“I mean, I’m not going to be the one to tell you it’s indecent, but okay. Live and let live. And are you sure your dinner was tonight? Because I’m pretty sure—”
“You are a sneak.” He’d pointed at her, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “What did you do? Hop on a plane as soon as you found out I was bringing Rae over?”
“No! Of course not.” She’d gasped, looking exceptionally offended. “First, I rubbed some coconuts all over a banana and had myself a pina colada. And then I hopped on a plane. Get your facts straight, big brother.”
I could guess what she’d meant by coconuts and bananas. She’d sent a wink to her handsome redheaded husband while speaking and passed the baby to him. Then, they’d kissed.
Jackson seemed both disgusted and delighted by his sister, and this dynamic persisted throughout the evening, which could not have worked out better. Jessica’s—and baby Liam’s—presence had pulled attention away from me, allowing me to settle in and observe first before being expected to engage.
Both Jessica’s husband and Mr. James—I mean, Sheriff James—were polite, but quiet. I got the sense this simply reflected their nature. They weren’t coolly polite, or distant, or unfriendly. More like, they didn’t express their opinions as freely as Jessica, Janet, and Jackson.
Speaking of which, I marveled at Jackson’s boisterousness around his sister. He was not like this with me. When just the two of us spent time together, Jackson would flirt, sure. But mostly he was serene, a little shy, funny but also intense and sincere.
Actually, his father reminded me of the Jackson I knew, the contemplative way he seemed to absorb the conversation around him, only speaking when he felt it necessary to correct a misconception or ask a thoughtful question.
It was neat to see both Janet and the sheriff’s influence on their son, to spot the parts of them reflected in him.
Toward the end of dinner, whether it was my second margarita or the hint of Jackson’s smile I noted in the sheriff’s grin, I felt deep affection stir within me for these people I didn’t know very well but felt convinced I could grow to seriously love.
“Duane, would you help me clear the dishes?” The sheriff stood, lifting his chin toward his son-in-law.
I stood before Jessica’s husband could, picking up my plate and Jackson’s. “Oh, let me help.”
“Oh, no, Rae. You’re a guest today, but next time you’ll be family. Please don’t worry about it.” Janet sent me an imploring look, then sent the same look to Jackson, like he might be able to talk me out of clearing dishes.
“Actually—” Jess chimed in, handing her plate over to me “—let Rae and Daddy do the dishes. It’ll give them a chance to talk. Y’all haven’t let either of them get a word in edgewise or sideways or overwise or underwise.”
“Yeah, Duane. Why can’t you be quieter?” Jackson folded his arms, sending a narrowed stare to his brother-in-law.
The redhead glared at Jackson, saying nothing, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. It was obvious there existed a mutual respect between them, if not always a mutual like.
Jessica then launched into a diatribe about Jackson’s propensity to interrupt, which Janet attempted to referee, which left the sheriff and I to clear the dishes. Smiling at the sibling’s antics, I followed Jackson’s dad into the kitchen and to the sink, setting the plates down on the counter. After three trips, we’d cleared the entire table.
“Let me do the dishes,” I said, reaching for the first dish and searching for a washcloth or a scrubby thing.
“Oh, now. That’s not a good idea. If Janet saw you doing dishes, I’d be sleeping on the couch tonight. Here—” he walked over to a drawer and pulled out a towel “—why don’t you dry, and I’ll wash. I don’t know why, but in the hierarchy of chores, drying is more respectable than washing.”
“Okay. Sound good.” We exchanged a friendly smile, and I accepted the towel, positioning myself next to the sink.
It was at this point I realized they had a dishwasher—which he opened and began to load.
I huffed a laugh, folding my arms. “That’s—that was sneaky.”
He sent me a sly-ish grin, and he looked so much like Jackson in that moment my heart jumped.
“Just keep me company. I don’t want to go back out there with the loud people. I need a minute.” Finished with the first dish, he bent to place it in the dishwasher, adding, “And you’re not loud, are you?”
“I guess I’m not.” I leaned back against the kitchen counter and allowed my attention to wander, noting all the details that made this a home instead of a film set. The paint wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t messy or chipping. It was just old and careworn. Papers and newspaper clippings were stuffed in well-used cookbooks that sat beneath cabinets. A teapot with a chip on the spout. A blender that hadn’t been cleaned after use. A range with one broken burner. A burn mark on the counter. Someone must’ve placed a hot pot on the butcher block before realizing their error.
“That was Jess.”
“Excuse me?”
He tilted his head toward the burn mark. “Jess made the mark there on her last night in town. She and Duane came over and made us dinner. She put the pot in that spot, and it left a mark.”
“Oh.” I considered this information for a moment. “It’s kind of ironic, she goes her whole life without burning the counter, then on her very last day in town she leaves her mark.”
“No, no.” He chuckled. “She’s burned the countertop plenty of times. That one is just the latest in a long history and path of her destruction.”
The way he said this made me laugh, and my laugh pulled a smile from him as he continued. “I usually remove the marks once a year or so, sand it down, polish it back up, but that one. . .” He loaded two more dishes into the washer, saying as he stood, “It might be the last one she makes in this kitchen, so I want to keep it.”
My heart jumped for a different reason this time, and in a different direction. It climbed up my throat, making speech difficult. I wondered, did my father keep the marks his children made in his house? Did he treasure them? It’s hard not to compare. I didn’t want to compare. But how could I not?
Time to change the subject.
Clearing my throat, I walked around him to the side with the dishwasher, taking the cup from his hand and loading it, needing to do something. “So, uh, why do you think Jackson wanted to be a sheriff’s deputy?”
“Have you asked him?” He set the next cup on the counter.
I placed it next to the first. “I did. He said he didn’t feel like he had any innate talents except for patience with people and process.”
“Ha! That’s true—I mean, it’s true he has an innate talent with people and process, but I take issue with him saying he doesn't have any other innate talents.”
Glad to hear the sheriff’s response, I nodded. “That’s what I said too.”
“But it sounds like Jackson.”
We shared a smile that felt quiet with understanding. Man, I really like Jackson’s dad.
“I’d say something pretty significant about himself that he left out is his—his compassion, and his empathy. He’s always been incredibly empathetic, even when he was a kid. He notices things other folks don’t.”