Page 120 of This Time Around
“Allie?” Skye touched her elbow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Look.”
She pointed to the birdhouse and both of them stared up at it.
“Hey, check it out!” Wade laughed as a speckle-chested bird with red markings near its eyes popped out through the front door. “That’s seriously the longest pecker I’ve ever seen.”
Skye snorted. “It’s called a beak, dummy.”
“It’s a woodpecker,” Allie breathed. “He built me a woodpecker house.”
Skye grabbed her hand and squeezed. No one asked who “he” was.
The little bird with the black bib of feathers on its chest squawked once and ducked back inside.
“That’s brilliant,” Skye said. “Give them a house so they’ll leave yours alone.”
“I actually saw that on a nature show once,” Wade said. “Woodpeckers beat the shit out of people’s houses because they’re looking for a place to roost. Give them a safe spot and they’ll leave your house alone.”
Allie looked at him and raised one eyebrow. “You’re remembering this just now?”
“Oops.” Wade shrugged and spun his teacup around in his palm.
Allie returned her gaze to the birdhouse as a soft warmth spread from her chest through her limbs. She took in the craftsmanship, the detail, the thought that had gone into something so utterly simple yet so completely beautiful.
“I have to go.” She turned and ran into the house.
“What kind of wine would go best with this dinner?”
Jack looked at Paige, then down at his bowl of mac and cheese. “Pepto-Bismol?”
“No,” Paige said, with a dramatic eye roll. “Come on, Daddy. You’re not doing it right.”
The story of my life, Jack thought.
But at least his kid was trying to connect with him, so he did his best to rally. “Let’s see . . . how about a Chardonnay? Cuddly with overtones of deer scat, Elmer’s glue, and shavings from the floor mat in a 1968 Oldsmobile Cutlass.”
Paige erupted into laughter, and Jack felt better. Not great, but better. He might not have won back the woman of his dreams, but he did have the best kid on the planet.
He shoveled up a bite of pasta. Admittedly this meal was not one of his shining moments of parenting, but he’d had a busy week. Researching the best possible domicile for a northern flicker woodpecker had been time-consuming enough, but building it to the precise specifications he needed had taken a good chunk out of his week. Paige had helped, and they’d worked together between schoolwork and visits with Grandma at her new apartment. Paige had been the one to paint it, her small brush skimming over the arched top of the tiny shutters as she’d smiled up at him with a smear of yellow on her cheek.
No matter what, he had that memory. Plenty of others, too.
“Chardonnay’s good,” Paige said. “Or maybe a Merlot. It would be crusty with hints of bubblegum and the fuzz off a tennis ball.”
“Very nice,” Jack said, and held up his plastic cup of orange juice to toast her.
“Thank you.” Paige grinned and spooned up the last bite of her dinner. “May I please clear my plate?”
“After you eat two more slices of apple.”
She shoved both in her mouth at the same time, then stood up and headed toward the kitchen.
“Don’t forget to rinse the bowl before you put it in the dishwasher,” he called.
“Roger that,” she said, saluting him from the doorway. It was a phrase Jack had heard Wade utter countless times, and hearing it from his daughter should have annoyed him. Instead, he just felt empty. Jesus, was it possible he missed Wade, too?
Paige had just set her bowl on the counter when the doorbell rang.
