“Is this a bad time?” After a pause, I pick my phone up. “Dax?”
“Hey, I’m here.” His voice changes from playful to serious, making me think I’m distracting him from work. “I don’t have a lot of time until my next appointment, but what’s up?”
I’d tell him I’ll call him later as I used to do when he’s busy, but I know it’ll end with us arguing back and forth, during which time we might as well have had a conversation. “I just met my neighbor, Sienna.”
“And are you in the middle of painting each other’s toenails yet?”
“Close. We’re braiding each other’s hair first.”
“Ah. Of course. How could I forget the order of things?”
I crack an egg into the mixing bowl, then walk to the pantry for the mix. Sighing, I almost forget the reason I called Dax in the first place. He has that way about him—making me forget my sadness. The sadness that Sienna brought by mentioning Mitch, even though her discomfort made me laugh. I’ve never laughed when someone asked about him. And now, with Dax on the other line, I don’t feel the need to crumble like I normally might’ve.
“I’m baking her brownies out of the box.”
“Blasphemy! Why not your world-famous homemade brownies?”
“You’re making brownies?”
I jump when Jacob enters, his hair pushed to one side, probably from the wind that’s picked up outside. “Yes, honey. Go wash up while I finish and get dinner started.”
“Okay. Tell Dax I said hi.” He runs to his room like he’s being chased.
“Hey, buddy,” Dax calls out on speaker. There’s more shuffling on his end and another voice before he whispers, “I need to go, Clara. I’ll talk to you later.”
I don’t have a chance to say anything before he clicks off, but that’s Dax. Once something comes up at work, he’s off to the rescue like freaking Superman.
Other people in his life aren’t always understanding. According to Dax, the women he dates don’t understand how important his work is to him and often complain about it. It’s no wonder he hasn’t settled down yet.
Turning my phone off, I peer out the window at the soft pink hues of the sky over the hills as the sun slowly disappears. The view is truly breathtaking.
It makes me feel like this is truly a new beginning. A new home. I’m glad we decided to move here. I wasn’t sure at first. I’d been gone for so long, and I didn’t know how Jacob or I would feel with a drastic change.
But it’s been a blessing so far.
“What’s for dinner?” Jacob enters, his clothes changed.
“I was thinking chicken parmesan?”
“Yum.” He walks up next to me as I pour dark batter into a baking pan. He’s taller than the counter, making me miss the days when he was little. He’s only ten now but growing so fast. “Can I help?”
And he’s polite. So grown up.
“Sure. Let me get these brownies in the oven, and we can start on the chicken.”
He darts his finger out, ready to dip it in the batter, but I swat at him. “Ow!”
“What do you think you’re doing, mister?”
“Taste test.” His eyes swim with mischief.
I tsk at him, then put the pan in the oven.
“Is Uncle Dax coming over?”
“Not tonight.” I smooth his hair, then get the chicken out of the refrigerator. “It sounded like he was very busy.”
“Because he’s saving lives?”
“Yeah. Because he’s saving lives.” I smile, proud of my friend for following his dreams despite the tragedy that derailed his life at eighteen.
The accident took a toll on him, erasing the fire in his eyes like a bucket of water dumped on him. I didn’t think he’d ever get it back, but he has.
“You smile a lot lately.”
“What?” I peer down at Jacob, who’s watching me with a piece of string cheese hanging out of his mouth.
“Ever since we moved here, you’ve been smiling a lot.”
“Don’t I always smile?”
“You used to. Sometimes. Before Dad got sick, I guess.” He shrugs, and his voice is calm. Like we’re talking about socks. “Have you been putting special ingredients in the brownies? Is that why you wouldn’t let me taste them?”
If I’d been drinking anything, I would’ve spit it out. “What?” I bend down to his level. “What’re you talking about?”
“Sam Hamner at school said his older cousin likes special brownies but won’t let him try any.” He shrugs again like he’s not making my heart about to explode.
“Well, honey, special brownies are only for adults,” I sputter. How do I respond? I didn’t expect to have this conversation with him for another twenty years, if even then.
“Okay. Can we cook chicken now?”
I exhale, relieved he dropped the issue so quickly. “Sure. And Jacob?”
“Hmm?”
“Maybe don’t hang around Sam too much, okay?”
“Okay. He doesn’t always share at recess, anyway.”
I set out the flour and breadcrumbs next to the butter, milk, and eggs.
“I always share. Just like you taught me when I was little.”
“That’s right.” I shake my head. He talks like he’s already in his twenties.
My stomach sinks. The day will come when he is in his twenties, off to live his life. He might even move far away from here.
Far from me.
I gulp, suddenly worried about being alone, something I never had to consider since I had Mitch.
I had always hoped to have more kids someday, another baby to spoil. A baby sister or brother for Jacob to play with. A house full of high-pitched laughter from three or four kids—that’s what I always wanted.
But having one proved more difficult than we anticipated. The long nights. Diapers. The constant fear and guilt and overwhelming pressure. It was too much on Mitch.
On us.
I kiss the top of Jacob’s head, silently giving thanks for him—my greatest joy.
As he takes the cap off the milk, his head bobs like he’s dancing to a tune in his head. I shake myself out of it, so I can enjoy this time with Jacob before he decides cooking with me—and making a mess—isn’t as fun anymore.
Seven
Dax
“Did he really?” I sit up in my chair.
“Yes,” Clara whisper-screams into the phone. “Some kid at his school named Sam was telling him about his cousin’s special brownies. I mean, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about that kind of talk until he was off to college, and I had to warn him about spiked punch.”
I chuckle. “You could let him find out the hard way about spiked punch. You know, like you did.”
“I regret butt-dialing you that night.”
“I’m glad you did. How else would I have known about the magic punch that made you fly?”
She sighs into the phone, but I’m sure she’s smiling too.
After a brief pause, she asks, “God, what am I going to do with him?”
“Clara, I don’t think you have to do anything. He’s a good kid. And this Sam sounds like he was just repeating what he heard. He’s likely harmless.”