CHAPTER 10
Zaki
I woke up Wednesday to a text from Viki: Call the girls at 7:30 p.m. their time.
We were flying to Tampa this afternoon, so that would be nine thirty. I could do that. I already planned to call them at eight.
I texted back. Want to tell me why?
Nope. smile emoji But you’ve been invited to something. Don’t be late, okay?
I set the alarm on my phone for nine twenty-five. Okay. Thanks.
Weird that the girls or Arwyn didn’t invite me, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. We’d beaten Nashville last night and had a team breakfast meeting in a banquet room downstairs. Then practice, then the flight. By nine thirty, I’d be ready for bed.
I missed my girls. I didn’t get to say good night to them on game nights, and we’d had two in a row. We’d had a quick call yesterday before the game, and they told me about the book fair and lunch with Ryleigh and Kami. It sounded like they were having a great week.
As an afterthought, I sent another text. How’s the recovery going? Papé said you’re doing great but how do you feel?
Viki’s dad had been as much of a dad to me as my own dad. I’d started calling him Papé and her mom Maman when we got married. It felt weird now, but it was what it was.
Fine. Slow. Painful. Could be worse.
I hate this for you, Vik.
Me too.
I was showered and lounging on the bed in my hotel room at nine twenty-seven. Close enough. I tapped the button for the group video chat and a few seconds later was rewarded with the sweetest faces on the face of the earth.
“Daddy! You made it!” Isla turned, and her nose poked into Amelie’s screen. “I told you he would!”
“I’m here. What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Storytime!” Amelie bounced. “But you have to hang up and call back. Just call Isla. Because I’m going to call Mommy.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back then. Don’t start without me.” She giggled, and I ended the call to start the new one. “There you are!”
“Here I am! And there’s Wynnie.” Isla flipped the screen.
Arwyn waved. “Hi.” I squinted to see what she was wearing. It looked like a kimono. Pink with white designs and trim. Pretty cool.
“Now say hi to Mommy!” Isla held up her screen to Amelie’s. I waved at Viki. She smiled tightly, but it was more of a wince. I made a mental note to ask her parents about the care in the rehab facility.
“We’re all here now, Wynnie,” Amelie reported. “Daddy, you didn’t miss much. So far, a red-haired girl named Anne who has no mommy and daddy—isn’t that so sad?—from Nova Scotia took a train and a boat and a train to Prince Edward Island to live with a new family. A sister and brother who are old and have a farm. But they didn’t want her. Guess why?”
“Hmm…” I stroked my beard. “I can’t imagine why. Is she a naughty girl?”
Amelia and Isla laughed. “No!” Isla said. “But she does talk a lot. A lot a lot.”
“More than you two?”
They giggled again.
“Who wouldn’t want a good little girl? I know! Was she very ugly? Did she have warts all over her face?”
“No!” the girls hooted.
“Then I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want a sweet little girl. Especially a redhead.”
“Well, Daddy, you see—” Amelie paused, her tone serious. “She wasn’t a boy. They wanted a boy! To do farm chores.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Farm chores! Can’t girls do farm chores?” I asked.
Isla shrugged. “Not a long time ago. It wasn’t ladylike. The ladies had tea parties. Every day! They couldn’t be dirty from farm work.”
I held back a smile. “What kind of farm work, exactly?”
The girls looked at each other and shrugged.
“Growing potatoes,” Arwyn said. “And vegetables. Apple trees. Chickens. Hay for their dairy cow. Milking the dairy cow.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. “Thanks for catching me up.”
“Wynnie, can you start now?” Amelie pleaded. “Daddy, no more questions. Buy the book if you want to read along. I’ve been waiting all day.”
I snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Arwyn started. “Chapter four. Morning at Green Gables.”
“Wait!” The screen went awry as Amelie set it down and picked up her book. “Now I’m ready!”
“All right,” Arwyn said. “It was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring confusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was pouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved across glimpses of blue sky.”
Arwyn’s reading voice was controlled. Elegant. She sucked me into the town and the people of Avonlea, and three chapters flew by. I’d have to get the audiobook so I could keep up with the story since I wasn’t free every night at seven thirty. Somehow, I already knew that whoever would be narrating the book wouldn’t be as nice as Arwyn. I wondered if she’d ever considered doing voice work. For a woman of few words, she sure had a beautiful speaking voice.
I said good night to the girls and waited about ten minutes before I texted Arwyn.
Thanks for taking such good care of the girls. And including their mom. It means a lot.
It’s my pleasure. They’re the sweetest kids, and my heart goes out to Viki. I can’t imagine how much she must miss them. I miss them while they’re at school, and I just met them.
How much did I want to tell her about our situation? Probably the more she knew, the better she’d understand how hard it all was for all of us.
I texted: Yeah, it was really hard to take them from her, but she needed the surgeries and time in rehab. She never would’ve stayed at a facility if the girls were in Montreal, and that would compromise a full recovery. Bringing the girls here was her parents’ idea, and to be honest, I still don’t feel good about it, even though I know in my brain it’s the best plan.
