“She’s moving,” I blurted. Yeah, so I guess I couldn’t just let it go. “To Sacramento. And she’s doing it by herself.”
“Wait, who?” Kate asked in confusion.
“Morgan.”
“Morgan, Henry’s baby-mama?”
“Yeah. Don’t call her that, it’s demeaning or something.”
“It’s not demeaning,” she scoffed. “But okay. I’ll refer to her as Etta’s mother from now on.”
“Good.” Hearing Morgan referred to as Henry’s anything made me want to punch something.
“Trev, I love you, but I still have no idea why you’re calling me at midnight.”
“She’s moving all her stuff and the baby from Anaheim to Sacramento all by herself,” I explained.
“And?” she still sounded confused, but after a few seconds she made a noise of understanding. “Having a hard time not butting in?” she asked in amusement.
“She’s driving a fucking moving truck tomorrow. With a two-year-old.”
“Is she a bad driver?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Is she nervous?”
“Not at all. Overconfident, if anything,” I grumbled as I made my way through the house, turning off lights and opening windows to let in the cool night air. “She can even change a tire.”
“That’s good to know,” Kate mumbled. “So can I.”
“It’s not like you’ve ever needed to,” I replied.
“But I could if I did,” she argued. “Trev, it sounds like you’re getting all worked up about nothing. What’s your deal?”
“Nothing,” I answered defensively, “I just don’t like that she’s doing it by herself. None of you would have to do it by yourself. The boys would step in to help.”
“One of us…” her voice trailed off. “Trev, does she want our help? Because if she does, we can drive up there tomorrow after Shane gets home and help her.”
“No. She’s leaving in the morning anyway.” I sighed. “She says she doesn’t need any help.”
“Then I don’t see the issue.” There were a bunch of muffled sounds, like she was moving, then her voice came through clearer. “Are we worrying about Morgan because she’s Henry’s—Etta’s mother,” she said, switching how she referred to Morgan midsentence. “Or are we worrying because you’ve got some unresolved something going on with her that you’re not telling us about?”
“There’s no unresolved anything,” I shot back.
“Really? Because you’ve been acting weird since you got home, and you’re awfully protective of a woman that we’ve had minimal contact with.”
“And on that note, I’m done.”
“Don’t get defensive, you ass,” Kate snapped. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“Nothing, all right?” I replied, anxious to get off the phone. “She’s a nice woman, and she’s the mother of our niece. She’s family.”
“Okay,” Kate said dubiously.
“I don’t know why I called you,” I mumbled as I got ready for bed.
“Because you wanted to talk shit out,” Kate replied. “You feel any better?”
“No.”
She laughed. “Well, call me in the morning and we can talk it over some more. I need to get some sleep.”
“Fine. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Trev.”
She hung up and I tossed my phone onto the bed in frustration.
Jesus, I was a basket case. I needed to get my shit together and nip whatever shit I was feeling for Morgan in the bud. She was a non-issue. Etta was who I needed to be concerned with, not her mother. I couldn’t even list all the ways my attraction to Morgan was fucked up. It was something I needed to get a handle on fast.
I told myself all of this as I stripped down and got into bed, but as I closed my eyes, I still had a nasty feeling in my gut about Morgan driving that moving truck on the interstate all day.
Chapter 8
Morgan
I’ll call you when we get there,” I told Carmen, hugging her one last time.
The truck was loaded and Etta was strapped into her car seat. All I had left to do was go. It was harder than I thought it would be.
We hadn’t made a ton of friends in Anaheim—we’d only been there a few months—but it already felt like home. Now we had to move yet again. It sucked. When we’d left San Diego, I’d mistakenly thought I was making the right decision. Little did I know that change would eventually mean I’d be headed back to Sacramento to live with my dad.
I liked my dad. I loved him, of course, but I liked him, too. He was a good guy. Funny, mellow, took everything as it came and didn’t worry much about the future. He was a good friend to have, plain and simple, but he was a pain in the ass as a roommate. The guy never cleaned up after himself, rarely grocery shopped, and left greasy motorcycle parts all over the house. Bringing a two-year-old to live with him sounded like torture. Except I knew he’d try his best. He loved us and he doted on Etta, and if there was any way he could make our lives easier, he’d do it. He’d spoiled me and my sister rotten when he’d finally gotten us back. We’d rarely had money for extra stuff, but he’d given us whatever he could, whenever he could.
I climbed into the truck and smiled at Etta, who was kicking her feet excitedly, her thumb in her mouth and little blond wisps of hair flying in every direction.
“You ready, Freddy?” I asked, reaching over to roll up her window. God, I hoped the air conditioner in this thing worked. I really didn’t want to deal with the wind coming through the windows as we drove seventy on the freeway.
“Weddy,” she replied.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a quick photo of her and sent it off to Trevor. He’d appreciate the tired-but-thrilled look on her face. Immediately regretting the message, I tucked the phone away without waiting for a response. Trevor wasn’t my friend. I needed to stop treating him like one and tuck him into his neat little box with other unimportant people.
