She draws in a deep breath through her nose.
Her raincoat squeaks as she slides her hands underneath her thighs.
I hear a soft clicking sound and dart my eyes to the floor where she’s gently tapping her Chucks together.
She licks her lips, and I fucking wince. Jesus.
Reaching over, I turn on the radio. Anything to distract.
I don’t know why I’m so irritable today. No, I know. I woke up to Lindsay on the phone. She’s the last person I want to deal with first thing in the morning.
It isn’t hard to miss how happy I was at Cole and Jordan’s age, having fun with whatever I could get my hands on and not forcing myself to think too hard about any decisions I was making. But not long after I met Lindsay, the bill for all that fun came due. I made a kid with a girl I barely knew. A pathological liar and someone who manipulates like it’s a fucking sport.
And when I left, I left him with her. Cole never had a chance.
I took her to court, of course, trying to get custody, but judges back then often saw the mother as the better option, and she knew how to solicit sympathy. She wanted Cole, because Cole meant child support. And she certainly got that out of me.
It was like being in prison, having to take him back to her after my weekends with him. She twists things into knots, and that’s what she did to him. By the time he was ten, he was putting himself in front of her if I needed to say things to her, and I was always in the wrong.
By the time he was fourteen, he stopped wanting to visit every other weekend, and now, we barely know each other. He won’t even call unless he needs money.
I shake my head, clearing it. “Want to put in a tape?” I suggest to Jordan.
I don’t meet her eyes, but I can see her head snap in my direction. “A tape? Like a cassette tape?”
Her gaze suddenly flashes to my car stereo and her eyes go wide, surprise lighting up her face. I almost laugh.
She didn’t notice it on the drive here?
“Is that an actual tape deck?” she blurts out.
She reaches out and touches the old car radio like it’s a precious vase and pushes Eject. Out pops a clear cassette tape with white lettering that I’ve never listened to.
She removes it, cupping it in her hand and reading the title. “Guns N’ Roses.” Her hand goes to her mouth, looking like she’s about to fucking cry. “Oh, my God.”
Darting for the glove compartment, she opens it and stares at the line of tapes neatly set up.
“Deep Purple,” she reads, “Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, John Mellencamp, ZZ Top…”
Then she seems to spot something that really excites her, because she reaches in and plucks out the black Def Leppard case. “Hysteria?” she exclaims, reading the album title. “They don’t make that album anymore. All you can get is the live version!”
I raise my eyebrows, not sure why this is all so exciting. “I’ll take your word for it,” I say, a little amused at her excitement. “This truck was my father’s. Those are his tapes. I just never got around to clearing them out after he…passed away a few years ago.”
It occurs to me that she’s the first one to touch the Guns N’ Roses tape since he put it in the player.
She looks back at the collection. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” she mumbles. “You clearly don’t know what you have here and these would’ve wound up in the bottom of a trash can, for Christ’s sake. Your dad was a cool guy.”
I smile, agreeing. She carefully places the Guns tape back in its case and removes the Def Leppard tape.
“May I?” she asks, gesturing to the tape deck.
I laugh under my breath and shift into higher gear as we charge down the road. “Go for it.”
We listen to two songs on the way home, entering town, and taking a shortcut past the railroad bridge on the river to our right.
“Wow, look at that,” she says.
I slow the truck and follow her gaze to the right, out her passenger side window, and see the river has risen considerably. Instead of the normal twenty feet of clearance between the bridge and the water, the water now rushes like a threat just below the bottom of the bridge. Thankfully, the rain has slowed, so it shouldn’t get any higher.
I step on the gas again, taking us home.
“That was fun,” she said. “Today, I mean.”
I raise my eyebrows and glance at her.
“I mean…” She blinks, correcting herself. “I don’t mean it was fun. I mean, I hope you didn’t get set behind or lose any money, but…” She inhales and exhales, turning her eyes back out her window. “A couple times I nearly felt like my life was almost in danger.”
She sounds entirely too pleased about that, too, and I can tell by her tone that she’s smiling.
“And that’s fun?” I question.
She turns her eyes back out the front windshield and shrugs, amusement pulling at the corner of her mouth.
