Chapter Thirty-three
Daisy-Mae
The afternoon sun setsthe sky on fire in a vibrant show of pinks and oranges, as it sinks closer to the horizon.There’s something so peaceful about watching the color change from West’s gorgeous open plan kitchen and dining room as I prepare supper.West is outside with Waylon, putting Ham to bed.The crazy steer seems to love my son, and laps up all of the attention and newborn gurgles.I love hearing West talk Waylon through his evening chores, almost as much as I love hearing him whisper goodnight as we’re climbing into bed.
The acrid stench of burning garlic assaults me, and I glance at the black dots popping out of the pan.“Jesus.”I yank the pot off the stove and place it in the sink.The faucet runs and steam billows up from the boiling pan into my face.
“Everything okay in there?”West says, coming in from outside.
“Yeah,” I call back.“Just burning down your house, is all.”
He chuckles as he and Waylon enter the kitchen.“Is mama burning downourhouse?”he coos to the baby.
My heart trips all over itself at him calling it, “our house”.Get a grip, Daisy.
“You want me to take over?”
“No.I’ve got it.”I say somewhat defensively.
“Okay,” West holds up his free hand in surrender.“Sorry.Our bad.”He looks down at Waylon.“Is it just me, or is Mama extra grumpy today?”
I frown.“Hey, do not turn my son against me.”
“Never.I’m going to put him to bed because I think he’s almost ready.”
“Okay.”
“Then I can help, because that did not smell appetizing,” he whispers to Waylon just loud enough for me to hear.
I go back to chopping garlic, and then try again with the alfredo sauce in a new pan.This time it goes a little more to plan and within minutes, I have the most delicious white sauce and hot homemade linguine served up into bowls.I’m just about to pour over the sauce when the volume on the TV gets turned up and West says, “Dais, you’re gonna wanna see this.”
“What?”I ask, coming out of the kitchen with a dish towel in my hands.On the television is my ex-husband’s face, and down below, at the bottom of the news report are the words, “local man’s grizzly murder”.My knees go out from under me.
“No,” I say, but I think it gets caught in my throat.“No.”All I can think is that man shares DNA with my son, even though he was a shitty husband and an even shittier father, Waylon’s dad is dead.
“Dais,” West says, sinking to the floor beside me and pulling me into his lap.“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
