We were standing in our living room and Joe was giving us a lesson on the intricacies of our security system and apparently the girls had picked it up quickly.
It wasn’t rocket science but it also wasn’t pressing four numbers into a keypad either. We all had remotes that controlled the system which we could use in the house and others which we kept in our cars. We also had more than sensors at the windows and doors but also electric eyes pointing at all sorts of angles all over the house. And there were camera feeds that fed into the computer on the desk in the study where, if we thought someone was out there, we could flip through a bunch of cameras that were pointed in a variety of directions outside the house so we could see all the sides of our house. We could even switch these cameras to night vision if it was dark. Last, we had panic buttons on the remotes, the new keypads by all the doors, in each of our rooms by our beds and little ones to carry in our purses that did double duty since they had GPS so Joe or Colt could lock in on us (or our purses) everywhere we went.
No joke.
Electric eyes, night vision, panic buttons and GPS tracking.
My crackerbox house had a system that I was sure rivaled Buckingham Palace and my girls and I had security that would make the Queen feel comfy. I figured her guards were no slouches but she’d take one look at Colt and Joe and say, “You’re hired.” Therefore for the first time in a very long time, I felt somewhat safe.
“Mom, you should make Joe your pork chops to say thanks,” Keira told me and my mind went from the Queen of England and my novel feeling of being safe to my nutty daughter who was looking at Joe and telling him, “Mom’s pork chops are the bomb. Way better than her cupcakes.”
“Keirry, Mom’s chocolate chunk cupcakes are so better than her pork chops,” Kate put forward her opinion and looked at Joe. “It’s the frosting.”
Joe looked at me on the word “frosting” and my stomach hollowed out which made me miss it when it tied into a knot. That hollow feeling was much worse. I’d had it since he ended things. It came usually at night when my mind turned to Joe and all he’d done to me, all I’d done to him, how much I liked it and therefore my mind didn’t turn away. In the end, I’d have to reach for my vibrator which was so not as good as Joe it was not funny. I didn’t like that hollow feeling when I was alone in my bed in the dark. I sure as hell didn’t need it standing in my living room with my girls and Joe.
“You only say that because you like her seafood risotto,” Keira said to Kate and then to Joe she said, “The risotto is all right but the pork chops rock.”
“Joe should pick,” Kate decided.
“How about we let Joe go home and rest?” I suggested. “He’s been workin’ on the house a long time, he probably could use putting his feet up.”
“Yeah, you can come tomorrow,” Keira told Joe. “Mom usually makes her good stuff on Sunday. The garden center closes early on Sundays so she’s got time.”
“Can Dane come too?” Kate put in and I sighed, wondering if I should call Dane’s parents and ask for partial child support since he was over eating our food so much and, while doing it, eating so freaking much of our food. My girls were healthy eaters but the way Dane ate I was glad I didn’t have boys.
“Dane can come,” I said to Kate, she smiled big and turned toward her room.
“I’ll call him now,” she announced while moving, desperate to talk to him even though Dane had left only twenty minutes ago. Waving at Joe, she called, “Thanks Joe,” then she disappeared down the hall.
Keira looked from Joe to me to Joe and I knew that little, devious head of hers was working. I also knew I was going to have to do something about it I just had no clue what.
“I’m gonna go listen to music, not,” she assured Joe, “The Buckley Boys. I’m over them.”
“Good call,” Joe said to her and my eyes narrowed on his mouth because I could swear it was twitching.
Keira leaned in and patted Joe’s arm and I felt my eyes un-narrow because they rolled. Only Keira would have the guts to pat scary, sinister, rugged, huge Joe Callahan on the arm. Marine drill sergeants probably cowered when he walked into a room. Not Keira, no. She patted him on the arm like he was her puppy.
“You’re cool, Joe,” she told him, her voice weighty, as if she was bestowing a grave honor on him even though a blind person could sense his utter coolness.
Joe didn’t answer but Keira didn’t seem to mind. She turned and disappeared down the hall. Seconds later we heard music, another crap boy band whose music, if there was any justice in the world, would be outlawed.
“Your girl’s got shit taste in music, buddy,” Joe noted and my eyes went to him.