Page 7 of Secrets on the Mountain

"Here." His deep voice is gruff as he wraps a wool blanket over my shoulders, like he's mad at himself for being nice to me. "I can light the fire too," he motions dismissively at a stonework fire-ring filled with colored glass. "It's propane."

He doesn't wait for me to answer, just turns a key on the side of the structure and a moment later, flames lick through the colorful glass pieces.

We sit in Adirondack chairs, my feet propped on the wide edge of the fire ring and Cane pulling his chair close beside mine.

Just so we can talk without worrying about being overheard, but something inside me is all too aware of the cozy scene we make: a couple enjoying adult time after the kid's asleep. Anyone who saw us from a distance would think we were a scene from someone's honeymoon Pinterest board.

"You've really never told him I exist?" Cane speaks directly to the fire in a voice laced with pain. "He's never asked who I am?"

"He asked." I answer the fire. "I wasn't ready yet. I didn't think he'd start asking till later. Maybe when he got into school."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. Or, at least, the closest thing to the truth that I thought a four-year-old would understand."

"Which was what, exactly?" This time he's not talking to the fire, in the shadows of moonlight and dancing flames, Cane's head is turned toward me.

"Um..." Okay, June, if you could explain it to a four-year-old, you can explain it to the brick wall of muscle and scowl that still manages to turn you into a mess of hard nipples and wet panties despite making it all too clear that done is something he's been with you for half a decade.

So what was up with that kiss when he first saw me today?

I shake my head like I'm trying to clear an Etch-a-Sketch, sip my sweet tea, and try to pick up my train of thought before it derailed.

"He asked if he had a dad and I said that of course he does. Then he asked if he'd ever get to meet his dad and I--"

"Please tell me you didn't say I was dead."

I shake my head. "No. I just said I didn't think he would."

* * *

Hurricane

"He didn't ask any more questions?"

I'm trying to remember how we explained things to Zeph when she got old enough to start asking questions.

My brothers and I were old enough to remember our dad, but he and pops passed when our sister was still a baby. She doesn't remember them and I guess she was about four or five when she started asking why she didn't have a daddy.

Of course, up here on the Ridge, families tend to stay together unless something outside their control rips them apart. Zeph didn't have other kids at school growing up in single parent households to compare her own situation to.

Maybe that's why she asked so many questions.

Maybe kids are just different.

"Not really. He's in a preschool with some other kids that don't have dads around. He didn't seem to think it was unusual."

"We'll figure it out, June-bug," I promise, not even noticing the way my hand reaches for hers to give her a reassuring squeeze when I hear the concern in her voice. "But I'm going to be part of his life from now on."

Our hands stay connected. It feels so natural to have Junie's small hand wrapped around two of my fingers as our hands rest on the arm of her chair. Like old times; Junie always said it hurt her hand when I'd try to lace our fingers together-- my hands are so much bigger than hers, it made her fingers spread apart too far-- so she'd change our grip till she had her delicate little fingers wrapped around just two of mine.

Just like they are now.

But it doesn't take long before darker thoughts ruin the feel of having her beside me again.

"What did you mean earlier, when you said I'm the reason I didn't know?" My voice is low and I don't like the way it comes out sounding hurt when all I want is to be mad.

Something tugs inside me at that thought, letting me know that's not exactly the truth. I don't want to be mad at June-bug. I want her back. I want her to have never left me. I want to wave a magic wand and make the last five years look completely different.

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