Chapter Twenty-Six
Tabitha
I PULL INTO BETH’S DRIVEWAY and park the car. “Mattie, sweetheart, will you carry the casserole dish inside for Mommy?” I ask my daughter as she hurries to unbuckle her seatbelt.
“Okay, Mommy!” she sing songs back, and I smile at her through the rearview mirror.
“Thank you, baby.”
I get out of the car and open the back door to unbuckle my sleeping son. It doesn’t matter how long the trip is, the second the car is in motion, Logan is out. He sleeps through every car ride. It’s almost like magic. I grab the tote sitting on the floor under his feet, throw it over my shoulder, then I bend over to pick up my sleeping son. I kick the door shut with my foot and head up onto the front porch of my best friend and sister-in-law’s house. Mattie is standing there holding the green bean casserole I made this morning and waiting for me to ring the doorbell. I shuffle Logan in my arms and reach forward to ring the buzzer. The door swings open within seconds, and my son is lifted up out my arms, and a whiskery kiss lands right on my cheek.
“Hey, Steve.” I giggle. “Where’s Beth at?” I ask as I step around him in the doorway.
“Hey, Prom Queen, looking hot as usual.”
I roll my eyes and lightly swat his arm.
“She’s in the kitchen, trying to keep Hank and twins one and two out of the food.” He answers with a wink. “The babies are asleep in their room, so I’ll drop Slugger here off in there with them.” Steve walks off with Logan in his arms and my seven-year-old daughter hands me back the casserole dish so she could follow behind her uncle. I head toward the direction of the kitchen, holding the casserole Mattie ditched the second Steve took Logan from me.
“Dad! I swear to God, you are the worst influence!” Beth shouts. “Boys! Back away from the cookies! Now.”
I giggle and walk the rest of the way into the kitchen. I place a kiss on my father-in-law’s cheek. “Now, Beth, why are you giving this sweet old man such a hard time?” I tease my friend.
“Ha! Don’t encourage him, Tabs,” she says. “Kiss ass…” she finishes under her breath loud enough for Hank and I to hear.
“Wirty Dirds!” the twins shout together at their mother, in that creepy synchronized twin speak they were born fluent in. I catch Hank out of the corner of my eye sneaking three cookies from the tray, passing two to the twins, and they take off in search of their father. I smirk, because I know Beth totally saw it too.
“Dad!” Beth shouts again.
He smirks at his daughter, pops the third cookie in his mouth, winks at me, kisses Beth on the top of the head, and quickly walks out of the room, avoiding further swats from his daughter.
“Looks like you’ve had your hands full all morning,” I say once we are alone. She looks haggard. “You doing okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just haven’t had a chance to shower yet.”
“Go! I can guard the grub and finish up in here.”
“You don’t mind?” she asks.
“Nope. Steve and the good sheriff have the minions, and Brandon will be here soon, so I can finish up here.” I push her toward the door.
“Thanks, Tabs. I love you,” she says as she wraps her arms around me and runs off toward her room.
I move to the stove and check the eggs boiling so they can be devilled. I look out the sliding glass door and see Hank standing over by the grill. I open the fridge and pull out the steaks, burgers, and hotdogs and take them outside. I step onto the deck and set the platter of raw meat on the table next to the grill. Steve is being chased around the back yard by Mattie and the twins with water guns. He’s laughing and being the big kid he always has been and probably always will be. It’s still unreal, and slightly hilarious, that he and Beth ended up together, considering they pretended to be siblings in college. I still crack up when I remember the time Steve’s frat brothers realized they were a couple.
I’m ripped from my inner musings when a large arm is draped across my shoulders. “I brought you the grill tray,” I say without taking my eyes off Steve and the kids.
“I saw. Thank you,” he replies. “Brandon tell you when he was planning on showing up?”
I look over at him and shake my head. “He didn’t give me an exact time, but said he was going to stop in at the station really quick and then head right over.” I look at my watch to see it’s been over an hour since he left to head toward the station. I pull out my phone and shoot him a message asking for an update, but he doesn’t respond for twenty-five more minutes.
When he sends a text message back saying he’s a few minutes out, we decide to set out the food and begin feeding all the kids. Three more hours pass, and I’m beginning to worry. I pick up my phone to text him again to see what’s holding him up, but then the doorbell rings.