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CHAPTER ELEVEN

SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL

JAX

S itting side by side with Nate in the on-call room after a traumatic night for all involved, we fill out all the necessary paperwork and forms and when we’re done Nate leaves, giving my shoulder a squeeze as he walks out the door, leaving me in the oppressive silence of the room. I pull myself up from the chair and leave the hospital, knowing that I’m going home to my girls. And Emma.

It’s almost one in the morning when I pull in the driveway and notice the light still on in the back of the house, sparking a bit of hope in my chest that Emma is still awake, that I’ll have someone, anyone, to talk to tonight. I softly push open the door and kick off my shoes before walking deeper into the house where I find the blanket fort built up in the middle of the living room. The faint sounds of a late soccer game drift out from the fabric walls.

Gently moving one of the blanket walls to the side, I peek in and find Emma sound asleep in between the girls, arms around each of them, and emotion swells in my chest. Longing like I haven’t felt in a decade grips me like a vice and I let the wall gently fall back into place before backing away and hitting the creakiest floorboard in my house as I do.

I hear the rustle of blankets and soon Emma’s head pokes out through one of the walls and she graces me with a sleepy smile as she crawls out. Offering her a hand up, she slides her hand into mine and lets me help her to her feet.

“There’s leftover soup in the fridge,” she whispers, “I can heat some up for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I hold out a hand to stop her as thunder lightly rumbles overhead. “I’m just going to go shower and change, and I’ll get something to eat. Do you mind staying a little longer?”

“Not at all,” she answers, stifling a yawn, eyes drooping just a bit, my own eyes drawn to the clothes she’s wearing – one of my Owens’s hardware baseball shirts and my flannel pants – and several questions pop into my head but I push them away until I have a more clear mind.

It doesn’t take me long to get into the shower and under the steaming hot spray of water, letting it wash away the anger and pain of the last several hours. After changing into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I take a minute to sit in the silence of my room, the only sound is that of the rain pelting my windows, thinking about everything that’s happened today. Thinking about the woman who slept in the blanket fort with my girls, and what it did to my heart to walk in and see that scene.

The smell of toasting bread draws me like a magnet toward the kitchen where I find Emma at the stove, keeping a close eye on a grilled cheese sandwich and small pot of soup. I can’t help my roaming eyes as she turns toward me, my pants and shirt somewhat baggy on her frame, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. A slight pink blush creeps into her cheeks as she turns back toward the stove and clicks off the burners.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, carefully cutting the sandwich in half and arranging it on a small plate before pouring the soup into a bowl. “Alice showed me where you keep pajamas for your sisters and…she insisted.”

“I don’t mind.” I stuff a bite of grilled cheese in my mouth and allow myself a minute to get my thoughts in order as Emma quietly bustles around the kitchen.

“I’ll just go change back into my own clothes and head out. I can throw these in the wash for you, too. I’m sure you’ve got other laundry you need done, if you’ll just point me toward the washer. And then I’ll put the fort away so you don’t…”

“Emma,” gently grabbing her wrist, I pull her toward the empty chair beside me. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to clean up or do laundry. And to be honest, I’d prefer it if you didn’t drive home. It’s late and it's starting to storm. Stay here tonight.”

Emma’s eyes snap to mine, and I know in that instant that I’ve crossed a line. In fact, I probably crossed the line when I agreed to let her watch the girls tonight instead of calling on a member of my family to watch them. I know they would have agreed, but Emma offered and I couldn’t turn her down. Or…maybe I didn’t want to.

“I can’t offer you much, since I don’t have a guest room, but I’d rather know you’re safe here instead of driving in this weather. Even if it is just down the road.” As if to punctuate my point, a rumble of thunder rattles the windows as lightning splits the night sky. I can’t count on the girls to stay asleep much longer though, if this storm keeps up.

“I don’t know, Jax,” she rubs her arms as if cold, shifting on her feet and not meeting my gaze. “I work at their school, I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about what’s going on. I may not be their teacher, but I don’t know what the line is.”

“I would never want to make you uncomfortable or cross a line, Emma, so if you’d rather not stay, I totally understand.” Thunder shakes the windows once more and a muffled pop comes from somewhere outside as we are plunged into darkness.

“Ms. Emma?” Alice calls from the couch, fear in her voice.

“I’m here,” Emma makes her way back to the fort and I hear the rustle of blankets as lightning illuminates the room. “I’m right here. Your dad is, too.”

My heart squeezes in my chest as Emma makes her way back into the fort and takes my little girl in her arms, holding her tight, whispering reassurances. I have to get out of this room and do something useful, so I make my way out to the generator and get it going, giving myself a minute to collect my thoughts as I work on getting the generator up and running, thankful to have something keeping me busy right now.

Once the generator kicks in, lights flick on inside the house and I don’t have an excuse to stay out here anymore, especially as the storm continues, I know Alice will be looking for me. Neither of my girls are fans of thunderstorms, and usually end up crawling into my bed during the worst of them. I’m thinking that tonight calls for a family campout in the living room. With extra cozy blankets.

Once inside the warm, dry house, I make my way down the hall to my bedroom and grab my bedspread off the bed and one of the many blankets in this house that my mom made. I walk out to find Emma and the girls in the kitchen, and take the chance to cover the floor of the fort with my bedspread and the girls’ blankets and pillows. When another crack of thunder sounds overhead, Alice runs to me and throws her arms around me, burying her head against me in a search for security.