“We’re off like a herd of turtles,” I mumbled, the same old saying my dad would use anytime it took Miranda and me a long time to leave the house. I hadn’t even started driving yet and I was already exhausted just thinking about it. I waved at Carmen and carefully pulled on to the street, getting a feel for the truck I was driving.
I may have been overstating my confidence when I’d talked to Trevor the day before. I’d driven a moving truck before. Once. But this was the first time I was pulling a car behind me. It was nerve-racking as hell. The entire contraption was just so freaking long. I was afraid I would take a corner too sharp or something similar and hit someone.
My hands were sore and throbbing from gripping the steering wheel by the time I got on the freeway. As soon as I was in the slowest lane I felt like I could relax a little. At least on the freeway I didn’t have to make any corners or deal with any cross-traffic. I didn’t even have to switch lanes if I didn’t want to. It wasn’t like the truck could go fast anyway. The entire thing felt like it was groaning every time it switched gears.
I dreaded the moment Etta told me she was hungry or needed her diaper changed and I had to take an off-ramp in this thing. I was just hoping that by the time that happened, I was feeling far more comfortable driving the beast.
* * *
Etta made it three hours before she started fussing to get out of her seat, and by that time I was so impressed that she’d lasted such a long time that I wasn’t even frustrated or worried about how I’d exit the freeway. I pulled off at the first exit I could see with some fast-food restaurants, then very carefully parked in a lot filled with big rigs. So far so good. I was feeling pretty proud of myself.
I unbuckled Etta’s seat so she could climb out of it, then checked my phone. Normally I wasn’t such a stickler about texting and driving, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to try and check messages when I was driving this behemoth—at least that was what I’d told myself. I’d als
o been forcing myself not to check if I’d gotten a response from Trevor.
I had one message from my dad telling me to give him updates as I drove—he was stuck at work and hadn’t been able to help with the move—and four texts from Trevor. The first was a reply to the picture message I’d sent, but the others were variations of the same theme, to let him know where I was and how the drive was going. I wasn’t sure if he’d kept texting because I wasn’t replying, or if he was just that worried, so I just gave in and called him, ignoring the thrill that ran up my spine when I heard his deep voice.
“Trevor,” I said, the minute he answered. “It’s illegal to text while I’m driving.”
He laughed a little but it didn’t sound genuine. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Easy as you thought?”
“Not too bad,” I replied, gathering up the diaper bag and my purse as Etta climbed onto the seat next to me. “It was kind of hard at first, but I think I’ve got the hang of it. We just stopped for some food and a diaper change.”
“How’s Etta doing?”
“Surprisingly well. I think she’s enjoying being in the front seat and sitting so high. She’s been waving at God-knows-what all day.”
“Other drivers?”
“Uh, no.” I snorted out a laugh. “We’re sticking to the slow lane, so there’s no one on her side of the truck.”
Trevor laughed. “Probably a good idea. Takes a lot of practice to switch lanes with a rig that long.”
“That’s what she said,” I quipped, making him chuckle again. “Hey, I better get going. I need to get her cleaned up so we can get back on the road.”
“All right. Let me know when you’re on the road again?”
“Jesus, you’re a worrier, aren’t you?” I teased, not surprised, really, but a little—flattered? I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but whatever it was made my stomach flip.
“Not usually,” Trevor murmured. “Text me.”
I agreed, then said good-bye as I threw the door open and stepped down. The fast-food place I planned on grabbing our early lunch from was across the street, but it was a quick walk and it only took a few minutes before I was changing Etta in their nasty bathroom.
It probably would have been more sanitary to change her in the truck, but I refused to do it. If there was one thing my dad taught me, it was that I should always be aware of my surroundings. I wasn’t about to leave my back toward the outside as I tried to change my squirmy kid on the truck seat. That was just asking to get mugged or worse.
I’d found that truckers weren’t nearly as bad as people made them out to be; my dad had plenty of friends who took to the road to feed their families, but there were bad apples in every bunch. A woman alone and distracted by a toddler was easy pickings, and I didn’t plan on making myself a target.
“Fwies?” Etta asked as we walked into the restaurant. “Me want fwies.”
“You can totally have french fries,” I replied, glancing around the crowded room. “How about some apples, too?”
“Yoguwt,” she argued, skipping along beside me.
“Yogurt works.” I smiled and gave her hand a small squeeze. “You’re my favorite road-trip partner, you know that?”
“Know dat,” she agreed, nodding.
Half an hour later, we were pulling back on to the freeway. I didn’t text Trevor that we were on our way, choosing to pretend that I’d forgotten. It was nice to know that he cared, but I didn’t want to get into the habit of constantly checking in with him. At least that was what I told myself.
* * *
Dear God, I was tired. After an entire day on the road my ass was numb, my legs were cramping, and I had a tension headache that was quickly turning into a migraine. The only time I’d been happier to see my dad’s place was the day he’d gotten us out of foster care.
“My babies,” my dad called, coming out to greet us as I pulled to a stop. “Finally.”
“I’m not even attempting to park this thing,” I replied, throwing the truck into park and setting the brake. I opened the door and jumped down, waving him toward the driver’s seat. “She’s all yours.”
