"I told you why."
"No, you didn't," Mads states flatly from the doorway. "All you did is confirm that she's living there again and not here. You didn't say why."
I feel both their heated gazes on me now and squirm despite being the adult in the room. "Because it's for the best."
"Why?" Dani demands again.
I really hate that word.
"Are you lying? Is she dead?"
Dani's voice rises shrilly and echoes off the shower walls, and I groan as I shake my head, reminding myself the parenting books say that Dani's reaching that stage of development when life and death become more real to her. "Dani, come on. You saw her on video when she was at the hospital, remember? Lindsey is fine. I promise. The hospital released her, but she needs to take it easy and rest. Not take care of us."
"But if she's sick, she should be here so we can take care of her," Dani says.
Both girls wait for my response to that, and I fight off a curse and more than a little guilt because I've felt the same way ever since leaving the hospital. "Bronwyn is Lindsey's family, baby. I know you're concerned, but Lindsey staying here was never meant to be permanent. She was going to leave when my foot got better, remember?"
"But your foot isn't all better," Dani argues, resting her chin on her knees as she sits in the tub, arms around her legs, and stares at me with accusing eyes while wrapped in her towel. "You're not better, and now she's not here and we need her. She has to go to class."
"Why? Honey, Lindsey has to rest."
"But she said we'd make cupcakes," Dani whispers.
I dig my elbows into my thighs and lean forward. "Cupcakes?" This is the first I'm hearing about cupcakes, and I'm lost.
Dani's lips tremble and fresh tears appear. "For my birthday at dance. The mommies bring cupcakes, and Lindsey said we'd make some and take them for my friends. I can't go without Lindsey. Or the cupcakes," she mumbles in a barely audible whisper.
I feel like someone sucker punched me. Cupcakes and mommies, huh? That's what this is all about? "That's why you cried so hard that you got sick? Because you don't have…cupcakes?"
"It's a big deal," Madi says from the doorway, her tone scolding me. "The kid who brings them is like a princess for the day, you know? She's been talking to Lindsey about it for a while. If you'd paid attention, you'd…have heard about it."
For the love of— Why can't anything ever be simple? And how did I find myself sitting here being schooled by a teenager when I'm the dad who should be on top of things like this?
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches, and I'm pretty sure I crack a tooth. "Dani, how about if Pierce stops by the store on the way there and gets cupcakes? I can ask to see if she can stay with you."
Dani shakes her head before going face down atop her knees. She pulls the towel completely over her head until she's a sodden lump in the tub.
I throw my hands up in the air, giving up and begging God for Solomon's wisdom because I sure don't have any of my own at the moment.
Unable to handle the moods trapped within the confines of the bathroom, I grab my crutch and stand. "I'm going to go tell Pierce to head home and clean up the carpet in the living room. Stay with Dani, will you, Mads?"
"Uh, no," she draws with more than a little attitude. "I have to go to work."
I frown at Madi. "Since when?"
"Since always? My schedule is on the fridge, and I reminded you this morning. Bronwyn asked if I could work a few more hours each week because of all the wedding stuff."
"How are you getting there?" I vaguely remember Mads mentioning work, but it was during yet another Dani meltdown when I hadn't cut her toast the way Lindsey always cut it.
"I was gonna walk. Unless you'll let me take my Vespa?" Mads asks hopefully.
I don't like the thought of her walking the streets all the way to the bookstore. Carolina Cove is a good, safe town, but no town is completely safe. Nor are teenage girls. And with the influx of tourists here during the summer, the thought leaves me boiling with unease. "You don't have a license yet."
"Yeah, not my fault," the girl mutters. "I'm ready to take the test."
"You need an appointment," I say as a way to avoid yet another landmine of a topic—that of her guardianship. I feel bombarded on all fronts. Health, work, Dani, Lindsey—now Mads and Pamela. I can't put it off any longer. I know this. But I hate the thought of being that guy. The one that takes a kid away from my own family, even if they're not competent.
"I'll call and make one," she says.
