Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(57)

Even she can't maintain her stoicism. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Coughing, she turns away and asks “Do I have time for a shower before breakfast is ready?"

“Sure. Claire and I can hang out until you're ready."

Aubrey lifts Claire from the counter and sets her on her feet.

I wash and dry my hands at the sink, watching Aubrey go.

“Maybe take a cold shower," I say loudly after her.

She looks back at me over her right shoulder, running her middle finger down her cheek, a silent expletive statement.

Her spunkiness makes me smile. “I tried that last night. Didn’t work out.”

She exhales loudly and throws her hands in the air. But I know she's happy.

I could talk to John all day. I'd be carrying the conversation, but still. John's not much for talking, but he'll answer any question asked of him. If he were a character in the movies, he'd be in one of those old westerns my dad used to watch on Saturdays, back before there were a million channels to choose from. John’s character would have a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, a constant frown, and be ready to kick ass at any moment. Now, in the present, he looks like he's still ready to kick ass at any moment.

“What was the scariest moment you've ever had hunting?” I ask him. We're sitting out back, watching Claire play in the sand box. I've warned her not to get sand in her cast, because there's no way to get it out until next week when she's ready for her final cast. Aubrey wanted to put a plastic bag over her arm and tie it off, but I talked her out of it. She's inside cleaning now. I think she wants to take care of her dad. And cleaning is how she does that.

John crosses a booted foot over one knee and leans back in his chair. “Once, I was bear-hunting with my friend David. We'd just gotten back to the truck, and it was nearly dark. I sat on my tailgate, and I was drinking a beer. I heard a rattle and said to David, “Do you hear that?” David said no, and I thought maybe I was just hearing things. A few moments later, I heard it again. I got down and shined a flashlight under my truck. Sure as shit, there was a rattlesnake under there. The damn thing had a rat in its mouth.” John shakes his head. “Only reason it didn't bite me.”

My mouth hangs open. Every rattlesnake I’ve ever seen has been behind an inch of protective glass. “That's crazy.”

“I've done a lot and seen a lot, but that was the closest I've come to being badly hurt.” He nods slowly. His voice is nonchalant, like the smooth surface of still water. No ripples from wind, no movement from a current. Still and steady.

John watches Claire pour sand through a sieve into another container. Inside I hear the banging of dishes. It's almost as loud as the Bob Seger music Aubrey turned on when she got started.

“Bob Seger, huh?” I say off-handedly. “Not what I would've expected from Aubrey.”

At this, John smiles. “Aubs likes her Seger. Old Time Rock n Roll is her favorite. I played it when she was younger. Back when my old Chevy broke down every week and I'd spend Saturday's getting it running again. She sat on my toolbox and handed me tools. Usually the wrong ones.” John's nostalgic grin reaches his ears. “She called them Chevy Days.”

I chuckle, picturing Claire as a young Aubrey, handing me tools. I don't know how to fix trucks, so I've placed us in the OR. The tools probably have similar functions.

John leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Isaac, I hope you understand how special Aubrey is to me.”

I mimic his posture. “Of course I do.”

“And you know about her mother?” He meets my eyes. When I nod, he looks back to his hands.

“Aubrey doesn't let people in. Not readily, anyway. What she's doing with you goes against her nature.”

“She's doing it for Claire, I think.” It hurts even saying it, but I know it's true.

John nods. “Yeah, she is. But I think in time, she might come the point where she's doing it for herself too.”

I don't say anything. I'm not sure what John's getting at. And I can only hope that he's right.

“What I need to know is if you asked them to move in just so you can be a full-time father to Claire. Did you?”

I sit back, my eyes on Claire. She brushes sand off her bare legs.

“Yes...and no. My goal is to be a father to Claire. But my hope…" I glance behind my shoulder, inside the house, but I don't see Aubrey. I lower my voice anyway. “My hope is that Aubrey will see we need to be a family. That we'd make a really, really good one. That we'd probably have been one this whole time if we'd exchanged last names five years ago.”

John looks at me sharply. I'd like to look away, but I don't. He wants to stare me down for creating a baby with his daughter before I really knew her. I get it. Because I have a daughter of my own now.

His gaze stays on me for a few more seconds, then he goes back to watching Claire.

“Good luck.” He says. “Aubrey's as tough as they come. She shoots from the hip and she doesn't play games.”

I agree with John, but only to a point. I've seen Aubrey's softness. It may be well-hidden, but it's there, and she gives it freely to the people she loves. Her tough exterior is love-soluble. I've made a career out of fixing broken bones. And I know I can fix her broken heart.