I look down, and she’s right. A flour imprint the same height as Clover is pressed into my shirt. I can’t help but laugh, and so does Clover.
CLOVER
Lennon fills me in on everything during the pancake party. Her favorite colors, what books she likes the most, her favorite animals on the ranch, her favorite number, which is eleventeen by the way, and the goat that tried to kill me last night is named Princess Doom. Fitting.
She’s a sweet kid. Bubbly, giggly, all smiles with a hint of snark hidden back there. You can tell Brynn has had a big influence on her. I love that. Beckett continues eating, used to her. Now and then, he interjects to add on to her story. He doesn’t tell her to hush or calm down, and it’s heartwarming to me. It’s sweet to see a father-daughter dynamic that isn’t toxic. I still want to ask about what happened to Hannah, but I’m too scared to bring it up. It’s not my business— no matter how much I want it to be— and I don’t want to put Beck in a bad mood.
I gather everyone’s dishes when we are all finished, our bellies full and happy. I rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher, listening to them talk and laugh. It hits something inside of me. This is what a home is supposed to feel like. Safe. Calm. Love. Just like Beck and Brynn’s house growing up. The knife in my gut twists when I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel, fold it neatly, and lay it on the counter. I have to leave. Isaid I was going. It turns out that going hurts really badly when the person you wanted all of these things with has them without you. When the person you wanted them with is currently lifting his beautiful six-year-old by the waist and spinning her in the gorgeous living room with exposed beams and your dream fireplace while she squeals happily, her sock flying off in the wake of the motion.
I lean my butt against the counter and watch them for a moment, envious. When Lennon looks green, he sets her back down. She woozily walks to the couch and faceplants onto it, still giggling. I smile and rise, walking towards the stairs.
“I’m going to go pack the three things I have and try to find my traitorous cat,” I say, starting up the stairs.
“Shit. Uh, hey Lennon, can you go upstairs and see if you can find the cat for Clover?” Beck asks, a little strangely. His pitch went up. I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him.
“Yeah, Dad. Fifty cents in the jar.”
“Damn. Sorry.”
She shakes her head at him and goes upstairs. On her way, she quietly mutters that it’s a dollar now. She really will own the ranch before she’s eighteen. Or a whole line of them. Can you franchise ranches? The word ‘ranch’ is right in it, so I don’t see why not.
Focus, Clover.
I whirl around to face Beck.
“What is it?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to take you to town just yet,” he says carefully. I blink at him and wait for the explanation. A few hours ago, he was slamming things around, ready for me to leave.
“The bridge washed out. The creek destroyed it, and the main road is flooded, too. This storm is pretty bad,” he continues. Hedoesn’t look mad, which surprises me. He seems more like he was afraid to tell me, afraid of what my reaction would be.
“So . . . I’m stuck here,” I say, double-checking that is what he’s telling me.
“Afraid so,” he answers, lifting his left arm to rub the back of his neck and grimacing. He’s been putting in a lot of work since I got here, and I’m sure it’s way more complicated when there’s so much mud and muck to wade through. He looks beat.
“Great,” I mumble. “There’s no other way out?”
He laughs. “No. Trust me, I’d know.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I’m not upset that I have to stay here, if I’m being honest with myself. Would I admit that to anyone else? Fuck no.
I sit on the bottom step and place my chin in my hand, contemplating.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking up at Beck. “I didn’t mean to wreck all of your plans,” I tell him, the lump in my throat tightening.
“Hey, no,” he says. “You aren’t wrecking anything. Unless you’re some omnipotent being that called for the flood,” he suggests, narrowing his eyes. “Are you? You have to tell me if I ask.”
I laugh quietly at that, nodding my head. “You caught me. I planned this entire thing, orchestrated it perfectly.”
Beck’s gaze leaves me and his smile drops. I hear a sniffle and turn around to see what’s going on. Lennon has Purrlock in her arms and he looks completely content, but something has her torn up.
“Lenny, what’s wrong?” I ask; at the same time, Beckett rushes to her.
“Hey, hey, Beetlebug,” he soothes. “What’s up, kiddo?”
