Page 29 of Single Dad Dilemma
“I’ve never gone,” I told them.
Oh, how their little eyes brightened. “You’ve never gone sledding?” Maggie asked. “Can we go now? There’s a super-fun hill a few blocks over behind a church.”
I glanced between them. What was it with these two? They held a strange power over me, and I wasn’t quite sure how it happened. “We have a few hours until your dad comes home,” I said slowly. “And you still have to finish homework.” They held their breath. “But yeah, let’s do it.”
Which was how we found ourselves walking home six blocks in the dark, our winter clothes soaked and heavy, my feet giving the distinct, prickly feel of hypothermia or ... whatever happened to people who didn’t know how to dress for snow.
“I can’t believe you wore those shoes,” Maggie laughed, most of her face covered by the red-and-white scarf tied tight around the bottom half of her face. Her snowpants made a loudswish, swish, swishsound as we turned onto their street.
“I thought they were waterproof,” I told her.
“That doesn’t mean they’re winter boots.”
“Well, I know thatnow.”
“You could’ve borrowed some of ours. My dad has boots in the mudroom,” Bryce said, scooping up some snow and packing it into another snowball, which he tossed into the sled he was dragging behind him.
“I think they would’ve been a little big for me, dude.” I shivered. “How do people survive in this weather? I think my feet are going to fall off.”
“Can we go to our house?” Maggie asked. “I know it’s not close to bedtime, but we should put our coats and stuff into the dryer so they’re ready for school tomorrow.”
Bryce’s eyes widened as he slowly came to a halt. “We haven’t even done homework yet. Dad’s gonna be pissed.”
“Your dad won’t be home for a while,” I assured him. “We’ve never missed getting it done, right?”
“Right,” they answered. Bryce jogged ahead, hitting a bump in the sidewalk that sent his pile of snowballs flying.
“I’ve got the key,” he yelled.
As Maggie and I walked up the driveway, I tipped my head back to study their home. There’d been no need for me to go in there yet. All week, Barrett had made a concerted effort to be home in time to get them showered and in bed. I’d get his text around 8:30; then the kids would pack up their stuff, trudge across the yards, and wave when they’d unlocked the door. I’d watch from the front window until Barrett’s headlights appeared on the street before retreating back into the suddenly quiet, empty house.
One week, and it was starting to feel weird when I was there by myself.
That feeling would pass, eventually. It was just part of my normal routine: miss the place I’d left and let the next fill that gap.
The gap left by these two would be bigger, though. A scary sort of big I’d never encountered.
I shoved that thought aside, refusing to follow it any further.
Bryce held the front door open as we toppled into the house, and Maggie and I shimmied out of our boots on the large rug in the entryway. The warm air had me moaning in relief.Mykingdomfor a hot bath.I thought about the large soaking tub in Scott and Patty’s bathroom and made a mental note to try it later.
The kids disappeared into the mudroom, and I carefully shrugged off my puffy coat—which was far more fashion forward than it was functional, as it turned out—and rubbed my hands together once I’d set my wet gloves on top of the coat.
It was a two-story entryway with a large staircase leading up to a second floor—wood floors and trim stained in a warm color, andnondescript tan walls that could stand a freshening up. The room to the left was set up as a den of sorts, or maybe an office—two walls of bookshelves and an overstuffed leather couch facing a TV mounted on the wall. A desk was tucked against the other wall, but nothing on its surface gave away any hint of who might use it.
There wasn’t much in the way of art that I could see on any of the walls, but on the shelves, there were framed pictures of the kids. Maggie and Bryce as toddlers, with missing teeth and painted faces. At a beach, their arms slung around each other. In front of a Christmas tree, holding matching stuffed animals.
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms and shivered, glancing longingly at a fuzzy blanket draped over the arm of the couch.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, pulling it off and wrapping it around my shoulders. Next to the couch on the floor was a pair of overlarge house slippers, lined with sherpa and covered in soft black material. I shoved my feet in and sighed at how much warmer they made my poor little toes.
“We’re gonna go change, Lily,” Maggie called, the sound of their feet pounding up the stairs drowning out my murmured reply.
The pictures were mostly of the kids, Barrett rarely appearing in any of them.
Because he was behind the camera? Or because he wasn’t there?
More than once, I’d stopped myself from googling Barrett King. Nothing good would come from it, I thought. It was hard enough not to pepper his children with questions about what kind of father he was. They were so sweet and smart and funny. He couldn’t be a total asshole, right? Curiosity in any one person didn’t typically yield the kind of fruit I was looking for, not given the life I’d led.
