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On our way back to the car we pass a realtor’s office. I had spotted it on the way in but was too distracted to pay much attention. Passing it now, I slow to look at the listings posted on the exterior window, showing houses and property for sale and lease.

I make note of the prices and scan through a few listings.

“Looking to purchase a house?” Bambi hedges a hint of humor in her tone. I can see how it would be amusing considering I’ve lived_by choice_on a boat for the last decade.

“Maybe, just keeping my options open. Can’t live on a boat forever.”

“Here I was thinking you were going to do exactly that.”

I muffle a chuckle. Little does she know how my plans have changed. I love my boat and the freedom it’s granted me, but it’s time for a change. Time to find something more suitable for a family.

Continuing down the window I spot a listing for a house I recognize.

“I didn’t know the hangout house was listed for sale.”

Bambi steps up to my side, pressing close to my arm and I instinctually wrap it around her waist. She doesn’t pull away and I count that as another small victory in my favor.

“Me neither. I just figured whoever owned it died or moved away and a family member or someone owned it and just didn’t care about it.”

We stand side by side reading the listing for the house the adolescents of the town have claimed as their own. Nearly three thousand square feet, five bedrooms, three and a half baths, and multiple acres of land. Considering how long it’s been sitting and its less than livable conditions, the price isn’t horrible. It’s downright cheap.

It never crossed my mind that living in the hangout house was a possibility. It’s never been a home in my mind, yet the longer I think about it the more I realize it has been a surrogate home for many. Bambi always loved that house. I could tell not only by the way she admired things like the dusty chandelier and the colorful stained-glass windows, but because she outright told us how amazing it would be to live in such a unique house.

An idea sparks and my mind takes hold of it, processing through the probabilities and possibilities. Ideas forming and taking shape faster than I can keep up with. Just more things on my list to research.

“I wonder what happened to the people who used to live there. Do you remember anyone ever living there?” Bambi asks, pulling me from my growing plan for our future.

I shrug, shaking my head. “No. As long as I can remember it’s been empty.”

We stare for a moment longer before Bambi sighs and tugs at my arm. “Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s go get some lunch.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“It’s not me, it’s the baby, he’s hungry. And you don’t want your son going hungry now do you?”

I smile down at her. I think this is the first time she’s referred to the baby as my son out loud.

“I don’t want either of you going hungry. What do you feel like eating?”

“Chow mein…and pickles!”

“Your wish is my command.”

Chapter 25: Raelyn

Nothing I ever did was a felony

I sit quietly in the passenger seat of Warren’s truck, eyeing him across the bench seat from me. My doctor’s appointment seemed more emotional for him than he expected it to be. I’m pretty sure he was on the verge of crying when he first heard the baby’s heartbeat. To be fair I did cry the first time I heard it.

We ate lunch at my favorite Chinese food restaurant in town, the only Chinese food restaurant in town that thankfully happens to be good. The restaurant didn’t have pickles on the menu but like a pickle ninja, Warren produced some from the glove box of his truck. Almost like he was expecting me to ask for them.

Throughout the entire meal I caught him sneaking peeks at the ultrasound print out. But he never said anything about it. I could tell there was more going on inside that head of his. Plotting and planning just like he did before he finished his boat and sailed off to find a new life.

Now we’re driving home, and questions sit on the tip of my tongue but before I can ask any the sounds of police sirens ring out behind us, and blue and red lights flash through the window.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Warren grumbles under his breath. “I wasn’t even speeding.”

Warren pulls over and dutifully waits for the officer to approach his window, rolling it down by the manual crank. His truck is so old. If we’re going to raise this baby together, we might have to look into a larger safer vehicle.