Two and a half years later . . .
“Where did Piper go?”
Piper’s mom shrugged from the leather couch. Her dad did the same from the armchair I’d made last summer. Both of them were too busy cooing over my baby niece playing on the floor to even look up and answer my question.
Earlier today, Piper had been right here too, sitting in her corner of the couch. But even with the baby in her arms, she’d been off this morning. She’d been quiet and distant. I’d figured it was just because she was tired. We’d had company for the past week, and on top of that, the twins had been up and down all last night. Gabe and Robbie had just learned how to crawl out of their cribs, so we’d gotten late-night visitors in our room three times.
But when I’d left the house an hour ago, taking Isaiah with me to the shop, Piper had been smiling in the kitchen. She’d seemed back to her normal self.
Except now I couldn’t find her, and I had a sinking feeling in my gut that something was wrong.
Since her parents were of no help, I left them and continued through the house. I’d already checked the boys’ room and our bedroom without luck. I peeked into the guest room but she wasn’t there. Her brother and his wife were both zonked out on the bed, taking advantage of a nap while Grandma and Grandpa were babysitting their three-month-old daughter.
I crept down the hall, treading lightly toward the laundry room.
“Damn.” She wasn’t anywhere in the house.
I went outside through the garage’s back door and scanned the yard. All I saw were toys scattered across the grass and a stack of lumber next to the far side of the fence.
The yard was a new addition to our home. We’d brought in a skid steer last summer and graded a level spot to put down some sod. Then we’d swapped out the dining room windows for French doors and built a porch, and now we had a place where the boys could play outside.
I was in the middle of building them the mother of all tree houses in a grove of trees in the far corner of the yard. It was going to have stairs and a ladder. The house itself would be big enough for them no matter how old they got. With four walls and a sturdy roof, they’d be able to camp out here when they got older.
I walked through the yard, gathering up squirt guns, footballs and a plastic yellow baseball bat. After dumping them in the outdoor toy box, I walked over to the gate and let myself out to head toward my old cabin.
At the same time we’d cleared an area for the yard, I’d also decided that the footpath between the cabin and our house wasn’t enough. So I’d bulldozed a narrow gravel road between them. Now, if someone came up one side of the mountain to go to one of the houses, you didn’t have to drive all the way back down to get to the other.
Halfway across the road, I smiled as laughter and barking echoed from inside the cabin. The squeals and giggles got louder as I approached.
I bounded up the stairs, grinning at the chainsaw marks on the porch boards. I’d replaced the chair that I’d hacked to pieces, but the marks had stayed. They reminded me of how miserable and lonely my life had been. They reminded me of how lucky I was now.
Without knocking, I opened the door to my former home.
In the middle of the floor, Robbie and Gabe were climbing all over Koda, our dog.
We’d bought him as a puppy not long after the boys were born. He’d started off small, but full grown, he was a beast. He weighed just over a hundred pounds and resembled a wolf, though the boys treated him more like a horse and were constantly riding him around.
Robbie was currently draped over Koda’s back while Gabe was doing his best to wrestle the braided rope toy from Koda’s mouth. The dog looked up at me, acknowledging my presence, then tugged harder on the rope, sending Gabe crashing to the floor in a heap of laughter.
I hadn’t believed that dogs could smile before I’d watched Koda play with the boys. But he was grinning ear to ear, happy to be with his two favorite humans.
Meanwhile, Mom was sitting on the floor with them, her phone out and camera clicking as she took probably the thousandth photo of the day.
“Have you seen my wife?” I asked.
“No.” She smiled. “Sorry. I’ve been busy trying to keep these two alive.”
I chuckled. “It’s a full-time job.”
Except for the deep-brown eyes that matched Piper’s, the boys were my spitting image. With my dark hair and their own mischievous smiles, Robbie and Gabe found trouble faster than Koda could chase a squirrel up a tree.
At two years old, safety wasn’t a concept they’d grasped yet. If there was a table to climb and jump off of, they found it. If there was a drawer or cabinet in the house with sharp objects, they’d open it. If there was a staircase or hill they could throw themselves down, away they went.
They sought out danger, all while roughhousing with each other. One or both always had a bruise or black eye. Knees were always skinned and elbows scraped. They pushed and wrestled constantly.
“Daddy!” Gabe finally noticed me and abandoned the rope toy. He pushed up onto his feet and raced my way. His feet couldn’t keep up with his head as he ran my way and he dove into my legs. I caught him before he could fall, just in time to catch his brother.
