He knew those things because I’d let someone into our lives who’d taught them to him.
I was the one who had to unteach them. However long it took.
“Hey,” I called toward the bathroom. “How about we watch a movie tonight? Your pick.”
William’s face appeared around the doorframe, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Can we make popcorn?”
“Obviously.”
He launched himself at me, wet hands and all, throwing his arms around my waist and squeezing hard. I held him close, feeling the solid warmth of him, the fierce grip of his small arms.
“You’re the best mom,” William said into my shirt.
My throat tightened. “I know. Go finish washing up. Your hands are still wet.”
He bounded off again, lighter than before. Still not all the way back to the kid he’d been before Craig, but closer.
A little closer every day.
Chapter 3
Kayla
The hammering started while I was on my second sip of coffee.
I was at the kitchen table with my mug and the Barley sketches spread out in front of me, the house still quiet, William still asleep. Saturday mornings were mine. An hour, sometimes two, before the day started making demands. I’d learned to guard that time like other people guarded their savings accounts—carefully, and with the understanding that it could disappear without warning.
I stared down at Barley the golden retriever again. Still the same problem as a couple of days ago. I knew what I was after. I just couldn’t get it on to the page. Every attempt landed somewhere close but not right, like trying to hum a song I could hear perfectly in my head but couldn’t quite reproduce.
I picked up my pencil. Started reworking the left eye again, softening the lid, adjusting the angle of the gaze?—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Steady, deliberate hammering. Coming from the direction of the back fence.
I set down the pencil. Picked up my coffee. Took a sip and waited. Maybe it was a one-time thing. A quick repair. A nail that needed setting.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Not a one-time thing. And not stopping anytime soon from the sound of it.
I tried to focus through it but couldn’t. Sighing, I set down my pencil again, abandoned my coffee, and went out the back door in my pajama pants and an old university sweatshirt, barefoot on the cold deck boards because I hadn’t planned on going outside this early and my slippers were somewhere in the bedroom closet.
The morning air hit me immediately. Sharp, thin, carrying that particular Colorado mountain clarity that still caught me off guard six months after moving here. The sky was enormous overhead—pale blue, barely started with the day. I knew the cold and snow would be coming…even in September, Colorado was known to get snow, but for right now, it was just beautiful.
The sound led me straight to the shared fence. My new neighbor—the one who’d moved in about a week ago. I’d only caught glimpses until now. A tall shape carrying boxes from a moving truck. A light on late in a window. I’d been meaning to introduce myself but hadn’t found the time.
I could hear him working just on the other side, each hammer strike sharp and close, now that I was standing a few feet from it. The fence was solid between us. I was talking to six feet of cedar.
I stopped a few feet from the fence. “Good morning.”
The hammering paused.
“Morning.”
