Page 10 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“I’m just really tired from the flight,” I say. It’s a partial truth. I definitely don’t need to mention Blake. “What are you guys doing?”
“We’re just catching up! Your dad’s telling us all about his first project,” Sheri says, a little more cheerfully than usual. I think she may be slightly tipsy as she crosses the room toward us. “Teddy! You should have gone home already!”
“Yes, ma’am, but Spirit was being extra fidgety during his groom. He looks like a million bucks now,” Teddy says with a confident smile. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re low on hay and the tack wall lost another shelf. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
“What would I do without you?” Sheri says, then spins toward Dad and waves her wine at him. “Oh, Everett, this is Teddy. He’s our other stablehand, but he puts in double the effort and takes care of the entire ranch.”
“It’s no problem, ma’am,” Teddy says with a courteous nod. He looks at Dad. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Dad stands from the couch, leans over the coffee table and offers his hand to Teddy. “It’s great to have you on board. Sheri had too much on her plate trying to take care of this place all on her own, so it’s about time she got some real help around here.”
“Yeah. I enjoy it,” says Teddy, clasping Dad’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sheri. Enjoy your evening with your family.”
“Bye, Teddy!” Sheri waves and meanders back to the record player.
Teddy turns to leave and our shoulders brush. “I guess I’ll see you around, Mila,” he says. The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that makes me swallow hard, then he makes his way out of the house.
An engine roars to life outside, spluttering and crackling, and I move to the living room window and peek through the blinds. From behind Sheri’s van, a motorcycle appears. Teddy’s face is shielded by his helmet, and he zips down the dirt road, stops for a few seconds to pull out his remote for the gate, then speeds out of the ranch and out of sight.
I reel back from the window. “Teddy rides a motorcycle?”
“Yes,” Sheri says with a glance over her shoulder. She aligns the vinyl record on the player and the opening static of an old, old song begins to play. “Are you joining us, Mila? No wine for you, though!” She shakes her glass at me as she sinks into the couch next to Dad. “There’s Coke in the refrigerator. Oh, I miss being a teenager!”
I fix her with a stern look. “Aunt Sheri, are youdrunk?”
“No!” she says, but behind her, Dad mouths yes.
Popeye pats the empty spot next to him on the couch. “Mila, sweetheart, sit.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I settle down next to him and huddle in close, my head resting on his shoulder and his frail, cool hand in mine. Coming home is always worth it for these relaxing moments with Popeye.
A smile spreads across my face as the music plays around us and Dad and Sheri engage inactualconversation, which results in laughter. It’s most likely the gentle buzz from the booze putting them so at ease around each other, but it’s still a huge improvement. They both seem genuinely happy to see the other again. And Popeye. . . Popeye is just content with having me by his side while his favorite records from the early seventies play.
My cheek still resting on his shoulder, I tilt my chin up to look at him. His soft gaze focuses on Dad and Sheri, such a rare sight, his children laughing easily together in his home again, and then he glances down.
I brush my fingertips over the deep wrinkles around his brow and beneath his mouth, tracing the lines that tell a thousand stories from his lifetime. Unlike the house, Popeyedoeschange every time I see him. “I’ve missed you, Popeye,” I say.
“I’ve missed you, Mila,” he says, and kisses my forehead, leaving me feeling all warm inside.
5
It takes some convincing, but I finally persuade Popeye and Sheri to let me skip church the next morning. They aren’t too impressed but are ultimately won over when I promise to take them out for coffee afterward to cure the caffeine-withdrawal headache I have (not really). My treat, butonlyif we go to Dunkin’ Donuts. Dad chuckles at how predictable I am. And sure, I dowant an iced coffee, but I mostly just want to avoid running into Blake at church. If he’s back in town, there’s a very high chance he’ll be there, sitting up front with Mayor Avery. And I have already had enough awkward church encounters to last a lifetime.
When they return from the service, we all climb into Sheri’s van and head down to a quiet Fairview Boulevard. It’s approaching noon, but Sundays are always sleepy in this town. Most of the local trade is closed. The morning church services are finished. There’s not much to do except dine or grocery shop.
By the grimaces on Popeye and Sheri’s faces, I take it Dunkin’ isn’t their usual choice for coffee. Popeye prefers to support the local businesses owned by those he knows, and I may love this small town, but I’ll be damnedif I ever give up my Dunkin’ hazelnut iced coffees.
We find a table by the window and I head to the counter to order our drinks (and a glazed donut for Popeye, just because I catch him eyeing up the fresh batch being brought out), and then juggle a handful of coffees back to the table.
“Thank you, Mila,” Popeye says in delight as I slide the donut toward him.
“You’re welcome,” I say, and I catch Dad glancing at me with a humored smirk.
Mytreat is really just his. My allowance comes from him and Mom, after all, but still he lets me take the credit for the twenty bucks I’ve just splurged. It’s so nice to be doing something normal,reallynormal, like sitting in Dunkin’ with not only Popeye and Sheri, but Dad too. And no one is making snide remarks at one another. No one is yelling or sulking or bristling with hostility. For once, there is no tension hanging between us.
Sheri takes a gulp of her frothy latte and murmurs, “I really need this today.”
“You regret cracking open that second bottle of wine?” Dad teases, and Sheri narrows her eyes at him over the rim of her cup. Popeye and I went to bed much earlier than Dad and Sheri did, so who knows how late the two of them stayed up?
