Chapter 22

Griffin calls me three times. It’s a long day of riding. They get caught in rain an hour before stopping for dinner. I still question if I made the right decision, but I’m not sorry I missed the downpour.

Morgan’s fever broke late this morning. She’s still not quite her jovial self, but at least she’s eating. Nate should be home soon with dinner. I keep glancing at my overnight bag on the floor. He leaves for his conference early in the morning, so I’m spending the next two nights here. It’s going to feel weird.

I pull the stolen photo out of my pocket. It’s an odd need I have to carry it around with me. I can’t stop staring at him. It’s the Nate I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. There’s this line where it all comes to a stop. Years of blank space haunt me. Hell … everything about this haunts me.

The door chimes when he opens it. I took him up on his offer to use the chime because I don’t like people sneaking up on me. It might be because I’m snooping around, but it’s also this stolen photo. I shove it back into my pocket.

“Hi.” He sets a pizza box on the counter and a paper grocery bag.

“Hey.” I slide my hand in my pocket to make sure I didn’t bend the photo in my rush to hide it.

“Swing time.” He smiles at Morgan in her swing.

“Yes. She just ate.”

“I picked up some groceries so you have food to eat while I’m gone. I’ll leave cash as well in case you decide to order something to be delivered.”

“Thanks. But you don’t need to leave cash. If I weren’t here, I’d still have to buy food to eat.”

He washes his hands, giving me a boyish grin. “True. But you’re doing me a huge favor. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug.

Nate’s smile fades. “Are you having second thoughts about staying?”

Easing onto the barstool, I flip open the pizza box. It’s plain cheese. “Griffin’s boss’s girlfriend made this comment …” I sigh, still seeing the you-stupid-girl look on her face.

Nate hands me a plate.

I slide a piece of pizza onto it. “She thinks I’m crazy for letting him go without me. Apparently there are lots of girls there. Drinking. Crazy stuff that I don’t like to think about.”

“You don’t trust him?” He takes a bite as he sits next to me.

“Trust.” I laugh. “It’s always about trust. When I talked to him about staying here, he admitted he was mad. Then he proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t fair to expect him to not be mad, after all, he’s human.”

“That’s fair.”

Shifting my body toward him, I roll my eyes. “It is fair. He is human. That’s what makes this trust thing so hard. I’m sure, when I’m in his arms, he can’t imagine cheating on me. But what if he has a few drinks and thinks about me not being there. Resentment builds, judgment blurs, and some woman wearing nothing but star pasties hops on his lap. What’s he supposed to do? After all … he’s only human.”

Nate chews his pizza, but the contemplative draw of his brow says he’s chewing on the words I just said. This isn’t helping.

“You think I’m right, don’t you?”

Wiping his mouth, he shakes his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“Well, there you go, trying and failing to read my mind.”

I level him with a glare.

“Fine.” He takes another bite and chews it for a few seconds. “I was thinking that I don’t know your boyfriend well enough to make any sort of judgment. However, based on what I know about you, I find it hard to believe any man would cheat on you. But …”

“But?”

He shrugs. “We are human. Claiming to be infallible is risky. A professor I had in college told her students that certainty leads to nowhere except one’s demise. Sparingly use the words promise, guarantee, always, and never.” Nate chuckles. “That philosophy makes the writing of wedding vows a little tricky. ‘I vow to try to be faithful. I shall do my best to love you in sickness and health for as long as I can.’”

I grin, but I’m not sure why. “You suck at easing my mind.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you really?”

He covers his mouth with his napkin and nods. “I promise.” The napkin doesn’t hide his smirk.

“You’re terrible.” I punch him on the arm.

His body shakes with laughter.

“You owe me. Take my mind off how human my boyfriend is. Tell me a story … more Daisy.”

“More Daisy, huh?” Nate leans back. A soft smile steals his mouth as his gaze meets mine. “I can do that.”

*

Nathaniel Hunt Age 15

“What do you think?” I puffed out my chest, chin up.

Daisy circled the Camaro in the driveway, eyes shifting between me and the car my uncle left me when he died. I had three weeks until I turned sixteen.

“Well … it’s free.” Her lower lip curled around her top lip, a goofy look that she gave me when she tried to be honest without telling the whole truth.

“It could use a little work.” I shrugged.

“A little.” She circled it a second time, arms crossed over her chest.

“I’ll take you for a ride.”

“You don’t have your license yet.”

“Just around the block. My dad won’t be home for hours.” I tugged open the passenger’s side door.

She flinched, sticking her fingers in her ears. “Might need to spray something on the hinges.”

“Stop being such a prissy cat. Get in.”

“A prissy cat?” She laughed. “I’m not being prissy. But I think I should call home first and ask my mom when I had my last tetanus shot.”

