Reserved (16 page)

Travis didn’t get home that night until almost one, but he was on such a high, he didn’t care. The tasting had gone well, they were busy until closing, and when Makenna had swung back around six because she forgot to leave a check for the new after-hours cleaning service they’d hired, Paige had run back into the kitchen and handed him her lunch box herself. She hadn’t had time for a note, so she looked up at him and said, “Surprise me,” and pulled him down so she could kiss him on the cheek.

“What’d Sierra bring today?”

“Bacon and bread and tomatoes. It was brown like from the toaster.”

“BLT?”

Paige nodded. “That’s it.”

Travis rolled his eyes dramatically. “Any amateur can do a BLT.”

Paige giggled and then Makenna’s voice called her to come up front. Her eyes widened and she waved as she ran off.

He’d stayed late after closing and made her a club sandwich with toothpicks through each piece, topped with tiny little pickles. He also made a quick potato salad from the leftover fingerlings that were part of the pork special. The lunch box was packed and in the walk-in. He’d pull it out right before they came through tomorrow morning and watch that sense of relief fill Makenna’s eyes. One less thing for her to worry about. Shit, maybe Logan was right and he was caring for her through her daughter’s lunch box. That was screwed up, but as Travis unlocked his front door and threw his bag in the entryway, he didn’t care.

Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, he plopped his tired ass down on his leather couch and turned on
The Walking Dead
he’d DVRd last week. After a few sips, he felt a second wind coming on so he opened the Vietnamese food he’d grabbed on the way home. He took a few bites and a smile spread across his face.

The McNulty clan was probably already back in San Francisco where they belonged, and Makenna Rye definitely liked him. Life was good. Of course, he still had to figure out what to do about his feelings, which were quickly moving past like, but for right now, he was good. Happy even.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hen Adam died, he left Kenna and his daughter rather well-off by most standards. Adam Joseph Conroy was the oldest son of the Rhode Island Conroys. His father was a “bigwig,” as Adam had described him once, with MetLife. His parents were part of the pastel-wearing country club set, but they were good people. Probably similar to Logan’s fiancée’s parents, the senator and Mrs. Malendar, but with nowhere near the media coverage.

Makenna liked her in-laws even though they were not thrilled when their son chose UCLA and graduated with an engineering degree. On the few visits the Conroys made while she and Adam were in college, Kenna always got the feeling they wanted their son to follow in the family business. When he asked Makenna to marry him during the end of their junior year at UCLA, his parents flew out and took them to dinner. They were warm and welcoming, and Kenna could see they were hoping Adam would move with his new wife back to Rhode Island. His mother wanted a big wedding, but they ran off to Vegas on a whim one weekend. Adam was big into whims. After his parents recovered from the disappointment, Adam told them over Thanksgiving back at their family compound that he wanted to be a boat builder-designer and he had taken an internship with Frank Green’s prestigious design company, starting at the bottom. His father was visibly displeased, but it was short-lived because less than a year later, Kenna was pregnant and all was forgiven. The Conroys were doting grandparents and even stayed a few nights on the farm getting to know the crazy men in Makenna’s life. Things were zooming along, and then Adam was gone.

Every time she pulled up to St. Christopher’s, she was reminded of the money. Stone buildings and plaid skirts weren’t exactly her scene, nor had they been Adam’s, but when he left her all that money, she thought Paige should have the best school and St. Christopher’s was the best. So there she was in the parking lot, putting a mint in her mouth and preparing to meet with Mrs. Moritz, Paige’s kindergarten teacher. She’d called early that morning while Kenna was still at the farm and wanted to “chat.” It wasn’t “anything urgent,” she had said, but she wanted to talk to Makenna in person. Kenna knew from growing up with her brothers that teachers didn’t call parents in to talk face-to-face unless something was wrong. She looked at the clock on her phone and, with only a couple of minutes left before her meeting with Mrs. Mortiz, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and got out of her car. As she walked the long brick entryway to the school, she tried not to notice that despite her best efforts with the baby wipes, her clogs were still smeared with mud.

Makenna stopped by the front office and was given her visitor’s badge. Letting out a slow breath, she willed herself into a less-frazzled mommy as she walked to building B and down the hall to room 210. The door was open and Mrs. Moritz was at her desk. Kenna knocked lightly on the doorframe, and the teacher’s bespectacled eyes met hers.

“Mrs. Conroy.” The petite woman, wearing a cardigan the color of Easter eggs, stood up from her desk.

“Please, call me Makenna.” She walked forward, extending her hand.

“Well, thank you for coming in. I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you to leave work.” Mrs. Moritz gave Kenna a look she’d become quite used to. It was a popular look at St. Christopher’s once anyone realized Paige’s mom was a “working” mom. Kenna found this odd since most of the teachers or administrators giving her the oh-poor-dear-juggling-all-of-that look were, in fact, working mothers themselves. Kenna guessed it was because most of the students’ moms didn’t have jobs outside their homes. Working dad, stay-at-home mom seemed to be the standard at St. Christopher’s Private School.

“No, it was no trouble at all.”

Mrs. Moritz’s small, pink-lipsticked mouth curved. “Here, let’s sit.” She gestured to a small round table with kindergarten-size chairs. They sat, and Paige’s teacher rested her folded hands on the brown linoleum table. She looked a bit like an overgrown student. Kenna felt like she did when she sat down with Paige and her animals for a tea party, but this probably wouldn’t be as much fun. No Doritos.

“Well, first I want to say that I just love little Paige.” A rehearsed laugh followed, and Makenna found herself wondering if Mrs. Moritz spoke to everyone in her life like a kindergartner
. That would be super annoying
, she thought and then realized she needed to respond.