“Wanna camp out in here tonight, Kiddo?”

“Yes please.”

The girls situate themselves back inside the fort while Emma and I turn out the lights in the house, leaving the television on with one of Alice’s many recorded episodes of On the Field playing at a low volume as we settle in with the girls between us. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, but she raised a few good points about the girls being a part of her school and her team, and I don’t want to jeopardize her job in any way – but having her here, parenting a scared kid through a storm with support like this? I can’t say I hate it.

Waking up at dawn, I step outside and survey the damage from the storm – a few limbs down, but not much more than that – and then make my way to the kitchen to start working on some breakfast for the four of us. This morning calls for french toast, so after putting on a pot of coffee, I start getting everything ready to griddle up a whole mess of french toast and bacon.

“Is that coffee I smell?” Emma’s voice is a soft whisper. Turning, I find her slowly standing up and working out her tight muscles before stepping into the kitchen to join me. “I hope you made enough to share.”

“Of course I did,” taking down two mugs from the cabinet, I divide the pot between us and point Emma toward the fridge. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge if you need milk or cream.”

“Thanks. This is perfect as is.” She takes a sip and closes her eyes, shoulders dropping by a fraction as she settles onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep me company until the girls wake up,” I tell her, turning back to the breakfast assembly line. “As soon as they smell the bacon they’ll be up, and this blessed quiet will disappear.”

“Tell me about the blanket fort,” Emma says as I dredge bread in the custard mixture before putting it in the griddle. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Ah, the blanket fort,” I turn to find her watching me, eyes intently focused as I take a sip of my coffee. “I thrifted some king size sheets, spent way too long wandering around a craft store looking for grommets and the fabric for the walls, before bringing it all home and sewing the sheets together on my machine and figuring out how best to do the grommets and the walls. What?”

Her eyebrows have crept toward her hairline and she graces me with a lopsided smile.

“Sewing machine?”

“Easier than hand sewing.”

She quirks a brow at me again, head tilted as she regards me quizzically.

“Marine. Combat medic. Learned pretty quickly how to sew a button…and a buddy. And then I came home to rambunctious children who were – are – always scraping their knees and getting into messes. The sewing machine is an investment I couldn’t afford not to have.”

“Makes sense.”

“But, to your question, they wanted a blanket fort one day a few years ago, and my brothers and I do nothing by half measures, so James got to sketching while Jake and I worked with what I had at the time. The hooks were Dad’s idea, and mom suggested the velcro for the walls.”

“A family affair,” her smile falls, eyes drifting to her coffee and away from me for just a moment.

“Do you have family in the area?” I ask, just to keep her talking.

“My folks are in Boston. I lived here with my sister until she moved. She was a bit of a nomad for a while, moving from job to job, mostly freelance writing.”

“Where is she now?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” she laughs. “But I talked to her last night, and she’ll be on her way to Detroit soon. She just landed her dream job. She’s Detroit’s newest baseball writer.”

“That’s exciting! What about you,” I ask, careful not to push too far past the line. “What’s your dream job?”

“Would you believe me if I said elementary school librarian and kids soccer coach?”

“Not for a minute.”

“I actually do have a degree in education,” the full force of her smile returns. “History education as a matter of fact. With a minor in library sciences. I played soccer from the time I was Alice’s age and all through college. Never dreamed I could go pro and certainly never imagined that I’d play for the National Team. I came up here to recover after my injury, stayed with my sister instead of my parents in Boston – I knew they’d fuss and I didn’t want to deal with that. Turned out that Molly fussed enough for the both of them.”

“Older siblings have a tendency to do that.” I speak from nearly forty years of experience as the oldest sibling of three trouble making, accident prone siblings that I worry about every single day of my life.

“They do,” She agrees with a nod, the corner of her mouth kicking up into a lopsided smile. “And I should know…since I’m the oldest.”

Speaking of oldest daughters, mine crawls out of the blanket fort, bedhead and all, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she trudges down the hall and out of sight. Emma gives a knowing nod as she watches Mackenzie retreat down the hall and braces herself for the bundle of energy that comes out of the fort next. Alice hops out of the fort and bounds down the hall toward her own room.

“She’s a tornado with pigtails,” I mumble into my coffee as her door slams behind her.

“That’s why I love her,” Emma replies. “And Mackenzie. You have really great kids, Jax.”

“Thank you,” I clear the emotion from my throat and turn away, back to the french toast and bacon, giving myself something to do other than watch Emma drink her coffee. “They are some kind of wonderful.”

After breakfast and the deconstruction of the blanket fort, Emma changes back into her clothes and heads home. The girls and I follow, just to make sure she doesn’t have any major messes to clean up after the storm. She hugs the girls as they run back to the car, leaving us on the deck together. In slightly less awkward silence than the last time.

“I haven’t said it yet, but thank you. I really appreciate you watching them last night. They can be…a lot.”

“I enjoyed every minute of it. I meant what I said earlier, Jax. They’re good kids. I’m close,” she gestures down the road in the direction of my house, “If you ever find yourself needing someone at the last minute, you know how to reach me.”

“Careful,” I tell her, “I just might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”