Page 42 of Carry Me Home
“This is great. You have a really nice home,” Jack said, and I could see the question in his eyes.
How did a single mom afford a three-bedroom house with a backyard view of the mountains on bartender tips?
He probably assumed my parents paid the mortgage. But he would be wrong.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll leave you to settle in and unpack while I make lunch. Grilled cheese and tomato soup okay?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
I eyeballed him, feeling unsure. How much did a man his size eat? If I got half a sandwich and three bites of soup into Maya, I considered that a win. I had the feeling Jack required a little more sustenance. “Like…one sandwich? Two?”
He laughed. “One is fine. I ate a big breakfast.” He swung a suitcase onto the bed and flipped it open. He glanced up and found me still watching him. “Don’t worry, Ace. I’m an adult. I know how to feed myself.”
For some reason, I found that hilarious. Maybe because so many of the adult men I had known had no idea how to feed themselves. I doubted my father even knew where the pantry or refrigerator were—although that was partly because they looked exactly like every other cabinet in the kitchen—and it was a safe bet he’d need a map to find the grocery store, too.
“Okay. Are you going to help me, Maya?” I asked.
“No, thank you.” She clambered onto the bed and sat cross-legged, her wide gaze glued to Jack like he was a fascinating new species of amphibian.
I lingered in the doorway. Maybe I should insist she come with me. Maybe Jack didn’t want company while he got settled in. He rolled his eyes at me and flicked his wrist in a shooing motion. I got the message and headed for the kitchen.
The last thing I heard was Jack say, “If you tell me your favorite frog, I’ll tell you mine.”
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Maya was going tolovehim.
I saton the porch swing with an iced tea and a deliciously smutty romance book Hannah had recommended to me, listening to my favorite sound in the world: Maya’s happy voice. It was slightly higher pitched than her usual tone, and the cadence was faster. When she wasreallyhappy, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. Jack seemed to be holding his own, though, and I had to admit his deeper baritone still made me a little giddy.
Maya had insisted on taking Jack all over the yard after lunch. She showed him her favorite rock and the tree she liked to climb. He had seemed a little surprised at that, but in most ways Maya was a regular kid who liked to do regular kid stuff, even if some of that kid stuff was kind of a struggle for her. She saw a physical therapist twice a month for low muscle tone, and that helped. I made a mental note to mention that to Jack later.
There was so much he didn’t know. Autism had been a part of our lives for so long that it was second nature now—even before her diagnosis, Maya had been Maya—and I didn’t know how to adequately prepare him. It was trial by fire.
Maybe that should have terrified me, but honestly? It didn’t. Jack didn’t know how to fail. Whatever this summer threw at him, he’d roll with it. I knew there would be rough moments, but hell. Maya had had plenty of rough moments with me. We’d survived. So would Jack.
So far, so good.
Jack had picked Maya up from school every day this week after Essie pitched in on Monday. On Tuesday he took her for pie, but the rest of the days he’d brought her straight to the Painted Cat because I didn’t want her to get used to having pie every day. They’d do a puzzle or read books. I took today off from work to get Jack moved in, and we still had another week before school let out. It was a good buffer before Jack became Maya’s full-time manny. A low-stakes way for them to get comfortable with each other.
Part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I felt like I was actually getting away with something. Like I had misbehaved and been rewarded with chocolate cake instead of punished with a spanking. Which was stupid because I hadn’t misbehaved—that would have been Todd and his roaming hand—and I sure as hell hadn’t done anything I should apologize floor.
Other than defiling my parents’ marble foyer, anyway. Which I wasn’t one bit sorry about.
“Will you push me?” Maya asked, and I looked up.
They were standing by the huge old oak tree that had probably been a sapling when the first gold miners had come through Aspen Springs. A couple summers ago, I had tied a tire swing to a sturdy branch. Maya loved that thing. She could go for hours if no one stopped her. It was almost like meditation for her. I pushed to my feet to warn him, but then I sat back down again. He’d figure it out.
“Sure,” Jack said, and she climbed on, sticking her legs through the middle and holding the rope just above the tire. He gave her a gentle push to start.
“I don’t have a dad,” Maya said, like that was a totally normal conversation opener, and I jumped to my feet again, sending the swing flying behind me. “Essie said you don’t, either.”
The swing hit me behind the knees and I fell back onto it with a heavy thunk. Jack slid his sunglasses a fraction down his nose to peer at me over the rims, noted I was unharmed, and turned back to Maya.
“I have a dad,” Jack said. “Not a great one, though. He doesn’t come around a lot.”
“Does that hurt your feelings?” she asked.
Kids really did just say whatever dang thought crossed their mind.
