Logan’s phone rings and he walks away from the group.
“No, I know we were gonna act cool, but that ended when I found him humping Lola this morning. They’re siblings.” Adam sits up and pets Lola, who’s sitting calmly beside his chair. “I’m sorry, little girl. Daddy won’t let that happen again.”
Bernie gets squirmy in Presley’s arms, so she says, “I’m going to take him out.”
“Leash is by the garage door,” Adam calls.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, needing to get some air.
Plus, Presley’s awesome with advice since she’s not from this town and she’s marrying in as a Greene. She has a different perspective than the rest of us and tends to be the one we go to.
We walk outside and immediately hear two men’s voices.
“Someone else must have arrived,” Presley says.
I had been hoping to be able to talk to her alone. I need to discuss these feelings I’m having for someone I barely know but is so far out of my league it’s not funny.
Walking out of the garage, I spot the same sports car that ran me off the road parked in the long driveway. Then I spot the guy I’ve been crushing on. Logan’s friend and actor, Gavin Price, stands next to the car that made me careen into a ditch.
“Man, don’t tell Cade, but he’s one good-looking guy,” Presley whispers.
How can I blame her, since he’s filled all of my imaginings lately? But instead of the butterflies that usually flutter in my belly when I see Gavin, anger boils the blood in my veins. Because he’s the one who almost ran me over.
Lucy comes over to me after Presley takes Bernie, aka Ron Jeremy, outside. Forgive me for not being on the up-and-up of the popular male porn stars of the moment. But Bernie couldn’t keep off poor Lola.
“I thought we weren’t going to be completely honest about last night, so they didn’t feel bad?” Lucy phrases it as a question, but what my wife is really saying is, “I told you not to say anything, so why did you?”
“If the roles were reversed, Cade would be telling us if Lola was lapping at Bernie’s dick all night.”
“It was not that bad,” Lucy says, still whispering as if my family isn’t within earshot. They’re always within earshot.
“Tell that to poor Lola.” I pick her up and cradle her in my arms, kissing the top of her head. “She’s probably traumatized. Imagine if I was all up in Chevelle’s business.” I shudder.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s a tad different, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s the same premise whether it’s dogs or humans. Bernie needs to know his place.”
“I’m going outside,” Cade says and leaves out the back door with Xavier and Clara.
“Can we please put the dog issues to the side today?” my dad asks, then squeezes my shoulder.
Just so we’re clear, he’s not asking, he’s telling in the same way Lucy did.
“You’d feel differently—”
“Adam.”
I hold up my hands. “Okay. Okay. Doggie issues are done.”
I follow my dad into the kitchen where Marla’s cutting up vegetables. After my mom died, there was a long stretch when we didn’t have to eat vegetables. It was glorious—until my dad got on this health kick when he finally realized our nutrition was his responsibility.
Lucy sidles up to me as I steal a cucumber and dip it into the ranch dressing. Marla makes her own dressing and it’s the best I’ve ever had.
Marla glances up and back down to the cutting board, but her head flips up again as though she can read that Lucy and I have something we want to say. She most likely can—Marla’s a great mom. She always knows when something is up.
“Hank,” Marla says, pulling his attention back to the kitchen since he was wandering off. “The kids have something to tell us.”
My dad comes back over to the island, then steals a tomato and dips it in the ranch.
She smacks my dad’s hand. “If you two keep it up, there won’t be any for the guests.”
Dad feigns injury. “Why don’t you smack Adam’s hand?”
“Because I love him more,” she says, smiling at Dad.
He shakes his head. “I guess that’s the way it should be.” Then my dad sets his eyes on Lucy and me. “What’s up?”
I look at Lucy to make sure she’s ready for this announcement. We wanted to tell our parents first, then sprinkle it out to all the siblings. Wrapping my arm around Lucy’s waist, I pull her to my side.
“We’ve decided to start trying to have a baby,” I say. “We’ve gone back to Dr. Bailey in Lake Starlight, who referred us to a clinic in Anchorage.”
Marla smiles and wipes her hands. She’s coming over to hug us, I just know it. My dad stays put and stares. After Marla hugs and congratulates us, I look at my dad, waiting for a response.
“Dad?” I’ve never seen that look in his eye except on the first few anniversaries and birthdays after Mom’s death.
“Is this going to put Lucy at any kind of risk?” he asks, looking at me, not her.
“No. I mean, there are risks with anything, but the doctors are encouraging. Lucy will have surgery for her endometriosis, but more than likely we’ll be going the in vitro route,” I say.
He nods.
“In the meantime, we’re going to foster children,” Lucy blurts. I was going to wait for that reveal, let them absorb the surgery news first.
“What?” Marla asks, freezing in the preparation of her cucumber and onion salad dressing.
“We’ve decided that we want to help children who have nowhere safe to go. We’ll talk to the fertility doctor, Lucy will have the surgery, and if it’s all successful, great. But we still want to help kids who need parents.”
My dad steps back and leans against the counter with an expression I don’t know how to read.
Lucy moves closer to me. I never thought they’d react like this. I thought they’d be excited for us.
“Aren’t you worried?” Marla asks.
My forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”
“The heartache that can go along with that. You guys are strong now and a united front, which is wonderful, but that’s a lot of balls up in the air.”
I look at Lucy and she looks at me. We smile, knowing things might not go our way, but happy we have each other to lean on.
“We understand the odds, but it’s something important to us,” Lucy says, and I squeeze her into my side.
“Why not just do one or the other?” my dad asks. “Do the in vitro, and if it fails, then look at foster care, or vice versa. Both at once seems like a lot to handle.”
I get their reactions now. They’re scared because of what happened before when Lucy left me, but they don’t have to be. We took over a year to make this decision, so we’ve thought it through.
“Or we could end up really lucky with our own baby and a foster child,” I say.
Marla sets down the whisk, looks at my dad, then back our way. “You do understand that fostering isn’t adoption. That the birth parents could get their act together and the child would have to leave your custody.”