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TWENTY
WILL
With Ashton gone and Mia off for the weekend, I’m back to being a single parent and maid. There’s more to do at Marsh Point than in our old home, which means the girls don’t need as much entertainment. Unfortunately, this leaves me with too much time to think. And the subject of those thoughts is Bert. During the day, visions from our good times flash in my mind. But at night, I have vivid dreams about the accident. I was better off suppressing the memories. Instead of being less angry, I sense myself on the verge of a volcanic eruption.
The girls and I spend the afternoon on Saturday washing the boat, and on Sunday morning, we go to church. Afterward, feeling the need to be productive, I search the Internet for easy recipes. I stumble across a food blog for single dads—Sylvester’s Solo Dad’s Suppers. I appreciate the sense of humor in which Sylvester approaches single parenting. When I discover a recipe for sausage and ground beef chili, I load the girls into my truck, and we head out to the grocery store for the ingredients. The girls are playing a game on the porch outside the kitchen, and I’m attempting to dice an onion when Ashton returns home late afternoon.
She stops short inside the doorway. “I don’t believe it. You’re actually cooking?”
I look up from the cutting board. “I’m trying. I’m surprised onions actually make you cry.” I put down the knife and dab my wet eyes with a paper towel. “What’s that?” I ask, noticing the plastic jug in her hand.
“Homemade Apple Cider, fresh from Charleston’s City Market.” She places the jug in the refrigerator and comes to stand beside me at the counter. “What’re you making?”
“Chili. How did the move go? Did Sully get settled?”
“Yes! His bungalow is charming.”
I pick up the knife and return to dicing the onion. “Good thing you approve. You might be living there with him when you two get married,” I tease.
“Stop!” She smacks my arm with the back of her hand. “It’s way too soon to talk about marriage. Besides, I’m never leaving Marsh Point.”
The children burst through the back door. “Aunt Ashton! You’re back!” they say, throwing their arms around her.
Ashton strokes their hair. “Hello, girls. What’d I miss while I was gone?”
“Daddy kissed Miss Julia,” Caroline says, and begins singing, “Daddy and Miss Julia sitting in a tree —
My temper flares. “Caroline!” I spin around with knife in hand. “I warned you not to bring that up again.”
Tears fill Caroline’s eyes as she looks from the knife to me. “I’m sorry!” she cries and flees the room with Sophie on her heels.
I exchange a look with my sister. “I shouldn’t have yelled at her. But she’s been going on like that ever since she saw me kissing Julia on Friday night. It was an impulse kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”
Ashton’s hand shoots out. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I’ll go talk to her.” She grabs her overnight bag from the counter where she left it and leaves the kitchen.
I stab the wooden cutting board with the knife. What was I thinking, pointing a knife at my daughter? I need to be more careful around my children. Caroline is just a kid. She doesn’t understand why grownups might not find her childish teasing funny.
Ashton is gone for over an hour. By the time she comes back downstairs with the girls, the chili is simmering on the stove. I whisper to my sister, “Is everything okay? What took you so long?”
“Everything’s fine. The girls helped me unpack, and then we spent some time organizing their closets.” She lifts the lid and inspects the chili. “Shouldn’t this be cooking in a Crock-Pot?”
“Sylvester suggested a Crock-Pot. But I couldn’t find one.”
Ashton narrows her eyes. “Who’s Sylvester?”
I take the lid from her and return it to the pot. “Never mind. I’m giving you a Crock-Pot for Christmas.”
Ashton goes to the refrigerator. “Does anyone want apple cider?”
The girls raise their hands. “Me! Me!”
“Count me in too,” I say.
While Ashton is heating the cider, I pull my oldest daughter aside. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
“It’s okay, Daddy. I’m used to you being angry all the time.”
Guilt engulfs me. “I promise to work on that if you promise not to tell your friends at school about the kiss. I don’t think Conrad would appreciate your classmates talking about his mom like that.”
