If It Makes You Happy(23)

There’s a moment of silence between us—a moment that didn’t exist until a few years ago. After she permanently moved away, her feelings toward me have oscillated between irritation and guilt.

I respond with a sigh. “It’s all right.”

“Can I talk to Britt?”

“Sure.” I hold the phone out. “Hey, Britt Britt. Wanna talk to Mom?”

She hops off the counter easily, like the cut never happened —sly girl—and snatches the phone.

“Hi, Mommy!” she says, rising onto the balls of her feet and back down.

Emily leans against the counter with her arms crossed, pulling in a deep inhale. I clap my palm onto her shoulder. Tracy always wants to talk to Brittany first.

Emily shrugs my hand off her shoulder and walks to the kitchen, whispering to Brittany in passing, “Let me know when she deigns to talk to me.”

Brittany scrunches her nose. “What’s dang mean?”

“Never mind.”

Brittany throws me a confused look, but I give an assuring thumbs-up. She smiles and goes back to talking with Tracy.

Michelle stands in the corner with her arms crossed, eyeing the empty display cases and the chalkboard menu over the counter. I finally catch her gaze and raise my eyebrows. I feel bad she’s here for this, so I throw her a lopsided smile. She lifts a single eyebrow in question. Chuckling, I nod my chin toward the door. In unspoken agreement, we both walk outside. Lars is nowhere to be seen. He’ll call later to ask how everything went. He doesn’t like to interfere with family things. Michelle, on the other hand …

Leaning against the lamppost, I run a palm through my hair. Neither of us says anything, and I almost appreciate the silence after the last ten minutes. Almost.

“Thank you,” I finally say, “for helping. You didn’t have to.”

She shrugs. “I don’t like seeing people get bullied and hurt.”

A smile slides over my face as I nod to myself.

Inside the shop, Rocket sits stiffly beside Brittany as she swings side to side, getting out energy.

“He makes a decent guard dog,” I observe.

Michelle sighs. “He has a mind of his own.”

“He seems well trained enough.”

“Because he likes Brittany,” she responds with a shake of her head. “He only listened to my ex. He prefers anyone but me.”

“The ex or the dog?”

She snorts. “Both.”

“How do you know Rocket doesn’t like you?” I ask.

“The same way I know he’s not a drug dog.”

I smile even wider when her full lips tug in the corners.

I click my tongue. “So, you can joke around.”

“Sometimes.”

“What times?”

She checks her watch. “Two o’clock on Sundays.”

Her smile rises a little, and I can’t help but grin in return.

But then her smile fades. “Do people normally sign guest books?”

Taken aback, I run a palm through my hair again. “Uh, sure, I would imagine.”

“Hmm.” She stares off in the distance.

I hesitate to respond. It’s the first time I’ve seen a crack in her doorway, almost like she’s letting me slip a foot through.

“Daddy!” Brittany yells, standing in the bakery’s threshold. “Mommy wants to talk to you!”

I look from Michelle to the open bakery door and back again. I point a finger at her. “Talk later?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks again.”

She nods and pats her thigh, calling out, “Come on, Rocket.”

And as Michelle predicted, he barely listens to her. She repeats herself, and after a lingering moment, the dog finally saunters out of the shop, like some reluctant adolescent. Maybe she’s onto something.

I walk inside and take the phone from Brittany. “Hey, Trace.”

“I don’t talk to her for a week, and this happens?”

It’s funny; both Michelle and Tracy get straight to the point. But the difference between their tones is so distinct, like Tracy is a viper and Michelle is a garden snake that wants peace. I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Cliff, this isn’t funny. She said some boy pushed her.”

“I’m working on kicking his ass; don’t worry.”

“I swear, if—”

“Everything is fine over here. I promise. Kids get knocked down. It happens.”

“Maybe … maybe I should visit more.”

My chest tightens. Every time anything dangerous happens with the girls, she second-guesses her decision to leave. And I get it—I do. But moving was the best decision for Tracy and us. She’d been in Copper Run her entire life, glued to me since we were sixteen and through a teen pregnancy neither of us could have predicted. Six years ago, she insisted we should try for another child. That maybe a planned pregnancy would be different. But in the end, when she grew distant, irritated with us, when I ended up on the couch each night, I wasn’t surprised she had drawn up divorce papers.

A few months after that, she wanted to go start a career in the city. She considered bringing the kids, but after I argued that they were settled here—that Copper Run was a good community—she left. I encouraged her to go. I had my bakery; she needed to find her dreams too. Unfortunately, it didn’t take much convincing.