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“Nothing. I’ll drive you on Friday.” With graduated licensing restrictions, she wasn’t allowed to drive at night past 9pm—which, if Michelle was on a date or something, would probably be too early to come home.

Why did my stomach do a sick little drop at that thought?

“Go do your homework,” I said, gruffer than I meant to.

I hung up to what I swore was the sound of Remy rolling her eyes.

6

Will

By the time Friday night rolled around, my brain had run through about ten thousand scenarios, both of what I would say to Michelle when I saw her (and what Remy would say when I insisted on walking her all the way to the door), and why she might need a babysitter.

The obvious answer was that she had a date. It shouldn’t have mattered to me—not in the least. But for whatever reason it did. It mattered a lot.

“Ready?” I asked Remy, who was putting on her sneakers as slowly as I’d ever seen a kid put on sneakers. It was like she was a toddler again.

“Dad, why are you even grumpier than usual?” She asked. “You seem… anxious.” Her voice was deeply suspicious, and her face was too when I looked over at her.

“I’m not anxious,” I said, stiffly. “I just want to get going.”

“So, who is this lady again?”

“I told you—just a friend of Uncle Hank’s.”

Remy’s eyebrows scrunched together, then, as she inspected my face, they flew up. Her mouth fell open too like a lightbulb had gone off. “Oh my god, you have acrushon this woman. Dad, is she married? Are you going to have an affair with—”

“Remy!” I barked. “Enough.”

She put up her hands, but her lips still twisted like she was trying not to laugh.

“She’s not married,” I said, grabbing my coat and practically tearing off the hook while I was at it.

When she went to say something more, I shot her a look that had her snapping her mouth shut. But it quickly spread into a grin.

I grumbled and headed for the door.

“Oh, just one sec,” she said. “Almost forgot my art stuff.”

“I’ll meet you in the car,” I said. I couldn’t help but be impressed that Remy was putting so much thought into this job.

I used to be excited about my job, too.

Not for the first time, as I climbed into the car, I considered my discussion with Fred. His dogged pressure to try to get me to run for his seat next year had been funny at first. How had he thoughtIwould be interested in—or a good fit for—public office?

To be fair, as a fresh-faced college kid, being in public office had once been a goal of mine. Even if it was just to piss my dad off. Dad wanted me, the oldest of the three kids, to take over our family’s mechanic shop. He barely talked to me when I said I wanted to go to college instead. We’d had a humdinger of a fight which centered on him believing I thought I was ‘too good for honest work’. I ended up yelling that the reason I didn’t want to take over the garage was because of him.

To this day I felt a mix of guilt and fury when I thought about that.

But Dad and I had never gotten along. Still didn’t—ever since my sister Stella moved away, only Hank kept up with the weekly visits to his care home.

I sighed. I may not want to run a garage, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be a politician either.

Still, that hotel stay in Vermont sounded pretty sweet.

Hell, maybe I’d go and then put in my notice right after. Quit my job and take off. Sell my old, restored brick Victorian in Barkley Falls and take an early retirement. Very early—I was only 40.

When Remy moved out, I could leave Jewel Lakes altogether.