4. Cole

4

COLE

“ C an we meet the new neighbor, Daddy?” Kyra’s hopeful wide eyes peer up at me from where she’s tucked up between the sheets.

“Nope,” I say for the hundredth time. “She’s not our new neighbor. She’ll be gone tomorrow.”

I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek. She smells like soap and crayons and I breathe deeply, savoring the little girl smell, But I linger too long and she wiggles under me and complains of my scratchy beard.

“I want to meet her.”

The girls have been fixated on the woman staying in the cabin, and I had to forbid them from going over there. She’s still a stranger, and just because Gran’s been communicating with her online doesn’t mean we know anything about Carrie.

Except she has nut-brown eyes, a full curvy figure, and her dark hair needs taming. And after I walked away from her and the mess Gran had gotten her into, my heartbeat took a long time to settle, and I noticed an ache in my loins that I’ll need to relieve later.

I’m attracted to Carrie, but who wouldn’t be? A beautiful woman turns up windswept on my property, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go along with Gran’s schemes. What was she thinking luring a young woman out here all the way from North Carolina?

“I want to show her my hip hop routine.” Olivia’s face appears over the railing of the top bunk. “She might have some tips for me.”

I raise my eyebrows at my nine-year old daughter. “Nice try.” An image pops into my head of Carrie’s too tight GnR t-shirt that hugged her plump breasts. “But I’m pretty sure Carrie does not know anything about hip hop dancing.”

Olivia’s eyes go wide. “Her name’s Carrie!” She flops back onto the bed.

“Shit,” I mutter as I run a hand through my hair. I didn’t mean to give her name away. Now she’s less of a stranger.

“Dad!” both girls say together.

“That’s a naughty word,” admonishes Kyra, my little law enforcer.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That’s only a word for adults. You girls don’t say that.”

Which isn’t a great parenting example, but I’ve learned where to focus my efforts as a single parent. Keeping the girls safe and healthy is priority number one. Growing up and not cussing, that’s way down the priority list .

“You stay away from Carrie okay.” I put on my stern voice so they know I mean it. “She’ll be gone tomorrow anyway.”

I don’t need to see Olivia to know she’s making a face in the dark.

“Goodnight girls. I love you.” I pull the door almost closed so a thin sliver of light from the hall falls onto the carpet of their room.

“I love you more,” Krya whispers.

“Not possible,” I whisper back.

As I pad down the hallway, I catch Kyra’s faint whisper. “Yes possible.”

I’m smiling to myself as I head to the kitchen to finish the washing up.

I take each dish out of the dishwasher and re-rinse it before returning it to its slot. It was Kyra’s night to stack the dishwasher, and she hasn’t got the rinsing part down yet.

It takes twenty minutes to clear the kitchen, which is about time to be sure the girls are asleep and they’re not going to get out of bed and come padding out like they sometimes still do.

I grab a beer from the fridge and head to the small room next to the kitchen that I’ve turned into an office. My desk faces the window, and I fire up the laptop.

The coaster is buried under a stack of paperwork which I plan to work through tonight. Bills and kids party invitations and flyers for fundraisers for the dance school where Olivia goes and the soccer club where Kyra has just joined a team. They couldn’t be more different, my girls. Olivia just wants to dance, and Kyra wants to try every sport going on.

I grab the stack of paper, and the top sheet is a birthday invite for a friend of Olivia’s. I’ve been holding off on replying because they’re going to a nail bar to get their nails done. She’s nine years old, and a nine-year-old girl doesn’t need to get her nails painted at a nail bar.

I put the stack of papers behind my laptop and my hand catches on a dusty photo frame, sending it tipping over onto the desk and sending a puff of dust motes into the air.

I pick up the frame and am met with the smiling eyes of Mel. She’s got Olivia on one hip while Kyra sleeps in the baby carrier around her waist. My big smiling head fills up too much of the frame as I angled my phone to try to get us all in without a selfie stick.

It’s taken on the Mid Peak Trail when we walked to the waterfall. Not that you can see the waterfall because our smiling faces fill the screen.

I brush my thumb over the glass cover, removing a layer of dust. I really must get in here and give the place a good cleaning.

But keeping my office clean is down that priority list too. Any single parent has to compromise about what’s important and decide where they’re going to spend their time, and I made my choice long ago. Cooking healthy meals for the girls every night? Priority. Keeping a clean office? Not a priority.

“Sorry Mel. Didn’t mean to let you get dusty.”

It’s one of the only photos we have of the four of us together. Time was always too short when I was back on military leave. If I’d known just how short it was, I would have quit the military then and there.

Mel would have known what to do about the birthday party. She probably would have let Olivia go, said there was no harm in it. But first it’s nail polish, then it’s makeup, and she is far too young for all that.

No makeup till she’s sixteen, that’s going to be the rule. Or maybe it should be eighteen. No makeup till she’s eighteen. And she won’t date till that age either.

The thought of my little girl dating makes my chest constrict, and I take a deep breath and put the photo down.

I’ll never admit this to Gran, but parenting on your own is hard. Not just the day to day caring for your children, but the decisions you have to make on your own.

