Page 53 of Catching Sparks

The lines usually found at the corners of his flat-lipped scowl are missing as he says, “Got a call from a neighbour when Kip was seen takin’ a midnight stroll.”

The old man looks at his horse now, curiosity obvious in his expression, as if he’s waiting for Kip to explain himself and what we were just doing. I just stand and patiently wait for him to continue, sensing he’s far from finished.

“He hasn’t taken like this to anyone but me the entire time I’ve had ’im. Not once. And for someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about horses, well, I’m wonderin’ if maybe there’s more to you than we’ve bothered to learn. I need to feel you out for myself. Startin’ tomorrow. Seven thirty sharp.”

19

POPPY

“Auntie Pop!”

Abbie squeals, spinning on the couch and hanging over the back of it to flash me a toothy grin that has her adorable dimple popping in her chubby cheek. I return the smile and shut my parents’ front door behind me, kicking my shoes off beside my brother’s massive sneakers and Abbie’s ballet flats.

“Hey, sweetie pie. Loving the dress.”

The five-year-old tucks her chin to look at the deep green poofy dress hanging from her tiny frame and pats at her hips. “Daddy got it for me!”

“Damn right he did. Dads rock,” I reply, looking around for both our dads.

Every single Wednesday morning, we have Huntsly family brunches. Despite it being in the middle of the week, it works best for our schedules. Darren doesn’t volunteer at the station today or work from home on his architectural-whatever-it-is, and I make sure to leave my Wednesday mornings open.

My parents retired two years ago, early in some circumstances, but they’ve worked hard and deserved the break. We may have been considered low income for a decent chunk of my childhood, but once my dad started working out of town on the pipeline, things started looking up. Now, they have a big enough savings there’s no need for me to worry myself to death over their future. They do enough of that for me, anyway.

“Yeah, they do,” Abbie sighs happily.

“Why are you teaching my daughter to swear again, Poppy?” Darren asks, sauntering out of the kitchen with a cinnamon roll oozing icing down his knuckles.

He looks like he just rolled out of bed, as per usual. It wouldn’t kill him to brush his hair from time to time, but I haven’t seen him put shit all effort into his appearance since his breakup. He does everything for his daughter. Goes above and beyond every single day, but he doesn’t give himself the same respect.

I eye the cinnamon roll, my stomach growling. “Did you eat all of those?”

He takes a giant bite out of the roll and speaks with his mouth full. “Every last one.”

“No, I see more!” Abbie says, pointing past her dad.

Darren exhales slowly, shaking his head as he swallows. “Betrayed by my own flesh and blood.”

“Ew,” Abbie mutters.

“Ew is right. Give me knuckles, kid.” I extend a fist to her, and she slams hers into it. “That’s my girl.”

Clanging in the kitchen has me dropping a hand to Abbie’s hair and ruffling it before leaving her and my brother in the living room. Darren leans toward me and shoves the rest of his cinnamon roll into his mouth as I pass, and I punch him in the gut, letting his choking noises follow me out.

My mom is digging in the fridge, her body half-folded as she balances a carton of eggs in one arm and a jug of OJ in the other. The orange apron that Darren and I got her last Christmas with kangaroos all over the front is knotted at least three times at her back. She’s tall enough that it doesn’t reach her knees like it’s supposed to but mid-thigh instead. I’m pretty sure they only make aprons for short and round old grannies nowadays. My mother is none of those things.

“Want some help?” I ask.

She glances at me over her shoulder, brown eyes bright. “Can you put some butter in the pan on the stove?”

“Mmhmm.”

I don’t ask which of the three pans she means; it’s always the same. Though, I do make a mental note to add new pots and pans to her birthday list. I think she’s had these ones since before I was born. I’m surprised we haven’t gotten tetanus from them yet.

Using a knife to slice off a pad of butter from the block on the white porcelain dish, I drop it into the pan and watch it begin to melt before gripping the pan handle and swirling it all around.

“Oh, and good morning, honey,” she adds, shutting the fridge door with her hip and setting the eggs and juice on the counter.

My cheeks flame at the pet name and the memories it invokes. The name is ruined now. I’ll never forget hearing it in Garrison’s deep, raspy tone. It’s only been a day since we’ve seen each other, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he tucked me into bed like he genuinely wanted to. My stomach flutters, and I inwardly curse.

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