Page 41

KADE

“What did you expect to find out?”

I’m sitting on the sofa in my mother’s small but immaculate trailer, wishing I were back in my studio, torching metal. There’s a certain satisfaction in controlled destruction. That probably sounds strange, but if you knew my past, you’d understand.

But now my future is about to get way more complicated.

By a four-year-old.

“I didn’t know Shannon was struggling.”

“Maybe you would if you bothered to check in more often with your family. After she lost her job, she had to move in with a friend. Things got overwhelming for her.”

I run my hands through my hair and let out a long exhale. “I’m sorry. Business has picked up over the last year.”

What I don’t say is that my reputation in Sarabella has grown. An increase in custom home builders wanting original metal work detailing for homes has doubled my orders in the last six months alone, thanks to the popularity of a couple of DIY home shows on TV and social media.

But that won’t matter to my mother. She only sees the man who left the confines of a toxic family that boasts a long line of motorcycle-riding ‘bad boys.’

Cliché, I know, but we do exist.

However, I shifted gears five years ago in order to pursue a more creative and lucrative future.

It’s not that I don’t love my family…I do, but I no longer share their perspective that life deals us what we get and we’re stuck with it.

Nor do I subscribe to the belief that men who are creative and artistic are somehow… unmanly.

Plus, watching a person die brings life-changing side effects. Don’t ask me how I know.

Do I need therapy?

Maybe?

Probably.

Right now, all I know is I’m doing what I love and now I may have to redirect for a compact human being whose big green eyes and dimpled smile melt my every resistance.

“I’m so glad life worked out for you while the rest of us are stuck here in the muck.”

Acknowledging her comment will only feed her pessimism. I learned not so long ago that you can’t reason a person out of a place they didn’t reason themselves into to begin with.

I also know she’s still bitter. “What else did she say?”

My mother shrugs. “Just that she needed time to get back on her feet, which I was happy to give her. Elly is my granddaughter, and I want the very best for her.”

We interrupt this guilt-laden dialogue to interject that this is my mother’s way of reminding me of all she’s done for me.

She’s the queen of passive-aggressive dialogue and part of the reason I had to get out of close proximity.

The constant reminders of how much I’ve disappointed her became life-sucking.

“But then this happened,” she gestures to the brace encasing her foot and ankle, “and there’s no way I can keep up with a four-year-old. ”

I nod but say nothing because I’m trying to picture how to adjust my life to accommodate a child. Which isn’t mine, by the way. Just want to be clear on that. Eliana is my niece. And the daughter of my brother Devon.

“Of course not.” I rise from the couch. “Where is she now?”

“Preschool, or what we used to call daycare. My neighbor dropped her off for me. Figured it might be easier for us to figure this out without little pitchers around.”

“Little pitchers?”

My mother waves me off. “An old expression. Means big ears, even though hers are small.” A hoarse laugh rumbles in her chest.

“When does she get back?”

My mother looks up at me with an expression I’ve come to recognize as her loaded gun. “That’s up to you, now isn’t it? Her bag is packed on the bed, and they’re expecting you by three.”

Unbelievable. “You could have told me this before I drove out here.”

“Why? And spoil the fun?”

“No, so I could have planned for a passenger. I rode my motorcycle.” I notice her flinch as I check my watch. Maybe she cares more than she lets on. All I know is I have about an hour to get back to Sarabella, get my truck, and come back to pick up the squirt.

I push up to my feet, careful not to let my work boots bump against her coffee table.

A flash of regret moves behind her eyes so fast that I would have missed it had I not been looking for some sort of recognition. But it’s gone before it can do anything to soften the hardness that’s settled permanently around her mouth. “Then I guess you better figure something out quick.”

And now I’ve clamped my jaw so tight I can only nod. I grab Eliana’s bag from a makeshift cot in the corner of the tiny bedroom.

At the front door, I pause. Despite the chasm between us, she’s still my mother, and I’m a duty-bound son. “Do you need anything? Help with anything around here? I can come by this weekend.”

She waves me off. “No, I’ve got great neighbors and people who love me nearby.”

