I stare at him, my brows pinching. What does he mean?
“She can hear you just fine, but she won’t answer you. I’m almost done with the Mueller’s roof, but if you have a problem, holler.”
With that, he steps out of my space and oxygen finally fills my lungs. He disappears around the corner of the garage, and I take a step forward to watch him retreat from the yard. He walks over to his daughter, hoists her up by her upper arms until she’s face-to-face with him, and speaks to her. Some might think the stance is aggressive, but it’s sweet in a way. It shows his strength but also his intensity. He’s bringing her to his level, and then he kisses her nose and sets her back on her feet. Sensing me watching them, he turns his head in my direction, nods once, and then slips between the bushes, which scrape just under the waistband of his jeans, along the line of his zipper and back pockets in equal measure. I’ve never been so jealous of shrubbery as my fingers twitch, eager to curl over that ass and test its firmness. I wonder about his front region before I stop and shake my head again.
I’m so ridiculous.
Returning to my charge, I turn up the music playing from a portable speaker in the yard and begin to sing along with the famous pop song. My backside wiggles, and my voice bellows off-key but I don’t care, and neither does my partner who sways side to side with the beat.
“You like this song?” I question, knowing it’s a current favorite on the radio. I turn up the volume and wave my hands in the air as the song suggests, keeping my eyes on Katie to encourage her to follow along with me.
“Come on, Katie bug. Shake your groove thing, girl.” Her body freezes at the nickname.
“You don’t like Katie bug? It’s like ladybug. Did you know those bring good luck? You can even make a wish on one.”
Katie continues to stare at me, and I remember what Jess said. She doesn’t speak.
Why not? I should have asked, but the depth to his tone told me he wouldn’t explain. It’s his entire persona. Closed off. Walls up. I can’t imagine what I did yesterday to warrant this attitude toward me, but I guess today is a new day.
Katie and I begin to dance.
Only as she moves, so does the hose, and the next thing I know, I have a face full of water.
“Ah, you got me.” I shriek, laughing as the refreshing coolness splashes over my face. I swipe a hand down my nose and cheeks, realizing I’m spreading more dirt on my skin. As I’m already dancing on my knees and don’t wish to frighten her, I sit back on my ankles. If she were one of my nephews, I might chase her around the yard, yelling about paybacks, but I sense a wariness in this child. She’d scare easily. Perhaps she’s been scared before.
I hold my smile, trying to assure her I’m not upset that she sprayed me.
“Want to see it rain?” I question. She looks up at the sky, noting the bright blue space empty of clouds. When she looks back at me, I hold out my hand and wiggle my fingers at her, suggesting she give me the hose.
Hesitantly, she hands it over, and I playfully duck as if I think she’ll squirt me again. Once the nozzle is within reach, I cap the end of the hose with my thumb, pointing it upward, and let the water shower down over us. She isn’t wearing a bathing suit, and I didn’t consider her father might not want her to soak her dress, but as her little face lifts upward, allowing the water to cascade down on her cheeks, a hint of a smile curls those tight lips.
I wonder again what would cause her not to speak. Was she born that way? Did something happen to her? It’s none of my business, yet I’m curious. Even more intriguing is the weight of that grin on her face which slowly grows. I imagine it’s difficult to get a smile from her. She didn’t smile at me yesterday when I waved. She didn’t smile when I introduced myself. But right now, little Katie Carter is smiling under a fake rain shower, and it’s magical just to watch her.
Rule 2
Hastily said words are a waste of words
[Jess]
“Katie,” I snap out my daughter’s name harder than intended but I’m struck numb by what I witness. It was hard enough watching my daughter fall nearly catatonic when this woman entered our repair shop yesterday. Then she’s in this yard of all yards when I’m working at the Mueller’s, and now, my baby girl is dancing under droplets of water.
I’m both amazed and stung.
My baby hasn’t spoken in two years. Two! No sound. No laughter, no cries, no whines.
Katie hardly smiles at me, her old man, and then here she is, a beautiful wide grin on her lips like she’s ready to burst. Like a noise is just itching to pop out of her, or explode, or something toward a total stranger.
I’d take a squeak, a peep, a snort.
But nothing.
Damn Debbie. Damn her all to hell and back. Whatever she did, she ruined our precious child.
“Katie,” I repeat, softening my tone, but I already have both females’ attention after my first gruff snarl.
That woman.
Emily Post of Chicago.
She keeps introducing herself as though the city is a part of her name. Who cares where you’re from? But I know the city struck a chord with both myself and Katie.
Chicago. The place where her mother ran off.
Considering my daughter hears just fine—and she could be speaking as well—she’s heard a lot of things a child shouldn’t at her tender age.
I stare back at both girls, one of them all woman. She’s a hot mess in a good way. A dangerous way. She’s sexy as fuck, only I’m not interested. She has big city, not staying, just passing through town written all over her, and I don’t need that. Neither does my daughter, who seems to be drawn to this woman for some reason.
Why her?
My mind drifts to the previous day when I met her at the shop. She’d had a haughty attitude toward Tom and me, like we were country bumpkins who wouldn’t be able to fix her grandmother’s radio despite our title as an electronics repair shop. Her eyes had roamed my body as though I was dirt beneath her perfectly pedicured, sandal-wearing toes. Her attire alone had said I’m not from here and I won’t be staying.
The shower she just made has soaked her already thin, sheer shirt, causing the material to cling to the swell of two ripe, beautiful breasts. The weight of the wet material over the black bra underneath leaves nothing to the imagination, and I don’t want to be imagining her. I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but last night, when I couldn’t sleep after hours of tossing and turning, imagine her I did, resulting in a sticky mess.
I’m not a teenager. I’m a thirty-six-year-old single father, and I have to keep it together, not lose myself in a pretty face, a sweet body, and those eyes—innocent and bright blue.
I watched her dancing over here, waving her arms in the air and singing off-key. Noise travels to the top of a roofline, especially once the incessant hammering stops. And even though I had a ringing in my ears, I heard her voice. I couldn’t look away from her swaying hips or her shimmying ass.
She’s like a teenager in the body of a grown woman.
I don’t know what she was thinking when she asked Katie to come into her yard nor what Katie was thinking following every movement of this woman like a lost puppy. Like a forgotten child.
That’s what happened to her.