Page 24 of Bountiful
Chuckling, Griffin leaned down to try his best. Nicole’s thatch of red hair was a shock against his black T-shirt. The bright shade of her hair—like a new penny—was both a blessing and acurse.
On the one hand, her red hair meant there weren’t any rumors around town about the possibility of Griffin fathering my child. A glance between the two of them pretty much guaranteed that they didn’t share a gene pool. On the other hand, that distinctive hair color meant that I thought of her daddy every time I spotted her sweetlittlehead.
It also meant that every ginger who came into my brother’s bar got theside-eye.
I hadn’t been very forthcoming with anyone, including my family. Griffin and Audrey never pestered me for details about Nicole’s origins, but my brothers and uncles weren’t aseasygoing.
“Hey, I did it,” Griffin whispered as he eased his big body out oftheway.
Lying in her car seat, Nicole shifted in her sleep. She let out a whimper but her eyes remainedclosed.
“Not bad,” I whispered back. “The Russian judge took a couple points off,though.”
Griff rolled his eyes, then he gave me a quick, one-armed hug and saidgoodnight.
I buckled both Nicole and myself into the car, thenstartedhome.
Several hourslater I was still awake, listening to the gurgle of the river through the open window and the muted voices of bar patrons heading totheircars.
Although it had been more than a year since I’d stopped tending bar, my body refused to give up its night-owl ways. Maybe it was because I still lived over a bar—not The Mountain Goat, but a barnonetheless.
There were only five hours left until my toddler-sized alarm clock would wake me up. I shouldreallyclose my laptop and go to sleep. But many miles from here, my brother Benito was still up, too. The green dot next to his name on my messaging app waslitup.
I liked to think it was a twin thing—we were always awake when the other one needed someone to talk to. But it was also possible that we were both just lousysleepers.
Either way, he was awake somewhere in New York state, where he’d been working on a case with other federal drug-enforcement agents. He’d told me he was coming back to Vermont within days, though. And I was eager toseehim.
Zara:Hey. You’re up!Everythingok?
Benito:Sure thing. Just have a lot to plan before I come back totown.You?
Zara:I can’t sleep. I’m making a list of all the things Audrey and I have to do before her wedding. And I’ve been thinking about you, too! I’m going to try to rent an apartment and get out of yourplace.
Benito:You don’t have to do that! Stay whereyouare.
My brother kept urging me to stay on in his apartment. But the truth was I needed to pay my own way in life. Staying in his nearly renovated bachelor pad had only made sense when he couldn’t be here himself. Now that he was coming back to town, I needed anewplan.
Zara:Nicole needs a yard to play in. This will be bestforus.
Benito:And you can find an apartment withayard?
He had me there. The only rental space in town that I could afford was in an old house that had been divided into three units. The yard was a bit of adisaster.
Zara:Ihopeto.
Benito:Take your time, tho. I haven’t even decided if it makes sense to stay in my loft when I come back. That spot might be too public for me if I’mundercover.
Zara:But you could still be renovating it. That takesmonths.
There was a pause before he replied.Andthen:
Benito:Whatever, Z. Stay if you want. That place isn’t in the top 20 of things I’m thinking about right now. And I’d just as soon hole up at the orchard for awhile.
Our uncles lived on our family farm, raising pear trees and poultry. There was a big old rambling farmhouse where we had briefly lived when I was in grade school, before my mother moved us into a too-small trailer in the woods. Ben would be welcome to stay at the farm. Weallwere.
The shape of our family was a weird sort of echo in time. My mother had two older brothers. And I hadfourolder brothers, if you counted Benito’s seventeen-minute headstart.
My mom had a total of five children with a man who hadn’t really wanted children. He’d finally split for good when I was in third grade. Last we’d heard, he’d been working in British Columbia on an oil field. Even his Christmas cards had stopped when Benito and I were in highschool.
