Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

honey.” Lena patted Delia on the hand. “We can’t always find out what someone else has in their mind. We’re allowed to have our own private thoughts, those we don’t have to share with anyone if we don’t want to. And these,” Lena held up the dry leaf and crumbled it between her fingers, “need to stay out of your sister’s hands. I might need help with that!”

Delia frowned, a huge scowl that this time made me laugh out loud, and crossed her arms over her chest. I folded my arms over my chest and crouched in front of her, making sure she saw me, and then grabbed her little belly, tickling her until she begged for mercy. Lexie howled and hopped up next to Lena while Charlie just stood there, looking shell-shocked after opening his eyes.

When Delia had had enough, I addressed Charlie. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking,” Charlie said.

I laughed. “Well you can do that better out in the backyard. Want to go play ball?”

“Soccer or baseball?” Charlie cocked his head and raised one eyebrow, an action not in my repertoire.

“Your pick. What do you say?”

He nodded his head. “Give me a minute to find the soccer ball, okay?” Then he glanced at Lexie and Delia and leaned in toward their small faces. “You will never know what I have inside here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “It’s all mine. Got it?”

The girls’ eyes widened, and Delia’s lower lip trembled until a bright smile broke across Charlie’s face. “Gotcha!” he said before backing away and pulling open the front door. “Meet you near the shed, Dad.”

Lena spoke quietly to the girls as I walked down the steps leading to the side yard, my back to them. “Let me tell you a thing or two about boys...”

By the time I reached the backyard, Charlie had found the soccer ball and set up a small net for us to use. He’d shown promise on the pitch, and as of now, Charlie aspired to play soccer even in college. Time would tell whether that goal would pan out, but if he put his mind to it, he’d reach his goal. Envy—at his youth, his optimism—filled me at times like these.

“So, what’s on your mind?” I kicked the ball his way.

He stopped it easily with his foot. “Nothing...really.”

“It’s not nothing. It was enough to be rude to your sister. I’d have done that to my sister, but you...you don’t normally do that sort of thing.”

He sighed and returned the ball. “Yeah. I was just trying to figure something out.”

“Well, can I help?”

“I’m not sure.” A swift kick sent the ball to Charlie’s right, but he lunged, connected with his left foot, and launched the ball over my head. It landed in a pile of dead hydrangeas behind me.

“Then at least try me.”

Charlie hustled to grab the ball from the plants and looked at me. “When we were first on the porch, when you were sitting on the swing with Lena and Delia, I saw what was going on inside the house. And Mom was in the kitchen with someone.”

“And?”

“And it was that guy Mom sometimes talks about...the one we met at the arboretum. And I guess I just wondered what he was doing here.”

A guy? A thump ticked at the back of my eyes. Was Sadie seeing someone? Charlie wouldn’t meet my gaze. I took a few steps closer to him. “What guy?”

“Mr. MacKinnon.”

The thump swelled into anger simmering in my chest. “Mr. MacKinnon? You’ve met Andrew?”

Charlie swallowed and kicked his foot back and forth, ball secured to his hip with one hand. “Oh. Yeah. I just told you. Mom knows him. And we’ve spent a little time together. His kids are fun. He has two...”

Any further words receded into the background as a rush of heat spread throughout my body. My fingernails dug into my palms, and the need to move—anywhere but my current location—swamped me.

“Where did he go, Charlie! Which way did he go?” I gripped Charlie by the shoulder, shaking him with each word.

“No idea, Dad! I saw him walk—”

Before I did or said anything else to scare Charlie, I let go and stormed out of the yard in the direction he pointed. The Walloon Lake area was too big to investigate on foot, but I knew Andrew’s car. If he was staying on one of the surrounding smaller streets near us, I’d find him. But as the minutes passed with nothing to show for my search, my mind drifted to Doc and her calming techniques. Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three. Again. Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three. The chill in the air rolling in off the lake stung my nose, much like the dust in Afghanistan. I had to keep myself from going back there...

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Charlie: Please come home. I’m sorry.

Thank you. I’ll be right back. Charlie didn’t mean to, but he’d just helped keep me here, in the now. And he hadn’t done anything wrong. Even though I wanted to get answers to my questions—what was Andrew doing here, how did Sadie and Andrew know one another, and did he know Sadie and I had a connection? They’d have to wait.

Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three.

.    .    .    .    .

Charlie was waiting for me on the side stoop when I arrived, shoulders slumped, gaze directed at the ground. As I approached, he lifted his head.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For making you angry.”

I sat next to him on the cool concrete, lining my thigh up against his. A few more deep breaths, and I’d be fine. “Did you think what you were going to say would make me angry?”

“No.”

“Then how is it your fault?”

“It just is.”

I turned toward Charlie. “I’m not the best Dad all the time. I get angry too quickly, and I’m trying to work through my anger—” Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three.

“I know you are, Dad.” Charlie laid