“Are you asking me for a rubdown, Cameron Winston? Because I never knew you had such a naughty side. I’m mildly impressed.”
I stared between Dad and Bev with my mouth gaping like a guppy, waiting for some smart remark, sass, or biting retort, but it never came. Instead, he rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
“Not a no, then. So, start on your arm exercises or get up and set the table. I refuse to lose another game of chess against you until I’m properly fed.”
“If you listened to my suggestions, you’d at least lose with dignity.”
“Hey,” she said, pointing a finger at Dad, who smirked, raising his hands in defense. “Throwing defenseless pieces is completely acceptable if you beat me after a dozen damn moves.”
“Have I stepped into the Twilight Zone?” I asked, pressing a palm to my forehead and glancing between them. “I thought you two were sworn enemies in the middle of an epic prank war?”
The look they shared while I stared bordered on unhinged, and I tilted my head, watching them fidget like guilty teenagers. Had I missed something that had been under my nose all these months? Surely not. This had to be Bev experiencing some misplaced guilt because of his surgery, or from her last prank, which apparently involved peanut butter, honey, and birdseed.
Bev examined her nails, painted to mimic Fabergé eggs, while Dad met my gaze, daring me to continue this derailed train of thought.
“Epic? Goodness no. Simply harmless fun between two consenting adults. But since your dad conceded victory to me before his surgery, the least I could do was keep him fed. It’s the neighborly thing to do, you know?”
“Conceded victory, my left foot.” Dad stood, grumbling under his breath as he brushed past Bev and into the kitchen. He had his heart pillow firmly clutched in his hands, but I noticed he’d been relying on it less and less these days. Perhaps the metal wiring holding his breastbone together had finally healed.
I stayed on the couch as he walked into the kitchen, stunned into silence as drawers opened and silverware clinked.
“How was brunch?” Bev asked, coming over and sitting beside me. Her hand went to my kneecap, and she squeezed reassuringly.
“Great, actually. Mina and I really hit it off.”
“I’m so glad you’ve met someone your own age. I was going to invite you to look at yarn with me today at Knit Happens, but something tells me that’s not exactly your taste.”
I laughed, shaking my head and turning to face her. “Just because I’m not into rage knitting doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy getting out of the house.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And speaking of getting out of the house…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced toward her condo, then back to me before leaning in closer.
“You know, I don’t mean to over share, but right now, my oldest son is fixing a dishwasher that isn’t broken because my kitchen has a splendid view of the street. More importantly, where we park.”
“Really?” I said, not able to help the silly grin that overtook my features. I could pretend it was from the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, or that Dad truly had my best interest at heart, even if he went about it the wrong way, but I knew those were lies. My thoughts had been fixated on the quiet, tattooed man since he left my bed. “Your oldest son might have been a topic at brunch this morning.”
“But you wouldn’t tell him that, right? No sense giving that man a gigantic head,” Bev quipped, matching my smile.
A retort was on the tip of my tongue, a knee-jerk reaction to say exactly what part of his body was gigantic, but I paused with my mouth open and my brows furrowed. Because no matter how friendly the two of us were, a mother had no desire to have that kind of information about her kid.
“No. No. I don’t suppose that is a good idea.”
“Again, not to push, and not to assume anything has changed between the two of you, but I’m happy. So happy, Summer. Out of all my children, he’s the one I wanted the most for. I hope he’s happy, and I hope you are, too.”
I rested my head on her shoulder for a moment, not wanting to get my hopes up, but still knowing the truth.
“I don’t know if this is even going anywhere or what to do next. But I am, Bev. I’m happy.”
Chapter 25
“This is thelast fucking place I need to be today,” I muttered, running a hand over the itchy, bristly beard that had overtaken my cheeks, the gray hair flecked through it a stark reminder of my advancing age.
Malibu yipped, pressing herself against my side as we walked through the perfectly manicured lawn. The crisp fall leaves crunched under my work boots, and a cool breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and rain brushed against my face. I closed my fingers tightly around the bouquet of daisies, the cellophane wrapper crinkling as my knuckles turned white from the unyielding pressure. Kneeling on the freshly mowed grass, I pressed my fingers against the cold slab of marble, tracing her name.
My breath caught in my chest, and my voice broke. “I still think about you every damn day, Autumn.” The answering silence did little to quell my thoughts, and I sat mournfully for an hour before I had the courage to speak again.
“I never know what to say when I’m here. And now when I have the chance to fill the quiet with something meaningful, the words won’t come.”
Malibu sat beside me, resting one paw on my thigh and tilting her head toward the gravestone. The scent of daisies filled the air, bringing with it memories of our brief but happy relationship. I closed my eyes as images forced their way into my subconscious, bringing with them the ever-present, oppressive guilt.
