Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(29)

“I miss you, too, sweetheart,” she said warmly.

She could see Jake’s muscles strain as he pulled at the fixture, but the box wouldn’t release its contents. He set his foot on it and jerked.

Meridith’s lips twitched.

Stephen was telling her about a new tax law, but the show in the dining room was more entertaining. As the box released the fixture, Jake’s elbow connected with the table’s edge. Thwack. He dropped the light fixture and kicked the empty box across the room.

Meridith pressed her lips together and turned her back.

“. . . and then I said, ‘Welcome to accounting 101.’” Stephen laughed.

In the other room she heard Jake slamming something down. Hopefully not her new light fixture.

“What’s all the racket?” Stephen asked.

“That’s the contractor. I’ll go upstairs where it’s quieter.” Her feet were already moving in that direction.

“How’s the one kid’s arm—Sam?”

“Ben. He’s coping, keeping it dry, and he’s sleeping through the night. He’s down to an occasional Tylenol now.”

“You poor baby. You must be exhausted.”

“You have no idea.” She entered her room, shutting the door behind her, and told him about the fiasco with the clothes and the fallout with the children.

“You did the right thing. They might be upset, but they have to move on. The sooner they do, the easier it will be. Have you heard from the uncle yet?”

“No. I hope something hasn’t happened to him.”

Stephen gave a weak laugh. “I sure hope not. I want you back sooner rather than later.”

She should tell him now—tell him she had to keep the kids. Tell him Uncle Jay wasn’t fit to parent them.

“Oh, there’s someone on the other line, a client. Gotta go.”

“See you,” she said, but they were disconnected before the last word left her tongue.

She’d tell him next time they talked. Stephen was the most rational, even-tempered man she knew. They were two of the qualities she appreciated most in him. He’d see how important keeping the children was, especially in light of her childhood.

But if she was so certain of that, she wondered, why did she continue to postpone the conversation?

Stupid cheap bracket. Nothing was going right today. Or the day before. Jake had been so preoccupied earlier he’d forgotten to shut off the electric and had gotten zapped good. Then when he’d shut off the electric, he’d whacked his head on the corner of the fuse box door.

All he could think about was the fiasco that had shaken the kids and left them brooding. He kept seeing the look on Max’s face when he talked to him after Meridith went downstairs, kept remembering the way Noelle’s fists had clutched his shirt as she sobbed into it, soaking it with tears.

And then there was Meridith. The look on her face when she’d realized what she’d done, how she’d hurt the kids. That hadn’t sunk in until after his anger had burned off. And the fact that Meridith’s feelings mattered at all ticked him off.

Who was she but an interloper who’d usurped his rightful place? She had no clue what she was doing. Monday’s debacle had proven it.

But that look . . . the way she’d crossed her arms over her belly like she was nursing a wound.

After he’d left for the evening, he’d gone tooling around the island on his Harley. He’d needed to clear his head, but all he thought of was Meridith and what she’d done. And then that look. Back and forth he’d gone. Anger and resentment warring with compassion and pity. It was about to drive him crazy.

Get on one side of the fence or the other, Walker.

Ever since he’d arrived that morning, he’d been aware of her every move. Her steps on the stairs, the creaking floor over his head, the quiet hush of running water in the kitchen. He was relieved when she left. And then the house felt empty. Too empty. He spent the whole time she was gone wondering where she was and when she was coming back.

But then she returned, and he reverted to tracing her every movement. Up the stairs, then back down to answer Lover Boy’s call.

He’d been glad she’d taken her conversation upstairs. It bugged him to hear her crooning to her fiancé. Then it bugged him that it bugged him.

What was wrong with him? Maybe he’d whacked his head so hard he’d knocked a few marbles loose.

He finally got the bracket in place and set a screw. The powerful whirring of the screwdriver gave him a scrap of pleasure. He felt like doing something physical. He’d have to set up a game with Wyatt soon to blow off steam. And beat the pants off his friend. That would help, a little friendly competition.

When he set down the screwdriver, he heard the squeak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs and found himself wishing Meridith would leave again. She stirred something in him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had to keep his wits about him. Had to think of the kids, watch for signs of instability. Signs like throwing out their parents’ belongings.

He set another screw in the bracket and drove it in. The bit slipped off the screw and rammed into his thumb. A deep growl escaped his throat.

He wished Meridith would leave so he could focus on the stupid light fixture.

He was setting the screwdriver down when he heard her light footfalls on the stairway. Then a wad of keys jingling. And the front door closing.