I exhale what feels like a week’s worth of breath.
“I’m sorry,” Kane tells me. Several times.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “They were just being themselves. It’s the situation that’s messed up. But if you don’t mind—I think I might need to head back with Bernadette and hole up.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ll walk you to her, to Bernadette.”
We head to the house so I can collect my shoes. I’d kicked them off inside the front door as soon as I’d entered. Lucy and several other women are sitting in the living room, but none of the witnesses to our recent scene are there.
I look around and see only one shoe in the foyer.
“Where’s my other shoe?” I ask Kane. The shoes are one of my favorite pairs, Goodwill-acquired, handstitched, red leather Mary Janes.
“Oh, shit,” I hear from the living room. A moment later, Lucy pokes her head into the foyer. “Are you missing a shoe?” she demands, and then, without waiting for an answer, “Buck! Buck!”
“No,” Kane groans. “Buck did not eat Mari’s shoe.”
Lucy frowns. “God, I hope not. One of these days that beast is going to land himself in surgery.” She disappears out the front door. Kane and I stand in the foyer in silence, not addressing what just happened outside. The living room has mostly fallen silent, and I can’t help feeling like they’re listening to us not talking in the front hall, making of it what they will. But maybe I’m just paranoid now—getting outed will do that to you.
My thoughts are in total chaos, a jumble of impressions and feelings, all the big, loving energy of the Wilders and their misperceptions and longings.
For a minute there outside, I wanted to be what they wanted.
But even before Amanda walked around the corner of the house, I was a hot brew of sensations and emotions. And when Kane laid his hand on my belly, my thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind. It felt so good, better even than his kiss, which makes no sense because that kiss—that kiss was magic. But the belly-touching, that was different—pure and curious and comforting.
When was the last time someone touched me for a reason that wasn’t sexual?
I look up. Kane is leaning against the wall, watching me, quietly.
Lucy bursts into the foyer. She has the shoe—somewhat the worse for having caught Buck’s interest—in hand. “I’m really sorry, Mari. He’s such a menace. I usually tell people not to take off any clothes or shoes when they come in. We’ll replace it—just send me a link and I’ll take care of it.” I smile at the pleading expression on her face.
“That’s not necessary,” I respond. “None of my things are so nice that they can’t stand a little dog drool.”
“That’s very kind, really. But please send me a link.”
I don’t think she’s going to accept no for an answer, so I nod.
She turns to Kane. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell Gabe this happened,” she says.
Kane squints at her. “Um, why not?”
She crosses her arms. “He reads too much into Buck’s behavior.”
“What can you read into a dog chewing a shoe?”
Lucy just shakes her head. “It’s Gabe,” she says, and that seems to be enough for Kane, who lets it drop.
“Would you let everyone know I’m heading out, and say goodbye from me?” I ask Lucy. “I’m feeling kinda wiped out”—I gesture at my built-in excuse.
“Oh, God, yes,” Lucy says. “Don’t try to make the rounds. It’ll take all night, you’ll get sucked in again, and you’ll never get out of here. I’ll tell everyone. Thank you so much for coming—I’m so glad you did.”
“Thank you for including me,” I say. “I had a good time.”
The next thing I know, I’m folded into her hug, my belly between us, and then, just as quickly, she releases me.
Kane walks silently beside me as I head back to Bernadette. I’m comforted by his presence, even though he doesn’t say anything. When we get to the RV, he opens the driver’s side door for me and helps me up—a hand on my back. It’s another touch with no purpose but to show caring—and for some reason, I tingle like a fourth of July sparkler.
“Thank you.”
“Fingers and toes accounted for?”
I nod. “Sleep tight.” And he shuts the door.
As I drive back to Kane’s place, they’re all in my head. Hanna and her bluntness. Easton and his surprising gentleness. Amanda and her enormous heart. Lucy and her generously offered friendship. Barb Wilder and her unconditional love.
Kane and his—well, everything. Washcloth and cooing and peekaboo and disgusting diaper change and quick leap to my defense and obvious intense affection for his friends and family.
He’s such a good man. He has such a good family.
And even if the Wilders, if Rush Creek, are not what I want for myself?
They’re what I want for my baby.
I know what I need to do.