We meet with the developmental pediatrician, Dr. Stein, just before the new school year begins. He brings us back while Henry plays in the waiting room—Jeremy hasn’t shown up, of course.
Lucie squeezes my hand as we follow him to his office, and I thank God I came. Life at work is a lot calmer than it was, but it’s still not calm: Caldwell was furious about my failure to show up in Hawaii, and even more furious when I told him I couldn’t move to New York. We’re back to square one, but I’ve hired someone to find us investors and promoted Mark to Chief Operations Officer. His first job as COO was to fire Kayleigh after I caught her telling Lucie off, which had apparently become a routine occurrence.
I don’t always work nine-to-five, and it was tempting to stay at the office today when Lucie assured me she’d be fine.
I came in case she needed me, and it’s pretty clear she does.
We sit together on a couch while Dr. Stein discusses Henry’s evaluation. Nothing he says is a surprise: Henry is smart as hell and a very nice kid. He’s also on the autism spectrum.
Lucie’s fingers twine with mine and squeeze tight.
“I know that’s not what any parent wants to hear—” the doctor begins, and she cuts him off.
“Henry’s exactly who he’s meant to be,” she says, though her eyes are bright, “and he’s exactly the son I want. We’re going to be fine.”
We leave the appointment with Henry between us, each of us holding a hand. She glances at her watch. “Do we have time to go to lunch before you head back to the office?” she asks.
Henry glances up, waiting for my answer.
“Why don’t we all just take the day off?” I ask, and for the first time since we entered Dr. Stein’s office, he smiles.
She was right. He’s going to be fine. We all are.
ON A KID-FREE SUNDAY A MONTH LATER, Lucie and I leave Liam at the lake house to work on renovations—I wanted to do them myself originally to prove I was a different man than my father, but part of being a different man is not wasting time that could be spent with Lucie and the kids—and I take her to look at a place down at the busier end of the lake.
It’s a new build, twice the size of my house. Lucie’s eyes are wide when we walk in, and just keep getting wider. It’s not quite the house we rented over the Fourth of July, but it’s a hell of a step up from any place either of us have lived before, with six bedrooms upstairs.
We tour every floor and then leave the agent inside while we walk onto the screened porch overlooking the lake. At the house next door, a little boy is playing alone in the backyard, building an elaborate structure out of sticks. Already, I can see the friend we both want for Henry. And the future we both want, I hope.
“Wow,” she says quietly. “This house is something else.”
I swallow. “Yeah? So you might want to live here?”
She turns toward me. “Hypothetically?”
I pull her hands into mine. “No. Not hypothetically. With me. You and the kids.”
She exhales. “It’s a big step.”
I’d hoped for slightly more enthusiasm. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I can already picture the day when we might add a kid or two to the ones we already have. I assumed that’s what she wanted too.
I tug on her hands. “What is it that you’re thinking but don’t want to say?”
She stares at the floor between us. “I feel weird discussing it.”
“Is it dirty?” I ask. “You can whisper it in my ear.”
She laughs. “No, pervert. It’s not dirty. It’s just…I don’t know. It might be a bigger step than I’m ready to make.”
“Okay,” I say, struggling to master my disappointment. “Is it too soon? Or is it something you don’t think you’ll even want to do eventually?”
“Neither one,” she says hastily, squeezing my hand. “I’m just not sure about the twins. Not everyone’s as liberal as we are. So, on the one hand, I don’t really care how it looks, but on the other, I’m worried about what kids will say to them and—”
“So you’re saying you want to get married.”
She blushes. “No. That’s exactly why I didn’t want to discuss this. Because it sounds like that’s what I’m saying and I’m not. I mean, obviously I’m not. Neither of us is even divorced yet, so—”
She’s babbling. Nervous. There’s a laugh bubbling in my chest, one I struggle to hold in. “So you’re saying you don’t want to marry me.”
She groans. “No. I’m just saying there are other things to consider and, well, I—”
“You aren’t sure you want to marry me.”
She huffs an irritated laugh. “You’re trying to annoy me, aren’t you?”
“Just answer the question. Are you not sure you want to marry me?”
“Yes,” she mumbles, looking away. “I’m sure.”
“And did you honestly think I would expect you and the kids to move in without making some kind of commitment first?”
“Well, yeah…I mean, you’re not a fan of marriage, and I get that, I really do—”
“I never said I wasn’t a fan of marriage,” I reply. I pull out my phone. “Hang on. I need to send a text.”
She frowns at me. “Right now?” And then she hears her phone chime and I glance at the text I just sent.
ICWTMY
She pulls out her phone, continuing to frown as she reads before a small smile plays around her mouth. “I can’t wait to… maul you? Muffle you?”
“Try again, Lucie.”
She smiles wider. “I have no idea. Oh, wait. Masturbate you? I don’t think that’s grammatically correct.”
“Don’t think I won’t spank you right here, even with the agent watching. You know what the ‘M’ stands for.”
“Yeah,” she says, typing into her phone. “I think I do.”
LUCIE
ICWTSY
I can’t wait to say yes.
I can’t wait til she does either.
THE END
For a preview of Beck and Kate’s book, The Summer of Buried Things, turn the page.
THE SUMMER OF BURIED THINGS
COMING JANUARY 2024
Beck’s cabin is deep in the woods, and straight out of every horror movie you've ever seen. You catch a glimpse of this house during any film—Saving Private Ryan, High School Musical—and you know someone is about to die. The seedy motel I stayed in last night last night is looking better and better.
He isn’t home yet, which isn’t a surprise. Beck rarely sleeps in his own bed. I wait on his front steps, my legs stretched in front of me, and it’s not long before I hear the roar of a motorcycle in the distance.
As wheels rumble over the gravel lane, my heart begins this weird, tripping rhythm—nerves, I suppose. I could take or leave most of Caleb’s friends, but Beck was different. I’ve thought of him a lot this past year, his image often resting behind my eyes like the screensaver on a dormant computer—the black brows that make him look like he’s glowering any time he isn't smiling, the wavy dark hair falling to his shoulders. And his eyes, that strange light brown, glimmering as if backlit by a fire.
The bike purrs to a quiet halt in front of me. Even seated, the sheer size of him is overwhelming. His arms, his chest—all the parts I’ve seen firsthand—are double the size of a normal human’s. I wonder, as always, about the parts I haven’t seen.
He pulls off the helmet and raises a brow at me as he rises. My pulse speeds up in response. There’s something dark and slightly predatory about him, like a housebroken tiger—maybe he plays along but that thing inside him is always one step removed from violence. It appeals more than it should. He’s got a beard now. That appeals too.
He tucks the helmet under his arm. “I heard you'd come back.”
God, I hate small towns. I should have known they’d all be gossiping.
“I’m about to start my period. Were they talking about that too?”