Page 86 of Wild Eyes
I take a few steps, just to be sure Emmy and Ollie are far enough ahead to be out of earshot. “I know it’s one of your favorite pastimes, but quit staring at my ass, fancy face. Put your bitchy bird away. Let’s go.”
“Are you flirting with me?” Her voice is all music and amusement.
I grin at the water and don’t turn back when I say, “Absolutely.”
“You screamed.” Emmy jabs her fork at Skylar, and I wince. Her enthusiasm is borderline violent sometimes.
Skylar rolls her eyes from where she’s seated across from me. From where they areallseated across from me.
Both kids wanted to sit beside her at dinner, so their three chairs are wedged in tight on one side of the table. Leaving me alone on the other.
I feel like I’m at the world’s most ridiculous interrogation.
“I did not scream.”
“Yeah,” Ollie adds, rushing to Skylar’s defense. She turns a conspiratorial smile his way, but a little too soon. “It was more like a squeal.”
Her mouth pops open, and I watch my shy son grin up at her.
“I did notsqueal. Pigs squeal. I was just surprised by the fish flopping everywhere.”
The truth is that she was so startled by it, I thought she was going to dive out of the boat to get away from it.
Emmy laughs. “You almost tipped the whole canoe. And that thing never tips.”
I cough into a fist, pretending that it’s food down the wrong tube rather than laughter. Because if Emmy only knew.
Skylar presses her lips together and gives me a scolding look. As though the kids are going to magically guess that she and I did, in fact, tip it while dry humping the hell out of each other.
“Well, thank you for humoring me and putting it back,” Skylar says while taking a bite of her barbecue chicken.
Now it’s Emmy’s turn to roll her eyes. Skylar didn’t want to kill the fish—in fact, she looked downright devastated over the prospect.
I’m not sure where she thinks her food comes from, but then again, this is a woman who brought her purse fishing with us as though she could use her black Amex out on the water.
Emmy pats Skylar’s arm and smiles up at her, like she’s the adult placating the child. “It’s okay. I forgive you. You’ll get used to it eventually. Before you know it, you’ll be reaching for the bat and putting those sorry suckers out of their misery yourself.”
My daughter goes back to eating as if she didn’t just speak words like a grizzled old fisherman, implying that Skylar will be around to go fishing with us all the time.
I scrub at my stubble, shaking my head.
Emmy is a wild child, but instead of being horrified by her bluntness, Skylar’s expression is full of endearment. “Never change, Emmy,” she says, looking my daughter in the eyes. “Never, not for anyone.”
Emmy’s head tilts as she stares back at her, but then she nods. Something passes between them. Some sort of understanding. Some sort of promise.
Watching them together makes my heart pump faster, my chest puff up with pride.
With longing.
“Your clothes are here, Skylar,” Ollie tosses out, making both of us freeze.
“Oh…thanks,” she replies, attempting to act casual as she spears a watermelon ball into her mouth.
Emmy mimics Skylar and, daintily forks a melon ball and then proceeds to talk with an open mouth as she chews. “Why are your clothes here?”
“Because I wanted to do some laundry, and your dad said I didn’t need to go to the laundrom?—”
“Because Skylar stayed at the house while you guys were away,” I blurt out. Never been big on sugarcoating shit for my kids, so why start now? I didn’t break any laws by letting her stay in the guest room.
