Page 10 of Riding Curves
I realize Austin is seven, and I’m not trying to scare him, so I don’t throw out threats of getting kicked out of school. Instead, I watch the pine trees pass and let my chest relax for a second, knowing that everything isn’t on me all at once.
“Well, you’re pretty and you let me get out of trouble, so…” He giggles.
“Your mom is nice,” Chap’s deep voice resonates through the truck, “and you’re right. She is pretty.”
Okay, I’m either losing my mind or this man is fucking with me. Either way, I love it. It’s been years since a man other than my seven-year-old son has told me I’m pretty.Years.That said, I’m sure Chap is just being nice.
He turns on the country radio station and we ride toward the pumpkin patch on the west side of town. People come from the Springs this time of year to see the foliage change, so our apple orchards and pumpkin patches are jam-packed with city dwellers. It’s good for business and the local economy, but if I had my choice, I’d prefer a quiet mountain all the time.
“Are we going to carve these too?” Austin’s voice is chipper and upbeat, and I am in awe of the three hundred and sixty turnaround he’s done in less than twenty minutes.
“Whatever you say, bud. I think your mom has to work at two, so we can carve them up tomorrow night… if you’re free.”
“Mom, are we free?”
I want to say,‘Yes, we’re free for eternity. This man can most definitely take over our lives. You can call him dad and hell, maybe I’ll call him daddy,’ but that’s not reality.
“Let’s see how today goes, okay? We can’t take up all of Mr. Chap’s time.”
Chap nods and I wonder if I’ve just inadvertently blown him off. That wasn’t my intention, or maybe it was. Maybe I should hold him at arm’s length. The last thing I need is to get attached to a man I can’t have, let alone Austin. That’s even more apparent when Austin’s hand hooks into Chap’s as they wander toward the wagon filled with hay.
The scene is everything I’ve ever wanted. A big, strong, confident man inked up and dressed in flannel, holding my son’s hand. A fall afternoon with a pumpkin patch on the horizon. The scent of cinnamon and warm spice in the air.
A swell of panic rushes over me. Panic that this isn’t permanent, and it never can be. Every bit of good I feel right now is temporary, and there’s no way around that.
“Austin, why don’t you come back with me?”
Chap’s brows crinkle but he encourages Austin to listen as he says, “Go ahead. Your mama wants you.”
“No. I’m good here.” Austin grips Chap’s hand tighter.
I knew this was a bad idea.
“You listen to your mama. Hold her hand.” His command is immediately obeyed and Austin links into me with a groan.
“Fine, but I’m holding Chap’s again when we get the pumpkins.”
“Deal, and we’re treating you to this hayride, Chap. Let me go grab the tickets.”
He pulls three from his back pocket. “I grabbed them online last night to avoid an argument here this morning.” His eyes narrow. “I hope that’s okay.”
“You’ll have to let me repay you somehow.”
“No need. You overpaid for that auction last night. This is the least I can do.”
I leave out the part about the auction being an early birthday gift from Grace and watch as he lifts Austin up onto the back of the wagon and reaches back for my hand.
I slide into his large palm and let go the second I’m tucked into the hay. There are so many out of towners on the back of this tractor that we could be anywhere. No one knows Chap, or me, or Austin. For the first time since the fall started, I’m glad for the autonomy.
Here in this haze of strangers, I pretend that this is my family. I pretend that this big, hot man belongs to me.That I belong to him.I pretend that we’re out for a day of family fun before we head back to the house where I make us a warm meal and the big guy and Austin tend to the animals out back. I pretend that when night falls and Austin is in bed, the big, hot man and I do dirty, filthy things that these small-town people wouldn’t dare even think about.
A rush of excitement filters through me at the thought, which is my signal to push it away again.
“Do you guys do anything with the pumpkin seeds?” Chap’s arm lands behind me. I could easily lean into his strong solid body.
“Umm… sometimes we roast them, but I forget some years. You?”
“Haven’t carved a pumpkin in years, but my grandmother used to make pies from all the insides. After we were through tossing them at each other… of course.”