Page 38 of Misadventures Of A Single Mom

I had two dark green couches in an L shape facing the TV. Two wood end tables with lamps on the far ends, another one in between. An area rug was beneath a wooden coffee table. On the other couch sat the gnomes, watching the game. The boys had propped them up to watch TV and left them there before they went to bed. They’d said the gnomes were going in their suitcases to Georgia but I planned to change their minds. The gnomes carried some bad mojo and I didn’t think it was best to move the mojo across the country. Besides, they’d definitely break. Again.

Goldie and Paul had left. So had the Colonel, to pack. The boys were in bed, asleep. They’d burned off all the excitement from the camper incident and then the news of their trip to see Nana and crashed hard.

I’d spent over an hour talking with my mom on the phone, getting her updated on the whole fiasco my life had turned into. Agreeing the boys would be safest with her for the time being, she immediately hung up on me to book flights online. Beneath her worry, I figured she was secretly excited about seeing the Colonel. For three weeks.

At least they’d have two boys as chaperones. But I wouldn’t. I’d be on my own, without any supervision. I could do things I would never do with the boys around. Like fulfilling Goldie’s hopes for my non-existent sex life. I wouldn’t even have the Colonel in his house separating me from Ty.

“I guess I owe you for saving my life,” I told him, beer in hand.

“Which time?”

I stopped to consider. It seemed I had quite a bit of thanking catch-up to do. “I’m thinking of the derby, but I guess the explosion, too. Thank you.”

“Great. You’re welcome. You owe me dinner. Tomorrow night.” Ty slouched down, feet up on the coffee table, arms crossed.

I tilted my head. “For saving my life? That’s all you want?” I flushed realizing what I’d said.

I could tell he had more on his mind than just dinner. “For now.” He had that look in his eyes that I was starting to recognize as the I’m-going-to kiss-you look.

I hopped up from the couch. “Well,” I said, nervous. I did not want him to kiss me now. Not with the kids in the other room. Not when we couldn’t finish what came after a kiss. Besides, I didn’t know if Ty had decided to put a kybosh on his kybosh of our friendship, relationship. Whatever he called it.

Sure, we’d kissed at the derby. But I’d kissed him first. And there’d been tons of adrenaline pumping through our veins along with lust. Maybe I’d get the answers at dinner tomorrow.

He stood up, both of us close and fenced in by the coffee table. His hand came up, brushed gently over my cheek. “Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.”

And he wasn’t talking about pizza and beer.

“How long did you cry?”Ty asked the next night at dinner. We sat at a four top at a brew pub on Main. I had the chicken burrito, Ty the steak. The building was an old warehouse, brick withturn-of-the-century photographs on the walls. A vintage train car was built into the side to add ambiance, and history dating back to the golden age of railroad. Since it was a nice night, we’d ridden our bikes down the Galligator Trail, past the new library, to the restaurant.

“What makes you think I did?” I asked.

Ty didn’t reply, just took a sip of his beer.

I rolled my eyes. “An hour,” I admitted.

I’d dropped the boys and the Colonel off at the airport after lunch. The entire morning had been spent running around trying to find a missing flip-flop, packing enough snacks for the plane and crazily searching for medical release forms. I’d tried my best not to cry until I got home and made it as far as the garage before I’d lost it. I didn’t know how long I’d sat and cried into the steering wheel. After that, I climbed in bed and threw the blankets over my head. I woke up ten minutes before dinner with Ty.

I’d rushed to pull myself together, splashing cold water on my face to reduce the puffiness around my eyes. I’d run a brush through my hair, pulled it back in a loose ponytail so some curls hung around my face. Swiped on some tinted lip balm. I’d thrown on a pair of black Capri pants with a white cotton shirt, slipped on simple black sandals and called it good.

My babies had left the state for weeks and it hurt. Who cared about makeup and pulling myself together for a date when my children were hurtling through the sky in a tin can at five hundred miles an hour…without me to protect them?

Ty took my hand and squeezed. The simple touch felt good. Soothing. Reassuring.

“I heard from the fire investigators about the explosion at the Moore’s house. As we thought, there was a propane gas leak.”

“Duh,” I said. I tucked a curl behind my ear.

“At first, there was talk about a homemade pipe bomb in the garage.”

I looked at him blankly. “You mean like extremists in Idaho?” We never mentioned extremists in Montana like the Unabomber. They were all in Idaho now.

Ty smiled, but didn’t comment on that touchy subject. “That was nixed pretty fast. A propane tank is usually positioned away from the house and down a hill or embankment of some kind to prevent a gas leak from filling the house. The Moore’s tank was next to the house, which is rare. Should have been moved years ago.” Ty took a sip of his beer.

“Okay, go on.”

“Propane inside the tank is liquid then converts to a gas when it mixes with air. Propane gas is heavier than air so it settles low to the ground. It should have spread into the basement and to the hot water heater or furnace where it would ignite.”

“Right,” I said. This whole gas thing was a little over my head. I knew he was speaking English, but not all of it made sense. Some of it. But I never really thought about blowing a house up before. “Go on.”

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