What would happen to Nana? Who would make sure Machlan remembers to mow around Mom’s mums in the front yard of his house? Who would listen to Lance’s stories from the trenches of dating women he meets online? Who would keep Peck in a job?
As great as starting all over again sounds, I know I couldn’t leave. Every morning I stop at Goodman’s and get a cup of coffee just like Dad did. It’s stupid as hell; that’s not lost on me. But there’s something about the routine of it, the carrying out a tradition of the old man, that seems like in some ridiculous way it keeps his memory alive. Some mornings I see Dad’s old buddies and we stop and shoot the shit. Sometimes I’ll hold the door open for a woman Mom sang in the church choir with, and she’ll tell me how much I look like my father and that my mother had the best voice this side of the Mississippi.
Finishing the drink, I rinse the glass and set it on a towel by the sink. Some of the water splashes against my bare chest. Swiping a towel from a drawer next to the stove, I run the towel across my skin and remember what it was like to have Sienna’s hands on my body and the way she didn’t seem to give a damn about anything other than enjoying the moment with me.
With me.
My mind goes into overdrive at those two little words. What would it be like to be with a woman who is with me? Who doesn’t think Crank is a waste of time and energy? Who doesn’t look at a relationship like a one-sided event? Who gets along with my family, doesn’t mind Nana’s demands for Sunday dinner, doesn’t find Peck to be an annoying weight on their existence?
I still think, after all these years, that’s why Tabby left.
If Sienna is a blessing or a curse, I haven’t figured out, but pushing her away is pointless. It’s like pushing a ball up a hill and thinking it’ll stay. It won’t. Gravity doesn’t care you want the round ball to sit on an incline and it doesn’t care that I need Sienna to stay away.
The grandfather clock in the living room chimes, sending a chill down my spine. I toss the towel in the sink and head to bed.
IT’S THE SAME CRUNCH of gravel. The same parking spot. The same hour in the morning, more or less, that I’ve pulled into Crank to start the day every time since I’ve come by to pay off Daisy.
The thought of that night widens my grin as I pull into the spot to the left of the front door and kill the engine. Walker is in the lobby, working at the desk, and doesn’t look up.
He’s wearing a grey t-shirt and navy baseball cap as he sits at the desk. Instead of flicking a pen between two fingers impatiently, as is his custom, he sits with his face cupped in his hand. Every now and then he writes something down before resuming his position staring at the screen.
I sit and watch. The longer I do, the more all the stress about what to do and where to go fizzles away. Sitting in the warm sun, wearing ripped jeans and an old Arrows t-shirt, the smell of grease permeating the air, I can’t believe I feel happy. Unrushed. Okay with the way things are right now.
It’s not something I feel a lot. There’s always a need to go, do, find, create, discover . . . keep up. My siblings conquer new parts of the world every day, it seems, whether it’s making business deals, saving people’s lives, or having babies. Even Camilla has bought into the madness by settling down with Dominic and helping chair events alongside our mother. Me? I can’t keep up. Hell, I can’t even join the fray because I don’t know where my starting point is, but I can’t deny that I don’t feel compelled to get on a plane and start fresh. Yet.
Grabbing my phone that fell onto the floorboard, I swipe it on and go to the texts app. A smile tickles my lips as I open the top message and read through the exchange with Walker from last night.
WALKER: Hey.
ME: Hi.
WALKER: Just making sure you made it home.
ME: Well, if I hadn’t, the murderer that abducted me would’ve had a huge head start. LOL I got home hours ago.
WALKER: Yeah. Good. Glad you made it.
ME: Admit it. You wanted to say hi. ;)
WALKER: You’re impossible.
ME: Impossibly right. Ha. So, what are you doing?
WALKER: Thinking about flooring options.
ME: At eleven at night?
WALKER: Does eleven in the morning sound more reasonable? I don’t see the difference.
ME: I like a good hardwood, if you’re asking my opinion. Nothing too dark because it shows all the dirt. If hardwood is out, do tile but not in the living room because that’s just not cozy. I guess carpet in there or if it’s a bedroom. Nothing too thick or light colored.