Page 3 of Single Mom for the Firemen

I head down to the car to start unpacking while Callie sleeps, bringing the food into the kitchen so I can make us some breakfast. I actually used to be a pretty decent cook, before work and motherhood got in the way of it, and I’m looking forward to having more time to focus on it here.

I knock up some eggs and pour her some orange juice so that, by the time she comes downstairs, there’s already food on the table. I drop a kiss on her head as I lift her up onto the breakfast bar stools for her to eat.

“I’m going to get some more stuff out of the car,” I tell her. “You enjoy your breakfast, okay?”

She’s already tucking in, not waiting for any more encouragement. I make my way back and forth from the car, carrying in everything that we brought and checking for anything the house might be missing. Lara said I could call in a food order every week or so, and I know I want to have the cupboards fully stocked with everything we’re going to need—the less time we can spend in contact with the outside world, the better, as far as I’m concerned. I know this place is off the grid and it’s going to be nigh-on impossible for anyone to find us here, but that doesn’t mean I want some loose-lipped delivery driver to wind up spilling our location to someone he shouldn’t.

Callie heads upstairs to start unpacking her bags—though she gets distracted by the view as she does so.

“Can we go into the forest, Mom?” she asks me, tapping on the glass of her window.

I grin. “I don’t see why not,” I reply. “Let me just tell the delivery driver where to leave the food, and we can go, okay?”

She gets herself ready—she needs a little help with her shoes, but she mostly manages it herself, the smart little thing—as I text the driver to leave the food at the top of the driveway. We can pick it up on the way back, but right now, I want to feel a little of that fresh outside air on my skin, and forget about everything else that might have brought us here in the first place.

We head outside, into the woods, following a small path through the green grass that winds through the trees. She doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time, as though she has no idea how to navigate this place—and I can’t say I blame her. It’s so totally different to what she’s used to back in the city, where she’s lived her whole life.

“Would Daddy like a place like this?” she asks me, her voice bright. I swallow hard. I’ve never tried to keep the fact that her dad isn’t with us anymore from her, so to her, it’s just normal. But sometimes it stings to be reminded that Johnny never got to see her grow up.

“Yeah, he would have loved it,” I reply, though I’m not entirely sure if I’m telling the truth. Johnny and I had hardly been together six months by the time I found out I was pregnant with Callie. While I adored him so fiercely back then, when I was just nineteen, I have no idea if things would have worked out between us. God knows if we’d have actually stuck together through the stress of work and life and raising a baby—but I still wish he’d gotten the chance.

“Good,” she replies, sounding satisfied, and then she trips on a rock and nearly goes stumbling into a tree.

“Hey, watch your step!” I laugh as I catch her. Her eyes widen, but then she laughs, as though utterly entertained by what just happened. And as she straightens up, a small furrow appears on her forehead.

“Who lives there?”

“Where, honey?”

I stoop down to her level to get a look at where she’s pointing. Her chubby little finger is stabbing off toward the right, but I can’t see anything through the trees. As soon as I stoop at her side, I spot it—another cabin. Not unlike ours, actually, though this one looks a lot more modern, with big glass windows that look out onto the surrounding woods.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I guess they’re our new neighbors…”

“Like Mrs. Rosa?” she gasps excitedly.

I grin and nod. “Yeah, sort of.” Mrs. Rosa lives a few floors down from us back in the city, and constantly seems to have a steady supply of sweets and books ready for Callie. She’s got kids of her own, but they all live abroad, so she tells me she likes to spoil Callie instead.

“Can we meet them?” she asks, and I hesitate for a moment. The thought of letting anyone else know we’re here doesn’t sit right with me. After all, isn’t that why we came here in the first place, to put as much distance between ourselves and the rest of the world as possible…?

But I guess it’s only a matter of time before they figure out we’re here. And perhaps it’s a better call to introduce myself to them rather than wait around for them to stumble upon us—hell, if anyone lives there at all. I can easily see that being some vacation home for a rich family.

“Yeah, of course we can,” I reply. “Why don’t we make them something? Bake some cookies…?”

“Can we make a pie?” she asks, clapping her hands together. I grin. We cookedonepie together last Thanksgiving, and it’s all she’s been able to talk about since. I can still remember the way she pinched her tongue between her teeth as she did the latticework on the top. It came out slightly wobbly, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her prouder of anything in her life.

“Why not,” I agree. I guess that’s the kind of quaint shit people do out here, right? Make each other pies? I don’t know. I’ve been a city girl my whole life, and it’s not like I’m well-versed in the etiquette of Middle-of-Nowhere-Ville. “We can do it when we get back to the house, okay…?”

We spend another half hour or so wandering around the forest, but I don’t want to get too far from the house before I know this place better—I can see myself strolling off confidently into the forest and then never coming back, knowing my sense of direction. We grab the groceries where they’ve been left by the edge of the driveway, Callie helps me unpack them, and we set about making a pie.

Once the dough is chilling, she helps me prepare the filling—pulling the green bits off the strawberries so I can chop and stew them. She hums to herself as she works, like a little old lady, and her eyes narrow as she removes the stems as though it’s the most important job in the world.

Soon, the air is filled with the sweet scent of strawberries, and I send Callie upstairs to continue her unpacking. I have to admit, this is kind of nice. Of course, I’m going to need something a little more practical to do with my time in the next few weeks. As much as I love just hanging out with my daughter, I know I’ll get the itch to start writing soon. Perhaps I can get going on the next great American novel or something—or at least edit some of the essays I’ve been meaning to get around to polishing…

Callie helps me braid the dough—well, I do most of it, but she supervises—and we pop it into the oven. Or at least, I try to. I’m not entirely sure how to work this thing, and I feel as though I’m making some huge mistake as I fiddle with the knobs and do my best to get it going. I keep waiting for that flood of heat that tells me it’s in business, but it never comes. How do rich people do this, again…?

Eventually, I step back from the oven and plant my hands on my hips, staring down at it and admitting defeat. Well, that’s got to be it, right? I know this pie takes forever to cook, so I’m sure I can take a quick shower while I’m waiting…

Or wait, a bath! It’s been so long since I’ve stayed anywhere with a bath, and my heart genuinelyleapswith excitement when I remember the clawfoot tub in my ensuite bathroom. I stick my head in on Callie, who seems to be totally consumed with organizing her toys in her new bookcase, and I tell her to give me a shout if she needs anything.

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