Guilt trip received. I exhale, drop my chin, and count to ten. “Bye, Mom.”

My mother just stares at me. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

I’m guessing she’s disappointed again that I didn’t allow her to manipulate me, but as I said, I can’t reason someone out of a place they’ve chosen to be in.

I close the door and stride to where my motorcycle sits. After lashing down Eliana’s small bag, I hop on, pulling my helmet over my head, and then crank the motor.

The ride home will give me some time to think and plan, as will the ride back.

Because I don’t have a clue about how to take care of a four-year-old.

In a split second, Eliana recognizes me and comes running. “Uncle Kade!”

Her little pink backpack bounces behind her as she runs toward me. I scoop her up with a grunt, realizing she’s grown nearly half a foot since I last saw her. And in preschool, no less.

“Hey, squirt.”

Her little arms hang onto my shoulders as she stares into my eyes. “You smell funny.”

“Yep. I was working. ”

“Why are you picking me up today?”

My gut clenches because I see Devon staring back at me through green eyes that are an exact duplicate of his, even down to the freckle in the right one.

I have one too, but in the opposite eye.

Mom said we got our green eyes from our father, who left town around the time Devon was born.

Which left me to become the man of the house.

“Because Grandma sent me to take you on an adventure.”

Her little mouth forms a circle to match her rounded eyes. “Do I get to ride on your motorbike?”

She couldn’t get the hang of the word “cycle” when she was younger because of a lisp she’s mostly outgrown. Bike became her default and stuck.

“No, not yet. You’re still a squirt.”

She wiggles to let me know she wants to get down. When her feet hit the floor, she stands straight with her shoulders back and her chin up. She lifts her heels off the floor to look taller. “But look how big I am now.”

I squat down and hold her hands. “Yes, you are, but this adventure is bigger than my motorbike.”

She frowns, but her eyes are round with wonder. “Bigger than a motorbike?”

I can picture her father’s proud smile right now at his daughter’s awe of motorcycles. But my mother would kill me if I let Eliana anywhere near one. Shannon, too, for that matter.

“Way bigger. You get to come stay with me for a while. And you can see my metal shop.”

“What’s a metal shop?”

“A place where I make things out of metal with a blowtorch.”

“What’s a blowtorch?” Torch sounds more like torsh with her residual lisp peeking out.

“I’ll have to show you. So, what do you think?”

She lowers her chin. “Did I do something wrong?”

I can almost hear the “r” in wrong this time. She really has grown a lot since I last saw her. As much as I don’t want to admit it, my mother was right. I’ve been too busy and away too much.

I hug Eliana. “No, squirt, not at all. Why would you ask that?”

“Because Mommy said she needed a break and now Grandma does, too.”

I smooth a rogue, pale brown wisp behind her ear. Even her hair has grown, judging by the Rapunzel braid she now sports. Braiding hair—another thing I’m going to have to learn.

“Grandma broke her foot, which means she can’t run around and play very well right now.”

“So she called you?”

“Yeah, is that okay?” I almost hold my breath because if she says ‘no,’ I’ve no idea what to do next.

The corners of her mouth lift slightly as she nods, looking at me again with Devon’s eyes. “Yeah, as long as you promise I can sit on your motorbike.”

I stand and tousle her bangs. “I’ll think about it.”

Eliana crosses her arms and pouts. “All right.”

As I take her hand, the teacher walks over, holding out a slip of paper. “Mr. Maverick, can you sign this so we have it on record that you picked Eliana up?”

Nodding, I take the slip of paper and pen.

“Will Eliana be coming back?”

That’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer to, though. “Uh, I’m not sure, to be honest.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile that makes me think she’s more aware of what’s been going on with Shannon than I am. “No problem. I’ll just mark down on her file that she’ll be away for a while.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. ”

She points toward an odd-looking chair near the doorway. “Don’t forget her booster seat.”

I scrawl my name on the blank line and hand the paper and pen back to her.

A simple slip of paper, yet somehow I feel like I’ve signed up for something way bigger than I can handle.