I listen as she reads, and when she finishes, her voice rises on the words at the end—happily ever after.
Emily sighs loud enough I can hear. “I just love the Beast. He’s all rough on the outside but gooey in the center. Do you know anybody like that?”
She’s asking Katie, who she knows damn well won’t respond, but I reconsider the hitch to her voice. Is she implying she knows someone like that? Could she mean me? How would she have any idea? She doesn’t know me. I am rough on the outside . . .
And how are you in the middle, Jess?
I demand my brain shut off.
“I also love Belle. She’s pretty and smart. She’s tough toward that old Beast and she doesn’t take any of his sh—”
“Emily.” Her grandmother cuts her off before I need to intervene. I’m no prude when it comes to profanity, but I try not to swear in front of my child.
“Stuff, Nana. I was going to say stuff.” She’s teasing. It’s in her voice, and I hate that I recognize it so easily.
“Okay. Snack.” I hear the book tossed to the glass table before them. “And I should check on the Beast.” I should move. She means me. This is my warning, but I’m frozen in place. She rounds the corner and nearly plows into me against the wall.
“Jesus, Jess,” she hisses, glancing back at the porch and then stepping before me, both of us now hidden by the wall from the other room.
“Why are you doing this?” I blurt, trying to keep my voice low.
“Doing what?” she whispers, leaning toward me. My breath catches. She’s so close. She smells . . . like lemon cleanser and soiled water. It isn’t horrible, but it isn’t sweet either. My eyes lower to the water stains on her clothing, imagining how she must have fought with that water handle before it popped off. Another makeshift rain shower.
“Why are you being so nice to her?” My voice drips with a harshness I shouldn’t be using because she is being kind to my child.
“Should I be mean to her?” she mocks, twisting her lips while she addresses me. She shrugs as she crosses her arms. “She’s sweet.”
“How do you know? She doesn’t speak.” I hate the frustration in my voice and the way it sounds like I think something’s wrong with my child. There’s nothing wrong with her, she just no longer speaks.
I want to hear her voice again.
“Does she need to speak with her mouth?” Emily asks, her eyes narrowing on me. “Maybe she just speaks to my heart. Us fairy-tale girls are kindred spirits.” She shrugs again as if it’s nothing. As if she even knew twenty minutes ago whether my child liked fairy tales or not.
My eyes roam over her face, taking in her soft eyes and pink lips, the ones twisting with concern. Her expression doesn’t give off her hesitation, but the stiffness in her body tells me she fears I’ll insult her.
“Thank you,” I mouth, swallowing hard on the unspoken words because I’m not certain what I’m thanking her for. It isn’t that Katie doesn’t have female role models in her life—she has my mother and my sisters, my sister-in-law Karyn, and Karyn’s mother—but this random act of kindness from a stranger is doing something to me.
“Of course,” she replies quietly, her body still stiff. Without thinking, I reach for her elbow as she starts to walk away. My eyes lower to where I touch her, noting the strangeness electrocuting my palm against her warm skin. She’s a hot mess again, yet I’m hot for her. Slowly, I glance up at her face, finding her close. What else can I say to her? What can I add to express my gratitude?
“Join us for cookies and lemonade?” she asks breathlessly. She makes cookies sound seductive, and somehow, I sense it’s going to be the best snack I’ve ever eaten.
However, I quickly discover how bad snack time can be.
“Who’s your friend, dear?” Elizabeth asks of Emily once we take our seats on the porch. Emily takes a chair next to her nana while I sit next to Katie on the couch.
“Nana, it’s Jess Carter,” Emily says, her voice trying to sound teasing as if her nana knows better when it’s clear her grandmother has no idea who I am.
“What pretty hair you have,” Mrs. Parrish says to me, still uncertain it’s me, yet holding her gaze on my face. “Mary Katherine likes to wear her hair down.”
Who’s Mary Katherine? Emily’s face pales as her eyes flick to me and then back to her grandmother.
“Nana,” she whispers, admonishing her.
“I haven’t seen this style before.” Her grandmother points at her forehead, referring to the bandana on mine. I wear it to hold back the sweat. Suddenly, I’m uncertain she realizes I’m a man. “Is this new in women’s hair fashion?”
“Nana,” Emily hisses, her eyes widening as she glances from her grandmother to me.
Yep, uncertainty confirmed. I can play this one of two ways, but I think the best thing is to ignore it.
“So, that faucet,” I begin. “You’ll need a replacement, but I don’t think you’ll find one. You might need a whole new kitchen sink.”
“A new sink?” Elizabeth shrieks, her voice straining. “What’s wrong with the sink?”
Emily closes her eyes, and I see Elizabeth’s clearly confused. My arm rests around Katie, and I tap at her hip.
“I think it’s time to go, Katie bug.” Her neck cranes, and she glances up at me. I haven’t used the endearment myself before, but I don’t mind it. Judging by the way Katie’s looking at me, she doesn’t seem to mind it, either. I lower to rub my nose against hers, then gently push her upward and out of her seat. We need to leave before we cause any more trouble to Mrs. Parrish or Emily. She’s stressed by the things her grandmother is saying or actually, not saying. It’s obvious Elizabeth is confused, and I’m reminded of the conversation I overheard last night at the barbecue.
“I’m going to walk our guests out,” Emily states, playing into the idea that our visit is casual instead of business. She follows me to the kitchen, and after I grab my tools and Katie’s bag, she leads Katie and me to the front door. She trails us outside, remaining at the top of the large porch while Katie runs to the truck. Something stops me at the base of the steps.
“You okay?” I ask, turning back to her. Her arms wrap around her middle as though she’s holding herself together.
“I’ve been better. I’m sorry about that in there. She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know she didn’t. I’m just glad she liked my hair,” I attempt to tease, hoping it will bring some light into her eyes. “Still leaving?” I hate that I ask. I hate that something inside me wants her to stay.
“I have to run back to Chicago tomorrow for some things, but I’ll be staying through next weekend once I return.”
A run to Chicago—that’s a six, almost seven-hour trip from here. She shouldn’t be driving all that distance on her own, and suddenly, I want to offer to take her. The words form behind my lips, but I fight them off.
Do not get involved.
“I’ll look into the faucet for you. Need me to check on Elizabeth?” I tip my chin in the direction of the house, and Emily straightens her shoulders.