“That’s the long and the short of it,” he said. “I know it’s a big decision and I’m not askin’ you to make it right this second. Get to know her. Get to know the town. Think on it. I’ve got a friend who does casework. She can help you get started with the application process.”
He was asking me to put the next six months of my life on hold for a little girl I’d just met. Yep. It was safe to say my bruised and battered life plan had officially disintegrated.
I blew out a sigh and decided tomorrow was as good a day as any for panicking over the future.
“Waylay! It’s time to go,” I called.
Waylon galloped to me, ears flying. He spit the tennis ball out at my feet. “Not you, buddy,” I said, leaning down to pet him.
“Do we have to?” Waylay whined, dragging her feet as if they were encased in concrete.
I shared similar sentiments.
Knox put his hand on the top of her head and guided her in my direction. “Get used to it, kid. Sometimes we all gotta do things we don’t want to.”
NINE
BACKYARD URINATION & DEWEY DECIMAL
Naomi
I found the cottage’s back porch to be a lovely little spot for organizing my daily to do list by priority as I waited for the pot of coffee to brew. I’d slept. Like a coma patient. And when my eyelids popped open at 6:15 on the dot, I’d tip-toed across the hall to Waylay’s room and peeked in to make sure my niece was still there.
She was. Tucked between fresh sheets in a white four-poster bed.
I stared down at my list and tapped the end of a blue highlighter against the page. I needed to contact my parents and let them know I was alive and not having some kind of breakdown. But I wasn’t sure how much else to tell them.
Hey, guys, you remember your other daughter? The one who gave you migraines for twenty years before she vanished from our lives? Yeah, well, she has a daughter who has no idea you exist.
They’d disembark from their cruise ship in a hot minute and be on the first plane headed in our direction. Waylay had just been abandoned by her own mother and was now under the roof of an aunt she’d never met. Introducing grandparents into the mix might not be the best idea this soon out of the gate.
Plus, it was my parents’ first vacation together in ten years. They deserved three weeks of peace and quiet.
The choice was only partially weighted in favor of the fact that I wouldn’t have to come up with a diplomatic way to explain that they had missed out on the first eleven years of their only grandchild’s life. Yet.
I didn’t like doing things until I knew the exact right way to do them. So I would wait until I knew Waylay a little better and my parents were back from their anniversary cruise, well-rested and ready for crazy news.
Satisfied, I collected my notebook and highlighters and was just about ready to stand when I heard the distant squeak of a screen door.
Next door, Waylon trotted down the back stairs into the yard, where he promptly lifted his leg on a dead spot he clearly enjoyed using as a toilet. I smiled, and then the muscles of my face froze when another movement caught my eye.
Knox “The Viking” Morgan strolled off the deck in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. He was all man. Muscles, chest hair, tattoos. He stretched one arm lazily overhead and scratched the back of his neck, creating a picture of sleepy testosterone. It took me a full ten seconds of open-mouthed ogling to realize the man, like his dog, was peeing.
My highlighters flying made a rapid-fire racket as they hit the wooden planks beneath me. Time froze as Knox turned in my direction. He was facing me with one hand on his… Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I left my highlighters where they were and fled for the safety of the cottage, all the while congratulating myself for not trying to get a better look at Knox Jr.
“Why’s your face so red? You get sunburnt?”
I let out a shriek and crashed back against the screen door, nearly falling out onto the porch.
Waylay was standing on a chair trying to reach the Pop-Tarts I’d hidden above the fridge.
“You’re so jumpy,” she accused.
Carefully, I closed the door, leaving all thoughts of urinating men in the outside world. “Put the Pop-Tarts down. We’re having eggs for breakfast.”
“Aww. Man.”
I ignored her disdain and placed the house’s only skillet on the stove. “How do you feel about going to the library today?”
The Knockemout Public Library was a sanctuary of cool and quiet in the Virginia summer swelter. It was a light, bright space with white oak shelves and farm-style work tables. Pairs of overstuffed armchairs were clustered by the tall windows.