“Thank you. She loves your class.”

“She’s so . . . creative and beyond her years, if you know what I mean.”

Oh boy, here we go.

“I’m not sure I do, Mrs. Moritz.” Kenna tried for the same pink-lipped smile but wasn’t as successful. She was growing annoyed, needed to eat lunch, and wasn’t much in the mood for the condescending chitchat she was sensing would follow. Why the hell couldn’t people just get to the point? “Is something wrong?”

“Well, not really wrong, just . . . concerning. Maybe troublesome would be the right word. We had an incident yesterday that was, just between you and me, sort of funny.” More fake laughter. “But it happened in the classroom, and I need little Paige to understand we can’t just blurt things like that out.”

Damn it, what’d she say this time, and why did this woman keep calling her little Paige? It made her daughter sound like some plastic doll. Kenna’s mind was sifting and sorting through what Paige may have said. They’d been talking about global warming this morning, nothing controversial there. Maybe it was a bad word or even something sassy she’d recently picked up from watching the
Iron Chef
. They should probably stop watching that show, but it was one of their favorites, next to
Cupcake Wars
.

Kenna felt her head throb. “Okay. What exactly did she say?”

Mrs. Moritz seemed a little flustered by what Kenna had always been told was her candor. She probably wanted to continue meandering along with the story, but Kenna’s stomach was growling and she really wanted to apologize for whatever bad word her daughter had said and be on her way.

“Little Cali is one of our other students, and she had exciting news to share with the class this morning.” Mrs. Moritz’s eyes widened and reminded Kenna of Snow White, or maybe Cinderella. She was never a fan of the princesses. Mulan, the one that kicked ass without the doe-like eyes, had always been her favorite. But Mulan wasn’t speaking; this was definitely Snow White.

“She was explaining that the stork was going to bring her family a baby sister. The class was overjoyed and clapping, until little Paige told her that wasn’t true, that the baby would need to travel through the birth canal and come out of her mother’s vagina.”

It took what little discipline Kenna had to keep from laughing her ass off and slapping the brown linoleum kiddy table. “I see.” She tried to look “concerned” and “troubled,” not sure if any of it was working.

“So, you can see why little Paige saying that babies really come out of the vagina could be . . . distressing to other children.”

Makenna tuned back in to hear the tail end of Mrs. Moritz’s comments. Her daughter’s mind was always curious and she was eager to set people right, so Makenna wasn’t surprised. And she was right. The stork? Who the hell still thought kids were that dumb?

Mrs. Moritz was looking to her for a response.

Makenna folded and unfolded her hands and refrained from giving the response clamoring to get past her lips, “Well, that is where they come from.” Instead, she went with the standard controlled-mommy response she’d practiced since she was old enough to know she was different from most mothers.

“Of course, I understand, and I certainly apologize. I will have a talk with Paige and explain to her what is appropriate to discuss in class.”

Mrs. Moritz let out a sigh, more Snow White, and stood from the tiny table. “I just knew you would understand. Well, I’m glad that’s done.”

Makenna stood and smiled. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Absolutely, that’s my job. We are partners after all.” She extended her hand. Kenna shook it and once she was standing in the green-and-white tiled hallway, she took a normal breath.

After driving through McDonald’s on her way to The Yard, she sat in the parking lot to politely leave a voicemail for Date Number Two explaining that she had to cancel. She would not be dating. She didn’t have time to meet anyone. Clearly everything in the universe was telling her she needed to focus on raising her daughter and holding their life together.

“Why are there only single flowers on all the tables? Are we trying to depress people? Can’t we put a little green in there or maybe two flowers? This just seems sad.”

Travis looked up from filling a large pot with water at the sound of Makenna’s questions. She was walking around the empty tables as Summer followed close behind.

“They’re Gerber daisies. That’s a happy flower.” Summer was bubbly, which struck a dramatic contrast to Kenna’s scrunched-up brow. She was clearly pissed about something. He shut the water off and moved the pot to the stove.

“Not by itself it’s not. Why the hell is it so hard to put another flower in there? It’s not like the daisy isn’t making room—it clearly is. It’s trying, it wants to have a friend, right?”

“I . . . sure?” Summer nodded, and her curly blonde hair bobbed almost like a cartoon character.

The bits of the conversation he could hear sounded a little nutty, but it was obvious there was no way Summer was going to say a word. He was struck by how different the two women were as they weaved in and out of the tables. Summer was younger, but that wasn’t it; she’d lived less life. Even Makenna’s movements spoke to her need for efficiency, her constant thinking. Travis would normally be drawn to the wide-eyed stroll of a Summer, but at that moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off the queen of complication as she stomped around nagging about the flowers.

“I’ve got some greens in the back. I will give each one a friend,” Summer said in as friendly a manner as her name implied.

“Good.” Kenna turned and threw herself into a seat at the pizza counter.

Travis pretended to watch his water boil so he could eavesdrop.

“What was that about?” Logan asked while starting the pizza oven.

Kenna began moving books and the sausage grinder they had on display. She was doing that thing she did when she was pissy. Travis had once heard Sage call it “stress cleaning.”

“Nothing. I was just saying that we need more flowers on the tables.”

“We do?” Logan stacked the last dough box and looked at his sister.

“Yes, they look lonely. There’s just one on each table.”

“I know.”

“Right, well, I want that changed. I do the taxes here, and I say the flowers need company.”

“Okay.”

Travis quickly glanced over, and Logan looked a little scared. He turned around and tried to be the comic relief.

“Did I hear something about poor lonely flowers?”

Kenna shot up her hand in a gesture Travis recognized.

“Got it.” He turned back to his water.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Logan asked as he followed her into the back kitchen.