Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The cabin is full of life. The kids come and go—sometimes with their friends and sometimes not. Harvey ambled in a little while ago and made himself at home in the living room. Jack grabbed a shower after returning from the lake, finding it necessary to fix a broken shelf in the pantry sans shirt.
It’s a peculiar move for him—both the fixing of the shelf without being asked and the forgoing of a shirt in the middle of the day for no apparent reason. It’s not just the box that’s distracting.
“What is all of this stuff?” Michael asks, pulling my attention away from his father.
“I found all of this in the closet upstairs between your room and Maddie’s,” I say. “I was looking for the extra mop for Pops’s floors and discovered this instead.”
I set a stack of pictures on the table and watch as my son digs through a box of keepsakes from cabin summers years ago. The smile on his lips—reverent and joyful—is akin to the one in my heart.
“Look at this,” he says, holding up a hummingbird feeder. “Mads and I made these the summer I wanted to be a conservation officer. Remember that?”
“Yes, I do. That was the summer a bat got in the cabin, and you were more worried about its safety than about us.”
He chuckles. “You were such a baby about it.”
“They suck blood, Michael. I’m not sure what else you want me to say about that.”
“Ooh, Pops—check you out.” Michael holds a picture of Harvey in a pair of shorts that barely cover his crotch. “This is quite a fashion statement.”
“It’s a good thing I can’t see that far,” he says.
I make a show of looking at the photo. “Nice legs, Pops.”
He lifts a leg and tugs at his pants. “I still got ’em, if you wanna see.”
“You trying to pick up my woman, Dad?” Jack walks by me, winking as he passes. “I thought we talked about that.”
My chest squeezes.
And this is the problem with a broken heart. It always remembers how to repair itself—and it doesn’t care if cracks remain.
A knock raps against the door. Jack swings it open, and a pretty blonde walks in with two bags and a picnic basket.
Michael is on his feet in two seconds. “Here, let me help you.”
Her cheeks flush as she hands him the bags. “Thanks, Mike.”
Mike? I look at Jack. Smirking, he shrugs.
“Mom, Dad—you remember Ava Shaw, right?” Michael asks.
“Yes, of course. Hi, Ava,” I say, returning her smile. “Thank you for picking up a few things for us in town.”
“It was no problem, Mrs. Reed. My grandma sent you this picnic basket too. She said something about picnics helping you through watersheds—or something like that. It made no sense to me.”
I take the proffered basket and grin.
“Frank and I had our biggest challenges when one of us was growing or changing. They were some of the watershed moments of our marriage.”
Oh, Mrs. Shaw.
“I’ll be sure to tell her thank you tomorrow,” I say, noticing how close to Ava my son is standing.
Ava turns to Pops. “Harvey, my grandma is frying pork chops and making scalloped potatoes tonight. She wanted me to invite you to come have supper with us.” She looks up at Michael and flutters her lashes. “And you, too, if you want.”
“Yeah,” Michael says. “I love pork chops.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from chuckling. The kid hates pork chops.
Pops is on his feet faster than I’ve seen him in a long time. “I was just thinking that a plate of scalloped potatoes sounded good. I’ll follow you kids out.”
Ava smiles at Jack and then returns her attention to me. “I go to town a couple of times a week for piano lessons. So if you need anything, just let me know.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Michael races to the door, holding it open for her and Pops. He exchanges a look with his father before he sets off after Mrs. Shaw’s granddaughter.
“What was that all about?” I ask, staring at the doorway.
“I think you know what that was all about.” He saunters toward me. “What’s in the basket?”
The look in his eye makes me flush, and I head to the refrigerator to make a glass of tea instead of standing close to him.
“Lasagna,” he says. “Garlic bread and a bottle of wine.”
I look over my shoulder as Jack sets the wine next to a baking dish. The room is scented with garlic and tomatoes, making my stomach rumble.
The door flies open, catching us off guard. Maddie sticks her beaming face around the frame. “I’m going to Ava Shaw’s for dinner, okay? Bye!”
The door slams before we can answer her.
My heart races as Jack’s attention lands squarely on me. There’s nowhere else to divert it, no one else around to include in our conversation. It’s not even bedtime, when I could feign sleep.