I chuckle. “Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for helping. I’ll be sure to let you know when the next storm’s about to roll in, so you can get in on the action.”
“Cool.”
I continue driving down the highway and into our quiet town, turning left and then a sharp right into my neighborhood, content for the first time today. She’s a good kid. I hope Cole doesn’t screw it up, because I can already tell this is the kind of girl who would make a good mother and work by your side, building a life instead of draining you dry.
And for some reason it pleases me that she enjoyed herself today. No one in my family ever took much interest—or pride—in what I do for a living. My mother loves me, of course, as did my dad before he died, but they pushed so hard for me to go to college, and that was the plan until Cole came along.
It was always a disappointment that I stayed in this town and worked a job they thought required more brawn than brains.
When I started Lawson Construction, though—my own business—and built my own home, they still always looked at me like they wanted better but knew it was useless to say anything. They’d given up.
It wasn’t that they hated what I did or were unhappy with the man I’ve become. They mourned my missed opportunities and still worried about their son’s happiness. What they didn’t realize, though, is that I have my own son now and his happiness comes first.
And I actually love a lot of things about what I do. I get hours of fresh air every day, the sun, exercise…. It’s a good life. I sleep well at night. It’s nice to see someone else enjoy it like I do.
“My day is ruined now,” Jordan says. “Nothing will beat that.”
“Beat what?” I reply. “Getting doused in the rain?”
“And playing in the mud.”
I grin, shaking my head as I turn into my driveway. “That’s not playing in the mud.”
She turns to me. “Oh, you mean mudding? Is that why your truck looks all nasty?”
I scoff and turn off the car, shooting her a look. “Kid, if you can tell what color the paint is, then you’re not using your truck right. You got that?”
She rolls her eyes and opens her car door. We both hop out and make our way to the porch.
Come to think of it, if she didn’t mind getting wet and dirty today, she’d probably love mudding. I haven’t been in a long time. My truck only looks nasty because I never wash it. That’s not natural.
“Have you ever taken Cole?” she asks, climbing the steps.
“A few times while he was growing up, yeah.”
I reach out before she gets to the door and open it, holding it wide for her to enter first.
But she turns around, looking up at me before she goes in. “Maybe you can take both of us next time you go,” she suggests. “As long as I can drive. You’re not super possessive of your truck, are you?”
“No. A truck is made to be abused. Go for it. I’ll just wear my seatbelt.”
She smiles softly and stares at me for a moment, something I can’t decipher crossing her face. Did I say something?
I stare back for a moment, noticing how her eyes look almost like a watercolor. Midnight blue but growing lighter the closer they get to the pupil. I look away, clearing my throat.
“Jordan!” Cole suddenly bellows from upstairs. “Baby, you home? Come here!”
I meet her gaze again, and she pulls away, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Gotta go get ready for work. Thanks for letting me help today.”
I nod but stay in the doorway, watching her cross the living room and disappear up the stairs. A strange feeling comes over me as I stare after her. What is she like with Cole? What is he like with her? Is he good to her?
I stand by the front door, hearing the bedroom door close upstairs and knowing she’s in the bedroom with him. The house suddenly feels heavy. Stuffy and thick, and I can’t breathe. I don’t want to go in, no matter if I need dry clothes or not.
I dump my keys on the table to my left and see her VW key laying there. I grab it and step back outside, closing the door before I head back down the porch steps and to the garage on the right of the house.
“Got some house guests, huh?” I hear someone call.
I look over and see Kyle Cramer standing on his front porch with a coffee cup in his hand, covered from the rain which is now a light sprinkle.
I jerk my chin, acknowledging him, but I don’t reply. I never liked the guy and never cared to be friendly. Which he must realize by now.
I don’t care, though. Just looking at him irritates me. And it’s nothing specific that I hate. Just little things that added up over the years. How he treated his wife. How he cheated and was never home. How he kept the house for himself after the divorce and sent her and their kids off to an apartment to live. How he constantly hires babysitters when his kids are supposed to be spending time with him for the weekend.
Eh, who knows? Maybe he tried to get custody and maybe she cheated on him first. You never really know what goes on in someone’s house. Look at me and how my kid was raised, after all. Who am I to judge?