Feels Like Summertime(42)

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Well,” Pop says dryly, “I want a million dollars and to come home and find Halle Berry’s sex-crazed twin who has a penchant for whips and chains in my bed. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Apparently not.

Pop opens his arms. “Give me that thing while it’s being cute,” he says. “You need to get dressed for your date.”

I lay Hank in Pop’s arms and stare down at them. Hank isn’t grinning yet, but sometimes I think there’s a smile in there just bursting to come out. I kind of wish he saves that first toothless grin for me. But I’m not his dad. I’m just his mom’s friend. His mom’s married friend.

“You got yourself in a nice little pickle. The married woman you’re shacking up with is going to meet your wife.”

“Katie’s not a married woman,” I remind him.

“Katie will always be a married woman,” he retorts. “Now she’s just married to a dead man.”

Truer words have never been spoken.





35





Katie





Butterflies. I have butterflies. I turn around in front of my mirror. I only have two summer dresses with me. They’re both from the stock of clothes that Adam and my dad bought when they went shopping right before the baby was born. I never took the tags off them, preferring to walk around in my oversized t-shirts and jean shorts. The t-shirt makes nursing Hank easier and the shorts are just comfortable.

I spin around and the flowing material settles around my knees.

A knock sounds on my door, and then it opens seconds later. That means it’s one of my kids. Gabby skulks into the room. She’s wearing a bathing suit with an oversized towel wrapped around her.

“Mom, can you talk to Uncle Adam and your father?” she grouses, right before she flops rather ungracefully onto my bed.

“What about?” I stare at her in the mirror as I apply some light lip gloss and mascara.

“Uncle Adam told me I had to go and put some clothes on. And your father agreed.” He’s always my father when the kids are mad at him. The rest of the time, he’s just Grandpa.

“I told you that bikini was a little skimpy.” I smack my lips and turn to face her. I nudge her up, because she’s getting my pillow wet. “Go change into the one-piece and you can go back to the lake.”

“Seriously?” she huffs. “I’m sixteen years old, Mom! I can wear a bikini.”

“You can wear the bikini and walk around the house as long as you want. But if you want to go to the lake where there are families and small children and boys, then you need to go change.” I point toward her room. “Go.”

She harrumphs and goes to change. But she stops and looks back at me from the doorway. “You look really pretty,” she says.

I take a deep breath. “Is this dress too much?”

“It’s perfect.” She makes an okay sign with her finger and thumb. In a sing-song voice, she says, “I think Jake’s going to kiss you tonight.”

A grin tugs at my lips and happiness floods my heart. “Well, I certainly hope so,” I mutter.

She comes back into the room and closes the door. “You and Jake, you could totally be a thing.”

“Our thing was a long time ago,” I remind her. “Four kids later, I’m not the same person I was back then.”

She sinks down on the edge of my bed. “You’re a beautiful woman and Jake knows it. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? Just watching him watch you makes my insides get all mushy.”

I point my finger at her. “You are too young to even know what mushy means, young lady.”

But she’s the same age I was when I met Jake, and he made my insides all mushy way back then.

“A boy asked me to the summer dance,” she says quietly.

I jerk my head up. “What boy?”

“He’s staying in cabin 24. His mom makes cookies. They’re really good.”

“And he asked you to the dance?”

“Yes.” She grins.

“And you said…” I arch a brow at her.

“I said he would have to ask you and Jake.”

My heart skips a beat. “Why would he have to ask Jake?”

“Because,” her gaze skitters across the room, refusing to settle, “Dad’s not here.”

She doesn’t talk about her dad very often, and when she does, her eyes get misty. I offer her my lip gloss. “I’m sure Jake would be happy to talk to him.”

“Do you really think so?” she asks. Does she miss having a father figure? Perhaps Jeff’s death has had more of an effect on her than she lets on. She puts on my lip gloss and stops to admire herself in the mirror.

“Yes, I’m sure he’d be happy to give any boy who might want to take you out a hard time.” I point to the door. “Go change. I’ll see you tonight after dinner.”

She leaves and I hear her as she goes to her room to change clothes. She comes back out wearing the one-piece suit that Dad got for her. I follow her down the hallway. Dad is sitting at the kitchen table with Mr. Jacobson. He looks up and down Gabby’s body. “Much better,” he says. His eyes narrow. “Are you wearing lip gloss?”