I look at Mel’s smiling face, hoping for an answer.

For a long time, I couldn’t even look at this photo, I was so torn up with grief over the way Mel left us, her vibrant life cut short too soon. But now it’s like looking at an old friend. A friend I wish could cut through time and space to give me advice.

But Mel stays smiling and silent.

I rub the dust off the frame with my t-shirt and put the photo to the side. It’s a nice reminder for the girls of their mom, and it shouldn’t be hidden away in here. I’ll put it out in the family room where they can see it. And where I run a duster around every once in a while. Or Gran does, is more accurate.

My old laptop whines to life, and I open my email like I do every night to check if there’s anything from the school or dance school or one of the numerous sports clubs Kyra belongs to.

But aside from someone trying to sell me New Carpets at a Discount Price! there’s only one email.

It’s from Sam, an old military buddy of mine who I haven’t heard from in a while. He lives on Maple Mountain in Oregon and runs a veterans retreat in the mountains. He asks if I’ll come speak to the guests about transitioning to the civilian workforce and using my military skills as a helicopter pilot.

He also wants me to give a talk about parenting after loss, which he reckons might help some of the men and women at the center.

There’s a lot of help from the VA, but not all veterans like to ask. What he’s got going on is another way to offer a place for recovery and adjusting to civilian life. It’s a great cause, and it’s an easy yes for me.

I send a quick message back saying I’d love to, but I’ll need to check the dates and arrange childcare.

I’m annoyed with Gran for the latest stunt she pulled, but I’d be lost without her help with the girls, although she’s not getting any younger. I don’t want to leave them for more than two nights, so it’ll have to be a quick visit to Sam’s center.

I’m emailing him back when the sounds of Taylor Swift’s latest hit reaches my ears. I glance up, and from my office window I look straight out across the yard to the Sunrise Cabin, as Gran so grandly named the tiny guest cabin .

The lights are blazing in the kitchen window, and Carrie stands in front of where the kitchen sink is. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail, and I can’t see the details from here but I’m sure her mouth is moving, singing along to Taylor.

Which any dad of a nine-year old knows very well.

I like to keep my office dark with an orange table lamp and the glow from the laptop screen the only light, so even if she looked up, she wouldn’t see me.

I watch her for a while. Her shoulders bop up and down and her torso moves. I imagine her with her hands in the sink, shuffling along to the music. She smiles as she sings, and I wonder what she’s got to be so damn happy about.

She came here on a fool’s errand hoping to meet a man and instead meet a seventy-four year old meddling granny. Her car’s broken down and she’s stranded on the side of the mountain with a self-confessed grump and an old woman who’s got too much time on her hands.

If that were me, I’d be drowning my sorrows slumped in front of the TV, waiting to get the hell out of here.

But this woman who’s been deceived, had her time wasted and no doubt her money, is happy.

I watch her put the last bowl in the dish rack and do a twirl as she spins to wipe her hands on a dish cloth. Her hips sway with the music in a hypnotic way.

My dick twitches, reminding me just how long it’s been since I’ve been with a woman. It’s difficult to get out for some fun when you’ve got two little girls to look after. And with Gran throwing every woman in town in my path, I’ve been reluctant to start up anything casual with a local girl in case they think it’s going to lead to something more serious.

Which means me and my hand are well acquainted. And the way Carrie’s swinging her hips and smiling like there’s nothing wrong in the world has my fingers twitching to find a release.

But I’ve got a stack of admin to get done before I can have my date with my right palm.

I stand up and shut the window abruptly, cutting off the strains of Taylor. The silence of my office sends a cool shiver down my back despite the warm night.

The kids love listening to music, but I forget to put it on when it’s just me. I can’t remember the last time I listened to something of my own choosing. Seeing Carrie in a Guns n’ Roses t-shirt reminded me of when I saw them back in the early 2000s. Carrie probably was a baby then; I mean, how old is she even? Gran said she was a nurse, but she can’t have been on the job long.

I reach for the blinds and am about to pull them closed when something makes me hesitate. I stare out at Carrie. She’s in full swing now, twirling a dishcloth above her head. Her mouth moves, and even thought I can’t hear her, I know she’s belting out the lyrics.

I take my hand off the blinds without lowering them.

Carrie’s vibrant, full of youthful energy. I can feel it radiating across the lawn. I’m not going to sit here like a creep and watch her all night. But while I’m in my office, I may as well keep the blinds up. It’s like having the TV going in the background. Carrie dancing and singing in her cabin across the yard is comforting. It makes me feel warm inside, and there’s not a lot of things besides my girls that do that these days.

The blinds stay up, and I take a seat at my laptop. I pick up the invitation to the nail parlor birthday party and email the mom organizing it to say no, Olivia won’t be attending.

I don’t give a reason why; I don’t have to. Just because every other parent lets their kids do a thing doesn’t mean I have to.

Giving a nine-year old girl the belief that her appearance is the most important thing is not what I want to encourage in my girls. I want them to be fierce and strong and confident. I want them to be so goddamn happy they sing and dance in the kitchen of a stranger’s cabin.