“It’s just a little rust.”

She eased into the bucket seat. “I think you don’t know the meaning of ‘little.’”

I shut the door and hopped in behind the wheel—a wheel with peeling black tape all over it, but nevertheless, my wheel.

“It smells like a forest fire in here.” Her nose wrinkled.

I ignored her complaining. I had a car. That’s all that mattered. My uncle was a chain-smoker and there were a half dozen pine-scented air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror, but she didn’t need to make a big deal of it.

We drove around the block and pulled back into the driveway. “She’s not a bad ride.” I stretched my arm out behind Daisy’s headrest.

“You’re crazy.” She shook her head, but no amount of prissiness could hide her grin.

“Do you want to make out in the back seat before my dad gets home?”

“No.”

“No? Really? Hmm … so unlike you.” My fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

“Yes, so unlike me. I’m always wanting to make out in the back of junkyard cars.”

“Shh … don’t be offensive to Georgia when you’re in her.”

She giggled. “Georgia? Please tell me you did not name your car.”

“My uncle did. He bought her in Georgia and drove her to Wisconsin with his first wife, Savannah.”

“No.” Daisy shook her head a half dozen times. “I’m not buying that story. Your uncle did not buy this car in Georgia and his first wife was not named Savannah. You’re making this up as you go. It’s a terrible story. You are a terrible storyteller.”

“Swear to God.”

“Your dad would not approve of you swearing to God. And when he gets home, I’m going to ask him about Savannah, Georgia.”

“Go ahead.”

“Whatever.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared ahead at our one-car detached garaged. “Last one in the back seat has to be on bottom.”

It took me two seconds to process what she meant, by the time I did, she had already shimmied her way between the front seats. I took the bottom as we made out for the next fifteen minutes, exploring each other and nudging new boundaries.

After we righted our disheveled clothes and climbed out of a backseat that was not made for making out, we grabbed sodas and sat on the back porch in old blue lawn chairs.

“I left my jacket in the tree house last week, so I rode my bike over there yesterday afternoon to get it.”

I frowned. “I thought we agreed never to go alone.”

“I was careful. I didn’t even get near the lake, and I made my way up and down the ladder slooowly.”

“You should have at least told me you were going.”

She kicked my leg. “Are you going to let me finish my story?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

“Anyway … on my way out of the gate a car pulled in the driveway—an old silver station wagon with a rattling motor and chipped gray paint with almost as much rust on it as Georgia.”

I bared my teeth, ready to snarl at her for poking fun of my car.

“Scared the living daylights out of me at first. The guy got out and he had this creepy child-molester look.”

“I don’t know if child molesters have an actual look.”

“I think they do. Chubby belly. Smelly. Clothes that have not been washed for weeks. You know … when jeans get that oily sheen to them? Bad dandruff. Crooked teeth with really red gums. And a mustache that’s thin and cheesy.” She shivered. “Creeps me out.”

“Again … none of that means he’s a child molester, but your parents would ground you for life if they knew you were there at all, but definitely if they knew you went there alone. Did you get out of there as fast as possible? I hope so.”

“Not exactly.”

“Morgan.” If I called her Morgan then the situation was serious.

“I kept a good distance. It was still light outside. And I didn’t get off my bike. But he asked me what I was doing there. Before I could answer, he smiled and said, ‘Ah, let me guess … the tree house.’ I nodded. It’s all I could do. Stranger danger and all that. But then he started telling me about him and his dad building the tree house together. I’m not saying he’s not still creepy, but—”

“No. Don’t say ‘but’ anything. You need to stay away. We’re done. Tell everyone else too. We’ve been trespassing.”

“I told him.” Her nose wrinkled. “He wasn’t mad at all. He thought it was cool that someone was getting some good out of the tree house and the lake. His mom died a few years ago and his dad recently died of a heart attack. He’s staying at the house for a while to figure out what to do with their stuff. Then he’s going to sell the place, but he said we can still play in the woods or swim in the lake until it sells.”

“No.”

“Nate, don’t be such a party pooper.”

“Promise me you won’t go back there.”

“Nate—”

“Just promise me.”

“Ugh! Fine. I’m going home. I have to clean my room or else I can’t spend the night at Danielle’s house this weekend.”

“Slumber party, huh? A long night of talking about boys?”

“Maybe.” She stood, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

“What do you say about me?” I held open the back door for her, and we set our empty cans on the counter.

“I don’t talk about you. We only talk about real boyfriends.” Dang, she loved to put me in my place.

“That’s fair. When I hang out with my friends we only talk about girls with big tits.”

She whipped around, clutching my shirt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. What do you think it means?”

“I think you’re saying I have small tits.”

“If the training bra fits …”

“Take it back.”