Three dots appeared, indicating she was typing. Then they stopped. I watched the phone, waiting.
Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and I promise to keep it private.
That was nice of her, but I was reluctant to bring her into the family drama. It was one thing to tell her about it and another to use her as my therapist. I got the feeling whatever I told her she’d carry like a weight, and I didn’t want to put that on her.
Maybe another time, I texted back. I’d leave the door open in case I changed my mind or our circumstances changed and I had to tell her more. Thanks.
You’re welcome.
Good night, Wynna-bun.
Good night, Mr. Marsch.
I grinned at my phone. Her humor was understated, and it intrigued me.
There was so much more about Arwyn Baughn that I wanted to know. Not just because she was taking care of my girls but because she was a cool human. She didn’t care about the latest fashion or decor. She did her own thing, wearing outfits and decorating her house like she was living in another century. I wondered what she had against this one and if I could find a way to show her the present could be just as exciting as the past.
Returning “home” to Arwyn’s house was night and day to coming home to the Denver apartment. I’d hand my keys to the valet, wheel my suitcase and garment bag to the elevator, and key open the door to a quiet apartment. If Viki and the girls were home, they were practicing their ballet or working with their tutor or pretending to be princesses in their playroom.
I pulled into the driveway, and the front door flung open before I could put the van in park. My girls, dressed in their plaid school skirts, navy vests, and white button-down shirts with matching tights, ran down the steps shouting at the top of their lungs that I was home. I had to scramble to get out of the vehicle before they reached it. Laffy and Vennie joined the chaos with a cacophony of delighted barks. It only took a quick scruff to each of the terriers’ heads to get their tongues lolling to one side.
I scooped up my daughters and closed my eyes, inhaling their strawberry shampoo and … cookie dough?
“Have you girls been baking?” I asked. My stomach growled at the prospect of cookies.
“Yes!” Amelie held my cheeks in her hand and rubbed her nose on mine. “Your beard is tickly.”
“I thought you liked my beard?”
“I do. But it’s not soft anymore. But it’s tickly.”
“That’s ’cause it’s short, Amms. It needs to grow longer, and then it’ll get soft again.”
“Well, tell those hairs to hurry up, then!”
I laughed. “I think they heard you. Let’s hope they listen.”
“Daddy!” Isla leaned her head in front of Amelie’s so she’d be in my direct line of sight. “It’s butter tarts!”
“Butter tarts?” Now my stomach was growling. Butter tarts were one of the few cheats I allowed during the season.
If they were good.
No one made butter tarts like Maman, Viki’s mom. Her recipe was the standard, to the point where Viki wouldn’t even attempt them because they never came out exactly right.
“Yes!” Amelie’s palms left my cheeks to push Isla’s head out the way. “Wynnie asked Mommy for Mémère’s recipe! And we made it!”
“You did? Mémère’s butter tarts? Here?”
“Uh-huh,” Isla confirmed. “And we called Mémère so she could teach us. Come in and eat them!”
“If you insist.” My luggage could wait. Butter tarts!
“But Daddy.” Isla’s hands jerked my head so that her lips were on my ear. “Whatever you do, don’t call them cookies.”
“Wynnie said that word and Laffy and Vennie went crazy,” Amelie reported. “They’ve been trying to steal them!”
“Well, we can’t let that happen.” I crouched to set the girls on the ground and looked up toward the front door. Arwyn stood on the porch, a picture of nineteenth-century domesticity. Auburn tendrils fanned out at the sides of her head, escaping from the bun that was loosely pinned on top. A blousy white shirt with fancy buttoned cuffs trimmed with lace tucked into a long green skirt.
She looked like the painting of Anne of Green Gables on the cover of book six.
Yeah, I was keeping up with my reading, and I bought the whole series. Arwyn was rocking the Anne of Ingleside look.
And it was doing funny things to my insides.
It wasn’t like me to feel flustered. Or stare.
I’d have to dive into that later.
“Hurry, Daddy!”
I jogged up the steps. Arwyn stepped aside, but I shook my head. “Ladies first.”
She smiled shyly and followed the girls into the kitchen. I closed the door behind me and locked it, then followed the scent of the freshly baked butter tarts to the kitchen.
Two furry blurs rushed past me, barking and begging for even more of my attention. I gave Laffy and Vennie a quick pet on the head each and turned my full attention to the girls.
“Ta-da!” the twins chorused, one on each side of the plate of cookies, waving jazz hands over them.
“Try them, Daddy,” Isla commanded. “Don’t just stare at them. Tell us if they’re good!”
“I’m sure they’re perfect,” I insisted. And I would keep it to myself if they weren’t.
“Here.” Amelie held one up above her head. “Eat.”
“Bossy.” I took it from her and held it up at eye level. “Well, it looks like Mémère’s butter tart. Or as she calls it, tarte au beurre. ”
“Daddy!”
“Fine, fine.” I took a bite into the shell. Then another, capturing the raisin filling, determined to drag out the process as long as I had a captive audience.
It was a skill, taking multiple bites of a butter tart. They were small.
