Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

liked Mackenzie—a lot—he didn’t know what to do with her. He wasn’t ready for girls. His stomach felt like there was too much carbonation in it, like he’d eaten one too many hot dogs with too many chips and dip.

“No, he’s not my uncle.” Mackenzie’s voice grew whisper soft and he almost couldn’t hear her. “He’s my daddy.”

Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “He’s what?”

She looked at him, her eyes sad. “If I say it again, promise me you won’t tell anyone? I swear to God, Jason…I don’t know why, but I have to tell somebody in this town or I’m going to go crazy.” It almost seemed as if she was crying, but no tears fell down her pink cheeks. “I don’t have anybody here to talk to….”

“You got me,” he said, then before he chickened out, he took her hand. Just for a second, just a light squeeze. To his horror, he found his palms were damp with sweat, his throat tight.

She blinked, one tear slipping free, and his reaction was one he would never have imagined. He wanted to touch that single tear with the tip of his finger and wipe it away.

“He’s my daddy.”

“Drew Tolman?”

“Yes. He never believed my momma when she told him I was his daughter. But now he’s sorry, so he wants to be my friend.”

Having his dad walk out on him, Jason was all too familiar with what it felt like not to have a dad in his daily life.

“What a shit,” he blurted, gazing around the beach and trying to spot Drew.

“Don’t,” Mackenzie hushed. “Keep your voice down. Don’t make me feel bad for telling you.”

“I guess I’m pissed for you because my dad walked out on me and my brother to live with his girlfriend in Meh-he-co.”

“Is that in Idaho somewhere?”

In spite of his anger, Jason smiled, his heart warming. He did like Mackenzie’s innocent questions. They made him feel funny. His skin grew hot. “No. Mexico, like south of the border. He forgets we’re even around.”

“I’m sorry for ya’ll.”

“I’m sorry for you,” he replied. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you like him?”

Her pretty face grew thoughtful. “I’m trying not to. But there are times when he says something to me and I know he’s real sorry for everything—even though he hasn’t said it.” She toyed with the white string of her sweatshirt hood, absently tugging down one side, then the other, her lips pursed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.”

Journal of Mackenzie Taylor

We walk through this big house and we don’t talk to each other. We do, but we don’t. It’s always polite.

“Do you want orange juice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Do you want to go out on the lake today?”

“I’d like to.”

“Want to ride the four-wheelers?”

“Do you?”

“If you do.”

“Okay.”

I don’t know how to talk to Drew. He’s not acting normal. He’s too nice, too pleasing. He doesn’t show happiness or anger. Just neutral, like he’s not sure who he is around me.

The other day, he let me drive the Hummer to Opal’s for our breakfast and when I ran up the curb and accidentally into the pole and cracked the front headlight glass, he didn’t even yell at me.

Aunt Lynette would have taken off my hide. I wasn’t paying attention. There was the cutest dog being walked by Jason’s little brother and I turned my head to see it. The tiny thing looked like a pug-dog and beagle mix.

But no, Drew didn’t yell at me.

I wish he would have.

If we don’t start yelling at each other soon, we’re going to go stark, raving mad in this house.

I called Aunt Lynette and told her that I’m not sure I can last for the whole summer. She’s okay with me coming home whenever I want.

I don’t know if I really do.

Part of me wants to stay and get this over with. For seventeen years, I’ve been missing my daddy, but I haven’t wanted to admit that to myself.

Maybe deep down, I knew I didn’t belong to Bobby Wilder. When I found out he wasn’t my real dad, I had momma change my last name to hers.

When I look at Drew, I see myself and it scares me. Sometimes he calls me “sugar.” That’s what my momma called me and he knows that was her word. Whenever he says it, I think of her. And now whenever I hear it, I’m going to think of him.

The other day, he let me hit baseballs in his batting cage, and he watched me slam them. He said I had a real nice swing.

That made me happy.

Now why can’t I always be happy around him? I think maybe I’m just waiting for him to say he’s done with me and he’ll send me home.

Maybe I should leave before he leaves me.

Again.

Twenty-Two

Lucy had two clients to cook for in one day—something that didn’t happen often and, when it did, made for a very long day. But she wasn’t complaining. Business had been slowly picking up. She now had six full-time clients.

She started in the morning at the Waterhouses’, spent three hours there, and now she was finishing at Drew’s. The house had been quiet up until thirty minutes ago, when Mackenzie had come home and gone into her room to listen to music.

When Lucy worked on food preparation, she didn’t socialize with the family. Generally, she was in the home alone while everyone was either at work or school. That’s why she had the homeowner’s keys, got familiar with the pets so they didn’t snap or claw at her, and even knew the gardeners and other service people who happened to be working on the property.

In a way, working for people made Lucy feel she had extended family, and she felt more and more at home in Timberline.

The Waterhouses had two adorable schnauzers and she’d been given permission to give them dog treats. The Dickensons’ large Persian cat liked to curl up on the bar