Page 7 of Ford
“You okay, bud?” Scarlett asked as she pulled away.
Gunnar looked out the window, his jaw tight.
Her mother’s house looked about the same as when Scarlett left, although with fewer articles of Scarlett’s clothing in the yard. Yeah, that had been a fun moment—when Ford, who’d decided to camp out on the porch for a week after driving her up from San Diego, had caught Axel feeling Scarlett up. She might have been able to handle him herself, but Petty Officer First Class Ford Marshall was right there, of course. Axel and Ford had mixed it up enough for her and Ford to get thrown out of the house in the middle of the night.
The thought of Ford swept an ache into her chest.
If she ever wanted to admit that she needed him, it was now. Today.
And no, she wasn’t in any danger, but maybe that was worse. Because she couldn’t figure out exactly why she needed him. She wasn’t weak—knew better than to count on a man—but Ford had been her friend.
That’s it. Friends. She missed him.
She shouldn’t have waited three days to call him about her mother’s death. But she’d been focused on the fourteen-hour drive to Salt Lake City, retrieving Gunnar from the state patrol office, securing them a hotel room, then returning the next day to deal with her mother’s remains and finally driving them home to Rockland.
By the time she’d called him, Ford had already been spun up and out on some top-secret op. Her call went directly to voicemail.
She didn’t leave a message because it just felt lame to leave “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but see, my mother died” on a voicemail.
As if she might be looking for sympathy.
Which she wasn’t, thank you. She just needed an ear. Someone who understood because he’d met her mother—and Axel.
Ford wouldn’t judge her for the things that might come out of her mouth.
Scarlett reached across the seat and touched Gunnar’s knee. “It’ll be okay, buddy. Go, pack up the toys you want to take and grab your pillow. We need to hit the road.”
Gunnar didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at her either as he got out and walked across the patchy, yellowing grass to the tiny green bungalow.
She got out and followed him inside. Her mother possessed little of value. Scarlett had already boxed up the clothes for donation, and probably she’d just tell the church to dispense with the other belongings.
Inside, she retrieved Gunnar’s clothes from the dryer, shoving them into a plastic bag. The kid didn’t have much, but at least now it was clean. She should probably find some pictures too. Maybe a memento, although if the kid was like her, he’d want to start clean.
Except, Gunnarwasn’ther. Hadn’t spent his life on the road, following one boyfriend after another, always praying and hoping they might land someplace longer than six months.
Or if they did, it wouldn’t cost her pieces of herself.
This was the only home he knew. And she was about to uproot him.
But she wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t going to abandon him.
“Gunnar, let’s go.” She found him sitting in the middle of his room holding a baseball, running his thumb over the seam.
Oh, Gun. She sat on his bed, then scooted to the floor. “You’ll like San Diego. It’s on the ocean, and you can learn to surf and swim and we’ll visit the zoo.”
No response.
“Did you know they have a professional baseball team there—the Padres. I could take you to a game…”
He shrugged his shoulder.
“Listen. I have a couple weeks of leave before I have to leave for training camp…”
Oh wow. Because even as she said it, she heard herself.
Training camp.
There was no way she could be a Rescue Swimmer. Not and take care of Gunnar.