“Daddy!”
I popped the rest into my mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing. “Just like Mémère’s.”
The girls whooped, jumping up and down, the dogs joining in their celebration.
“I told you!” Isla hugged Amelie. “We did it!”
“Well, Wynnie helped,” Amelie confessed. She looked up at me. “A lot. They were hard to make.”
“So I’ve heard.” I turned to thank Arwyn, but she wasn’t there.
“Where did she go?” I asked, peeking out of the kitchen.
Amelie pointed toward the living room. “At the sewing machine. She said we’re all yours ’cause she needs the last of the natural light to finish Penny’s bodies because she’s coming tomorrow to try it on.”
“Penny’s bodies?” I asked.
“Yes, Daddy.” Isla rolled her eyes. “The bodies. It’s the part of the dress in the front that has all the pretty decorations.”
“Ah,” I said. “The bodice.”
Isla pinned me with a look that could take down a weaker man. I prayed for her future husband. “That’s what I said. The bodies.”
“Right,” I conceded. Best never to argue with a five-year-old girl who knows more than you do.
“So, it’s just me, you, and you, and the butter tarts?”
“Nope,” Amelie said. “You’ll ruin Chef’s dinner.”
“What?”
Amelie pointed to a box of aluminum foil on the counter. “Wrap it up, Daddy. You can have more later. We have a schedule to keep.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “We do? Tell me more.”
Isla reached her hand into the side pocket of Amelie’s vest and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and began to read: “Eat two butter tarts before five o’clock. Five: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Five ten: Put in Chef’s dinner and set the timer for forty minutes. Go outside and play until it gets dark.” She looked up. “We should hurry. My weather app says sunset is in fifteen minutes!”
I crossed to the oven and set the temperature. “What’s after playtime?”
Isla continued. “Five twenty-five: Come inside and wash our hands. Five thirty: Dance party. Five forty: Set the table. Five fifty: Daddy takes out chicken dinner and puts it on plates. Five fifty-five: Get Wynnie and tell her dinner is ready. Six: Say a blessing and eat.” She looked up. “That’s all we’ve got so far.”
“Great reading, Isles. That’s a very strict schedule. We’ll have to stay focused to get it all done. And wow, you wrote all that, Amms?”
She nodded. “We made a list with Wynnie and then I copied it.” She handed it to me.
My girl had better handwriting than half the team. “Very nice.”
She beamed with pride.
I loved complimenting my daughters.
I popped the lids off the containers labeled “Friday Dinner” just as the oven dinged it was ready. Once the premade meals were arranged on the middle rack, I shut the door and set the timer. It was nothing fancy—baked chicken tenderloins, vegetables, and heirloom potatoes—but I liked it, and I knew the girls would eat it. I’d ordered extra food for the nights I’d be home and hoped Arwyn wouldn’t mind. She had her hands full on the days I was traveling, so I figured I’d take care of dinner on the nights I was home.
“Playtime!” Isla announced. “Get your coats on!”
I set the alarm on my phone for fifteen minutes. Didn’t want to be late to wash my hands before the dance party.
Playing with my girls on Arwyn’s old swing set was a blast. I helped them across the monkey bars as the dogs leapt and yipped underneath. On the swings, I let them kick me in the backside while they tried to soar as high as their little legs could muster. Every few kicks to the bootie, I’d pretend they got me good and fall on the ground, thus offering Laffy and Vennie chances to use me as their personal playground and slobber on my face accordingly.
Performing for my girls and their dogs and being rewarded with hysterical giggles was the very definition of fatherhood joy.
The alarm went off too soon, and I’ll give them credit; they were determined to stick to their plan. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink when they ran to the downstairs bathroom, and we were ready for the dance party at five twenty-nine.
“Where’s the party?” I asked.
Isla shrugged. “In the front room?”
“Isla,” Amelie chastised, “Wynnie is working in there!”
“Let’s ask.” Isla ran out of the kitchen, Amelie hot on her heels.
I followed them across the vestibule and into the living room that Arwyn called the front room. A row of open trifold project boards propped up by stacks of books and ottomans separated Arwyn’s work area from the rest of the room. Laffy and Vennie scratched at them, barking and jumping.
Arwyn rose from the chair at her machine and faced us, gesturing to the makeshift fence. Wringing her hands, she apologized. “I hope you don’t mind. I had to keep them away from my work.”
“Not a problem at all. I should have anticipated that. I’ll order a gate tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that. I?—”
I held up my hand. “I want to.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Daddy, the schedule!” Amelie protested.
I grinned at Arwyn. “Want to join us for our dance party?”
“I’d love to. If your dad doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all. I can teach you my best moves.”
“Your moves are so bad, Daddy. But we’re glad you’re home,” Amelie said.
Home. Here, at 87 Idlewild Way, it felt like home. Like I’d always imagined it.
On a rare occasion, Viki would drive the girls up to the cabin, but it was never like this: the homecoming my teammates who had families talked about and looked forward to.
This was the homecoming I’d been missing.
The homecoming I wanted.
The homecoming I couldn’t keep.