Page 65 of Dream House
“Tyler?”
At my call, Maisy stirs in her booster seat. “Mama?” Her voice is pitched with alarm and confusion. I open up the back door and lean in.
“It’s okay, Maisy Bug. We’re home.” I unclip her chest harness and buckles, but I’m not going to get her heavy, sleep-sodden body out of her car seat from this position. “T, can you help?”
But when I look over, his face is like iron. Cold and unforgiving. He steps out of the car and slams the door behind him.
Maisy and I both jump.
Tyler doesn’t move fast, but in this moment, he moves with angry purpose. When he gets through the laundry room door, he slams that too.
Shit.
I crawfish out of the back seat. Nina and Lark are standing on either side of his Jeep, wide-eyed.
I bite my bottom lip, feeling like I need to make some kind of excuse for his behavior. I have a pretty good idea of the cause, but I can’t share that.
“We just got back from OT,” I say, wrinkling my nose. It’s true. We did. And it wasn’t the greatest session. “It’s been a day.”
I skirt the trunk of my car to gather up Maisy, and as if wanting to give credence to my words, she whines.
“I’m hungry.”
I hitch her onto me, her tired legs barely keeping purchase around my hips.“Ooph!”
Before I can even see my path clear to the door, Lark has darted ahead and opened it for us. He even stands by the steps and spots my ascent.
“You look like you just woke up,” he teases Maisy over my shoulder. “Do I get to call you Lazy now?”
Her shoulders twitch with an unstoppable giggle.
“You been sleeping all day?” he asks her. A quick glance behind me shows that he holds the door open for Nina, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Maisy as he does.
She mutters her reply into my shoulder. “We went to the park, Bark.” Then she hears the humor in her own words and bolts up. “Park. Bark.” She bubbles over with giggles, fully awake now.
“Can I put you down, Maisy? You’re heavy.”
Instead of answering she kicks her legs until I set her on her feet.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” she says again and then pushes her way through the swinging door to the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner, Mama?” Lark teases behind me.
I turn and give him the evil eye. Maybe not as evil as what I gave Tod, but it’s close.
“Oh.” His brows lift in wary concern. “Ithasbeen a day.”
I hang my purse on the hook by the garage door and half fall through the swinging door. Maisy is pushing her chair to the fruit bowl, eyeing a banana. Good idea. We are fresh out of leftovers and I’m pretty sure sandwich night is out since the remainder of our bread is probably at the bottom of a duck pond by now.
I open the fridge and stare. Ground meat, which I’d intended for spaghetti and meatballs—Nanna’s recipe—but mixing the breadcrumbs, seasoning, parmesan, and forming them into balls to cook even before I kick off the sauce seems like climbing Everest.
The feeling of eyes on my back makes me turn. Yep. Lark is watching me. He’s grinning. But his grin isn’t mischievous. It’s… hopeful?
“Anything I can do to help?”
I snort.
Yeah, it’s rude. But, c’mon. Really?
