Page 22 of Townshipped
“It’s so nice to meet you, Em,” Rebecca says. “We had no idea you were here.”
She shoots Aiden a look that says,because you didn’t tell us.
Karina adds, “We’re so glad to meet you. So glad you’re okay after that crash.”
“Sometimes I spend the night at Uncle Aiden’s,” Ashley says.
She looks like she’s probably in kindergarten or first grade.
“Do you?” I ask. “That must be fun.”
“Did he make you hot cocoa and let you feed the goats?” Ashley asks.
“He insists on feeding the goats himself,” I say, shooting him my own look. “And we haven’t had cocoa yet. But we have had coffee.”
“Uncle Aiden never givesmecoffee,” Ashley laments.
Aiden ruffles her hair. “I’ll give you coffee when you come home from college for summers.”
“That’s in for-ev-er!” Ashley says.
Her response draws laughter from all the adults in the room. My nerves settle another notch.
Sawyer is still sizing me up, obviously not as eager to openly accept my presence as his sister.
Aiden’s mom sets yet another casserole dish on the table. “We brought a French toast casserole. But it looks like I’m late to the party.”
Another glance in Aiden’s direction.
“Mom, her accident was the afternoon of the squall. The internet was down. We’ve been dealing with Jesse filing a missing person report, Hazel giving Em a medical exam, and then I’m letting her rest. That’s what Hazel said was best for Em. I was planning to call you today.”
Aiden’s mom smiles at his explanation.
“It is really lovely to meet you, dear,” Aiden’s mom says as if she hadn’t just read him the riot act when she arrived. “I hope you are feeling better. I would have been out sooner had I known. Of course, the roads were a mess, but yesterday I could have come. Just know I’m here if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I say, readjusting my napkin and offering Aiden’s mom a shy smile.
Aiden makes room for his mom and sister at the remaining seats around the dining table. He pulls out a few extra folding chairs from a closet off the dining room and tucks those between the existing chairs for Ashley and Sawyer. Pretty soon everyone’s chatting and eating.
I don’t say much throughout breakfast. Aiden catches my eye regularly as if he’s checking on me. The connection to him is like a private backstage room when the crowd presses in around us. I retreat into his gaze and my nerves diminish. I can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed when it’s only been the two of us for as long as I can remember.
I almost laugh at that thought. As long as I can remember has been exactly three whole days. My entire memory consists of less than half a week of experiences.
After breakfast, the three senior women leave, with lots of hugging and smiling and talking over one another, promising to stop by again soon.
Aiden’s mom stays to do dishes while Karina and I talk in the living room and Ashley and Sawyer run out to visit the goats. Aiden retreats to his office across from my room to get some work done.
His family leaves midmorning, but then people filter out to the farm all day, usually bringing food as a thinly veiled guise as to why they drove out to Aiden’s, and then hanging around to get a good look at me. They’re mostly warm and welcoming beyond their initial curiosity. A few ask Aiden if he finally imported a bride. His face goes as red as a beet at that suggestion.
It’s something to see a man like Aiden blush. My fingers tingle with an unexpected urge to brush across his cheeks and graze his stubble. I don’t know where that thought comes from except he’s disarmingly handsome with his warm honey eyes and that marvelously defined jawline.
By mid-afternoon we’ve had a steady stream of cars and trucks pull in and drive off. The front door has opened and shut so many times, I think I’ll hear the clatter of the screen door in my sleep. People have sized me up, snooped, and speculated their way through the better part of the day.
One thing is certain. We won’t starve anytime soon. We’ve got pot roasts and casseroles, bags of salad mix, pies and breads, a streusel coffee cake, jars of jam, two whole cooked chickens, and a half ham along with our leftovers from breakfast in the fridge by mid-afternoon.
I send Aiden a glance across the crowded living room. The nine guests currently occupying every available seat are discussing my crash and Aiden’s social status as if the two of us aren’t here.
When I think no one else is looking at me, I place my palms together and tilt my head onto the back of one of my enjoined hands to privately signal to Aiden that I want to rest.
