Page 52 of More With You

17

SUMMER

“Push me higher!” Grace yells, kicking out her little legs.

“To the sky?” I shout back, grinning.

She giggles with delight. “To the sky! Like a bird!”

I push her as high as I dare on the swing-set in Ben’s backyard, laughing in time with her. It’s been three days since the incident with Levi, and they’ve been the greatest three days of my life. Mornings spent on the back porch of my cottage, drinking coffee with Ben after working up the need for caffeine through the smoldering nights. He always leaves early, to make sure he’s back at the mansion in time for when Grace wakes up, but it’s a compromise I don’t mind making. Especially as, every time he leaves on his motorcycle, I know I’ll see him a few hours afterward, to share breakfast at one of the quaint cafés in town. If we go to the family-style Beach Pit, we split waffles, feathered with two kinds of chocolate and plump, super-sweet strawberries, topped with a mountain range of whipped-cream peaks.

This morning, however, in celebration of my day off, we decide to have breakfast at Ben’s bungalow. A realm of mystery that I’ve never been invited into before, though Ben claimed, “It’s a dump compared to your cottage. I’m reconsidering everything about it, after seeing your view. I might just move in with you, then I could soak up you and that view as much as I like.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. I still can’t. That being said, there’s nothing dump-like about his bungalow. It’s a work of art, just like everything he touches.

“You’re flying, Duckling!” Ben calls out, expertly balancing a jug of lemonade and three glasses. I watch him as I push Grace, wondering if he’s ever worked in the service industry. He must’ve, with skills like that.

Grace swings her legs. “I’m going all the way around!”

“Well, hold on tight.” Ben grins, but I see a crease of concern on his brow. His protective, paternal instincts are switched on, but he doesn’t have to worry. I doubt I’ve got the upper arm strength to make her do a loop-the-loop.

He sets the drinks down and pours two glasses, before bringing them over to where I stand. He puts one in my hand and drinks from his own, slipping his arm around my waist. In the past three days, we’ve gotten more comfortable about being open with Grace. She knows something’s up with the two of us, but she’s too young to care about that kind of thing. In the end, like most kids, they just want their parents to be happy.

“Do you want me to take over?” Ben asks, smiling.

I shake my head. “I’m happy being chief swinger.” I pause. “Yeah, I just heard how that sounded. You know what I mean.”

“You’re doing a mighty fine job.” He laughs and gives my waist a squeeze. “I thought we could have some lunch and then do some painting. You’ve still got to see the ones Grace made for you, but I forgot to bring them over from the big house. You’ll paint Summer some new ones, won’t you?”

Grace nods. “I’ll paint shells!”

“Like the ones you gave me?” I say, feeling the prickly shape of them in my pocket.

“Shells are my favorite! They’re pretty. Like you!” she shouts back, her hair whipping back in the breeze. She’s having the time of her life and, frankly, so am I. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be completely in my element, pushing a child on a swing and drinking lemonade with her dad, I’d have asked what they were smoking. Little did I know that being around Grace would be just the tonic for twenty-six years of ingrained trauma, and finally allowing that inner child of mine out from under the bed of my heavy memories. It’s the freest I’ve ever felt, and I owe it all to these two.

Plus, there’s added satisfaction of no Levi, buzzing around me like a wasp with a psychotic desire to sting. Somehow, it’s made Ben even more intoxicating. I can’t get enough of him, now that he’s done the impossible and gotten Levi to go away. I guess it’s because I’m not worrying that the bastard might burst through the door and disturb us. I mean, Ben’s dad must work quickly, because I’ve had zero bullshit from that sleazy bastard. He even came into the casino yesterday, and practically ran to the blackjack table farthest from mine. He wouldn’t even look my way, but kept his head down, staring at his chips and his cards, playing like a man who was desperate for cash. He probably is, if Ben’s dad did what Ben had said he would.

“I thought we could spend the afternoon on the dock. Take a picnic,” Ben says, drawing me out of my satisfied thoughts.

The dock in question is literally off Ben’s doorstep. It nudges up against the backyard, with the water glittering without end, up to the horizon and beyond. Sailboats and fishing boats zip back and forth across the wide strip of crystalline blue, reminding me of our sunset cruise. That was a pretty good day, too. After meeting Ben, my days off all seem to be happy memories, to put on display in the gallery of my mind, for when my workdays are long, and the customers are particularly difficult. Although, knowing Ben will be waiting at the cottage for me usually takes care of that.

“I think that sounds like the best way to spend an afternoon,” I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder as I continue to push Grace with one hand. Honestly, this has to be the closest thing to paradise I’ve ever experienced, and I’m slowly learning not to be afraid of that joy.

* * *

It’s not even five o’clock by the time I get home, sleepy from the ocean air, the latent doziness of napping under the shade of an umbrella in the hot southern sunshine, and the saltwater that’s transformed my hair into wavy tendrils. It’s a happy kind of sleepy, and my body is relaxed to the point of being floppy. There’s nothing I’d like more than to lie down under the cool breeze of my fixed AC, and not wake up again until morning. Ben isn’t with me, but I can manage for one night. At the very least, I can sleep until he comes back to me later on tonight.

See, I still haven’t met the fabled DuCates. It’s sort of a no man’s land for me, heading into that imposing mansion. So, I’ve dropped Grace and Ben off, so Grace can have her dinner and her bedtime routine, with a promise that Ben will drive over to the cottage later, to take me on a sunset motorcycle ride. To say that I’m excited would be a huge understatement. I’ve been waiting for this, probably since the first moment he roared to my rescue on the back of it.

However, as I approach the steps of the back porch, I see something waiting for me. A small, gift-wrapped box and an envelope; perched exactly where Ben left the painting and the letter, back when I was terrified of meeting a six-year-old girl. I still have the painting. It’s on the wall in my kitchen. Pride of place.

“What are you doing here, hmm?” I sit down on the top step and pick up the box first. The gift wrap is a luxurious, jacquard print, with embossed gold and a gauzy gold ribbon, set against the almost duo-chrome blue and silvery-gold of the paper itself.

I open it tentatively. My jaw drops as I see what’s inside. There’s a jewelry box within the gift box, like an easy set of Russian dolls, and when I crack open the oyster-shell lid, something glints and dazzles my eyes. A white-gold necklace, simple and classic, with a dropping pendant in the center. I’m not going to say the pendant is a diamond, but it glitters like one. It can’t be a real diamond. It’s huge.

“Someone’s got good taste.” I smile to myself and close the lid, reaching for the letter. I already know who it’s from, though I’ve got no idea how he managed to sneak it here, since I’ve spent the whole day with him. I suspect Foster or Mae, but I’ll have to tease it out of him later.

Opening the envelope, I draw out a card with a hand-painted image on the front. It’s a somewhat abstract rendering of the Quarter Mile, with its warm lights illuminating the dark palette like fireflies. Another beautiful piece to add to my kitchen wall, to remind me that I only have to keep the good memories of that place.

Inside the card, there’s another surprise in store:

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