My dad chuckled, his deep voice instantly soothing me. “I’ll get her parked. Baby sleeping?”
“Yeah, thank God. She started whining about an hour ago, and I couldn’t distract her anymore.”
“Long trip,” he mused in understanding.
I stepped onto his front lawn and lifted my arms in a huge stretch as he climbed into the truck and expertly parallel-parked it along the curb. By the time he climbed down from the cab with Etta in his arms, I felt marginally better.
“You need anything outta here tonight?”
“Just the diaper bag,” I replied, walking tiredly to the passenger side to get it.
“That’s my girl,” Dad said, waiting for me on the sidewalk. “Packing light.”
I glanced at the packed truck and scoffed. “I packed a toothbrush and a spare set of clothes for Etta in the diaper bag, but I’m too tired to go searching for anything else.”
“I’ll get the boys to unload in the morning,” he said, throwing an arm over my shoulder as he led me toward the front door. “You can sleep in if ya want.”
“Beyond the fact that Etta’s going to be up at seven and bouncing off the walls, no way am I letting any of your friends unload my shit without supervising,” I replied, bumping him with my hip. “Sweet offer, though.”
“Such a priss.” He grinned and kissed my forehead. “Good to have you back, sweetheart.”
My dad had changed his sheets in preparation for our arrival, thank God, and his room was all ready for me and Etta to crash in. Our stuff would be unpacked into the spare bedroom the next day, and we’d be able to sleep in our own beds once we’d set them up, but thankfully he’d thought ahead and knew we wouldn’t both fit on the couch for the first night.
The house smelled so familiar that I smiled as I inhaled deeply. The scent was a mixture of wood, grease, and Brut aftershave that I’d always associate with my dad. I wasn’t even sure why he smelled like the Brut—he hadn’t shaved his face for as long as I’d been alive—but he must have worn it like cologne or something. That familiar scent was the first thing I remember noticing the day he’d picked me and Miranda up.
“You know where everything is,” Dad said quietly as he laid Etta down on the bed. “You want a cup of coffee, or are you ready to hit the sack?”
“Coffee,” I replied with a nod. “I’ll just get her tucked in and then I’ll be out.”
“I’ll start a pot.”
“You mean you didn’t have it waiting?” I scolded playfully.
“Wasn’t sure how tired you’d be,” he grumbled, swatting at me as he left the room.
I changed Etta and tucked her in, laughing quietly to myself as she slept right through it, then pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I didn’t have any new texts from Trevor, but I’d been texting with him throughout the day whenever we stopped. After the first stop when I’d pretended to forget to text him, I’d felt like such a jerk that I’d given in and replied to the rest of the messages he sent. Even though I tried to be irritated about his long-distance hovering, he cracked me up with his worrying and asking me to text him whenever I stopped or got on the road. I was surprised he hadn’t asked me to send him my exact location every time we’d stopped at a truck stop.
Got to my dad’s. Etta’s passed out and I’m visiting before I crawl in with her.
His response was immediate.
Glad you guys got there safe. Sleep well.
I sent a smiley face back, then left my phone on the bed when I left the room. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee. He slid one toward me as I sat down across from him.
“Let it percolate right into the cups,” he said with a grin, lifting his mug in a salute.
“God, your coffee always tastes better than mine,” I groaned after I took my first sip.
“That’s ’cause you
make it so damn weak,” he replied. “Shit tastes like water.”
“It does not.”
“Does too. Stay away from my coffeepot.”
“Fine with me.” I leaned back and kicked off my shoes, propping my feet on an empty chair. “I’m not going to complain about someone else making my coffee.”
Dad laughed. “I bet not. How you been doing, princess?”
I sighed. “Fine. Pissed I lost that job over something so stupid, but fine.”
“Ranna says Etta’s other family’s been sniffing around.” He raised his eyebrows as he sipped his coffee. “How’s that going?”
“Okay.” Damn, my whole body was sore. I set my coffee down and stretched my arms toward the ceiling. “The only one who’s been around so far is her uncle, and he’s been cool.”
“Yeah?”
“Overprotective, maybe? But nice. He’s been asking if Etta’s grandmother and grandfather can come visit, but I put them off until we’re more settled here.”
“You worried about it?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Maybe a little. They were cool when I was a kid, but I don’t really know them anymore.”
My dad knew that I’d been fostered with Henry’s parents. It was hard to keep that kind of thing a secret when I was trying to explain to him why he shouldn’t kill the absent father of my child. Dad didn’t understand what would possess a father to abandon his children—Miranda and I were the most important things in his life—but he did understand demons, and how they could ruin a person’s life and force them to make decisions that didn’t make sense to anyone else.
“Good thing for baby girl to have family,” Dad said, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Scary for you, though, I bet.”
“A little,” I conceded, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug. “Dealing with Henry was one thing; dealing with his entire family is a little bit much.”
“You’re a good mama,” Dad replied, understanding the words I wasn’t saying. “You don’t need to worry.”
“We’ll see.”
“Sometimes I could strangle your mother,” he said tiredly. “For making you and your sister’s lives so damn hard.”