“No way.” I laughed as she attempted to shake me, but I was twice her size. She wasn’t going to budge me. “Oh, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy …” I hugged her to me as she tried and failed to wriggle out of my hold. “I hope you love me this much in another five years.”

“Let go of me, you big jerk! I’m not going to love you in another five seconds.” She punched my gut until I released her. “You’re on your own for food. I’m done feeling sorry for you.”

My smile didn’t waver, but that truth sucked the air from my lungs. She deserved a boyfriend who could buy her things. Real boyfriends didn’t need handouts.

“You should be done feeling sorry for me. It’s a waste of your time. Especially when your room is a mess.”

“You know what I mean.”

I turned, grabbing some trash from the counter and tossing it in the garbage.

“Yeah, I know. Better get going.”

“Are you mad?” She grabbed my arm.

I tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Just look at me.” She grabbed my arm with both hands.

I stilled, looking at the floor.

“Don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m not mad. But …” I looked at her. “You’re probably right. You should get a real boyfriend.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

I didn’t know if I was breaking up with her. My young age prevented me from understanding the dangerous part of my brain called the ego. That ego flipped some switch. We went from making out in the back of Georgia to joking about tits to the sobering thought that Morgan deserved someone better than me.

“We can be friends.”

Her head jerked back. “Friends. I see.” She nodded. “So we’ll hang out, but I can find another boyfriend and you’ll find a new girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “Sure.” I wasn’t going to get another girlfriend until I had a job, until I could not seem so needy, until I could take a girl to a movie that wasn’t at the dollar cinema.

“Wow …” She backed away. “So I guess I’ll see you around.”

“I guess so.” I was such an idiot, a stubborn, hardheaded idiot on the verge of losing the best thing ever.

She left. I strapped on my Walkman and went for a run. I lost the girl.

*

Swayze doesn’t blink. I don’t know if she realizes my story is over. How is it possible for her to not remember Daisy? My childhood revolved around the sassy little blonde. If she’s channeling my thoughts from over twenty years ago, then she has to see that they were all about Daisy.

“I remember the car.” Her eyes shift to meet mine.

“I wish you remembered us.”

“Us?” Her voice trembles and all color leaves her face.

I let it hang in the air for a few moments. She saw the book on reincarnation in my nightstand drawer. I replayed that feed over and over, but the camera was at her back. I couldn’t see her face. Every time I think of mentioning it to her, I lose my nerve. She has to know that I suspect she’s Daisy. But I won’t bring it up. I want her to make the connection. I need her to be curious and open to the possibility. But I won’t force it.

“Daisy and me.” I save her from the awkwardness.

She blows out a slow breath and smiles. “Me too. So you broke up.”

I nod.

“And you’re just going to leave me hanging? Did you get back together?”

“I need to pack for my trip. My flight is at six a.m. There are two guest rooms. Take whichever one you’d like. Towels are in the bathroom.”

“Want me to put Morgan to bed?”

I stand. “Nope. I want to do it.”

Her lips press together, failing to hide her grin.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head.

“Tell me.” My arms cross over my chest. This girl rattles my curiosity.

“Just thinking about the Don’t Hold the Baby rule you had when I started working for you. Now you hold her, cuddle her, and want to put her to bed even when you have stuff to do. You’ve come into your own and it’s…” she shrugs “…nice.”

I nod. From any other twenty-one-year-old girl, that would feel like a condescending compliment. Swayze’s known me longer than she realizes, so it means the whole damn world to me that she thinks I’m doing okay at what is unequivocally the biggest challenge of my life.

“Thank you. It was a rough start. I read too many books on parenting, setting schedules, and self-soothing. I think I forgot to use my intuition. This bossy nanny helped me see the error of my ways.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t fire her.”

“She has a lot of dirt on me.”

Swayze’s smile grows. “Do you think they’ll take away your PhD if I tell them you cheated on that Spanish test?”

“Not likely.” I chuckle. “Especially when they realize you weren’t alive when that happened.”

Her lips twist to the side as her gaze shifts to Morgan. “Hmm … that would be hard to explain, especially when I can’t explain it to myself.”

“I have a theory.”

She fidgets with the hem of her shirt while a nervous laugh comes out as a soft cough. “I’m sure there are lots of theories, but none of them make perfect sense. I’m not sure we’ll ever know. But … I’d better let you get Morgan to bed so you can pack for your trip.”

“Do you want to hear my theory?” Dr. Albright’s warnings go unheeded in my head as my need to connect with the girl I knew grows stronger every day.

Swayze picks up her overnight bag, leaving her back to me. “I don’t think I do.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling,” she says, looking down at her feet.

“Are you scared?”

“Every day.”

I hold in the words I’m dying to say as she fades into the shadows of the hallway, taking a right at the guest bedroom.