelming. I could see myself riding my Knucklehead up the drive while Keir played with Grace on a big playset on the left side of the yard. It was very strange.
“Maybe we saw it when we were looking at houses online? It’s cute, right? Three bedrooms. Three bathrooms. Formal dining room and an eat-in kitchen. Downstairs is a media and game room. Detached garage with a fenced backyard. Yeah, I think we saw it online.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, getting out of the back seat while Keir got out and rescued the baby from her car seat prison and walked up the paved driveway. An older manstepped out of the dark taupe door with a huge grin. “Dearly family? Welcome. Please, please, come inside.”
“Mr. Klein, I’m Keir. This is my husband, Dash, and our daughter, Grace.” Keir and Mr. Klein made small talk for a moment about how old Gracie was, which made Mr. Klein remember when his daughter was born and how his granddaughter was soon graduating from UC Berkeley.
I glanced around the empty house with its gleaming hardwood floors and the gas fireplace blazing in the living room. I could see us making a great home there for our family. I could see myself cutting the grass and planting roses with my mother-in-law in the raised flower bed by the wooden fence surrounding the nice yard.
Keir and I toured the home while Mr. Klein went outside to take a call. We checked out the bathrooms, which had been newly renovated. I was thrilled one of them had a tub for Gracie’s evening baths as part of her bedtime routine.
The house had been newly refreshed, and there was an attic that could be turned into a great playroom. I turned to my husband. “How many houses do you want to check out. How many were on your list?”
Keir pulled up the listing on his phone. “It wasourlist, and we agreed on five. How many do you want to look at?”
I took Grace from him and propped her little head on my shoulder, holding her under her butt as she burrowed into my neck. “One.”
Keir smirked. “You want this one?”
I smiled, kissed Gracie on her cheek, and winked. Asked and answered.
We moved into 313 Misty Lane on the first day of February. We had a crib, a rocking chair, three boxes of clothes, most of which were Gracie’s, a king-sized mattress on the floor, and atable and chairs we’d salvaged from the hospitality room at the funeral home. We were sickeningly happy.
Chapter Eighteen
Dash
“Quinn! Fish! Simp! Georgia!” I stood in the open bay that had been mine when I owned the shop. Quinn had finally changed the name from Clegg’s Cycles to Legacy Cycles, which I loved.
A new neon sign hung in the front window. It had a Norse helmet hanging from the handlebar of a Harley Knucklehead like the one that had been my father’s and now belonged to Fish. The sign was really fucking cool. I knew in my heart that Viking would approve.
They all came running down from Quinn’s apartment, along with Lily, Quinn’s new wife. They’d flown to Vegas and gotten married at the end of April while I was still recuperating frommy accident. I’d stopped by the shop with Gracie to welcome them home from their honeymoon in the South Pacific.
