Page 6 of Plight
She laughed. “No, we’re not.”
“Yeah, we are.” I stopped smiling, playing around with her a little.
She shook her head, vehemently. “I don’t believe you.”
I shrugged and stepped away, dropping the wood planks into a wheelbarrow. “Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant.”
This time, both her hands found her hips, her fingers gripping the denim hugging her skin. I fought my rising eyebrow — her elevated frustration was so cute. As a child, she’d possessed a fiery attitude, except with her mum, Jeanette. Jeanette was all she had — no siblings, no father.
“I don’t see how it is irrelevant. My not believing you is very relevant,” she stated.
I smiled. “You’re wrong.”
Danielle stared at me. Really stared. It was a defiant body language tactic I’d used in the courtroom many times, yet I was impressed with her determined eye contact dedication.
I couldn’t help it and let out a laugh. “You haven’t changed much.”
“You have!” she blurted while simultaneously scoffing.
Her cheeks blushed, like polished apples, and I wasn’t sure whether that reaction was good or not. It was hard to tell from her broken stare and awkward shifting of boot-covered feet whether she was referring to my physical change or my playful baiting, which wasn’t something I’d ever done when we were younger — I’d learned to become a smartarse during my adult years.
Before I could question her new rosy complexion, Jeanette sprung out from behind the garden shed and encased her daughter in a hug. “Good morning, Pumpkin.”
“Mum! Hi.” Danielle tried to gently struggle free. “Okay, ow… you’re kinda hurting me. And you’re covered in dirt!”
“That’s generally what happens when you do gardening, Danielle.”
I bit my lip at Jeanette’s response. From memory, she was a force to be reckoned with, a gale force that often blew poor Danielle right over.
“Very funny, Mum,” she muttered.
Jeanette released her grip and stepped back, holding her daughter at arm’s length for assessment before tutting. “You’re wasting away. And why on earth are you wearing a white jacket?”
Danielle opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, which didn’t seem to bother Jeanette because she was already dismissing any pending response by kissing Danielle on the forehead before turning to me and laughing, mockingly.
“And you wanted to marry her when you were younger?” She patted my head, as if I was a child, and that’s when I did one of the most stupid and quite possibly bravest things of my life.
I lied the truth.
“I still do,” I blurted, stepping next to Danielle and pulling her to my side. “In fact, we are already engaged.”