“How are my boys?”
“Goot,” Robbie declared as I hoisted them each on a hip.
They were slow to talk, but over the last month, their words had come like a flood, though they replaced d with t most of the time and sentences were spoken slowly.
“Where. Mommy?” Gabe asked, a clear break between his words.
“I don’t know where she went.”
He frowned. “Want. Nack.”
Snack.
“Nack!” Robbie squirmed out of my grip, dropping to the floor. He fell to his knees but quickly scrambled back up, leading the race to the cabinets as Gabe wiggled his way down too.
“I’ll help.” Mom stood from the floor, going over to the cabinets.
She’d come up two weeks ago to stay in the cabin. We used it for any guests, but she was our most frequent visitor. She’d come for a couple of weeks every few months, and each time, she’d bring a haul of snacks for the boys. They knew right where she kept the Fruit Roll-Ups and Goldfish crackers.
“I’m going to find Piper. Are you good?” I asked. Babysitting the boys could be exhausting, and I didn’t want her to get too worn out.
She waved me away. “We’re great. I’ll bring them over later.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I left them to their snacking and went back outside. Koda stood to follow, but I motioned for him to stay. At least with him there, Mom had a helper.
My relationship with Mom had gotten easier since the boys were born. The animosity I had for her just . . . disappeared. I guess I never wanted Robbie or Gabe to see any strife between their father and their grandmother. They loved her so completely, and she them, that it wasn’t worth holding on to my anger toward her.
From the cabin, I walked down to the shop. I’d just come from there, but I was running out of places to search for Piper. And with both of our properties, there was a chance that she’d come while I was going.
But when I opened the door, it was only Isaiah inside. He was still tinkering on the engine to the wood lathe that had quit on me last week.
“I don’t suppose Piper stopped by here, did she?”
He looked up, his hands covered in grease. “No. I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”
I frowned. “How’s it coming?”
“Good.” Isaiah reached for a rag to clean off one hand, then flipped the switch on the lathe. It spun to life without the squeak I’d gotten used to over the last year and sounded as good as the day I’d bought it.
“Fixed.” He grinned. “Told you I could save you a couple grand.”
“Damn. Then I guess I’ll just have to pay you instead.”
“Nah.” He shut off the lathe and finished wiping his hands. “It’s just a hobby.”
“You’ve always liked engines. Maybe you should look for a job as a mechanic.”
Isaiah sighed and looked at his feet. This was about the time that I expected him to shut down.
Whenever I brought up the future or things he could make of himself, he’d go quiet. He still hadn’t told me what had happened to him in prison. I’d only asked once and I’d gotten silence for three months as an answer. Eventually he’d returned my phone calls, but since, I hadn’t pushed.
Isaiah had changed since the accident. He was still living with pain and regret. Piper’s theory was that he didn’t want to think about the future because he didn’t think he deserved one. Maybe she was right.
But like with Mom, the last couple of years had changed my feelings toward Isaiah. I didn’t hold ill will toward my brother. He deserved to find some of the happiness that I’d been lucky enough to find in my life.
Stocking shelves at night at Costco didn’t make him happy. It paid for his portion of the grocery bill at Mom’s and some utilities. But he wasn’t happy.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Isaiah said. “I, um . . . I actually got offered a job working at a garage in Clifton Forge. They do a lot of remodels on old classics. Pay isn’t great but it sounds like a cool gig. One of the guys I was inside with contacted me about it.”
“Really?” I asked, trying to hide the shock that he’d just willingly confided in me. “Are you going to take it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
Isaiah didn’t say anything more, and I didn’t press. We were still feeling each other out, still redefining our relationship. Maybe one day things would be back to the easy friendship we’d had once.
“I’d better try and track Piper down. See you back at the house.”
He waved as I turned and left the shop. I walked back home and did another pass through the house but still couldn’t find her. So I went to the last place she might have gone without leaving me a note.
The Airstream.
We parked it alongside the garage rather than in the driveway. There, it was out of the way and could be hooked up to the power from the house rather than a generator. We’d offered it to her parents for the week they were visiting, but they’d decided to rent a place on the lake for a change. They’d also rented a boat and tomorrow I was going to teach Piper how to water-ski.
The moment I rounded the garage, I spotted a light on inside the Airstream.
“There you are,” I said as I opened the door. She was sitting at the small table across from the kitchen, the same one where we’d shared our first meal together. “I’ve been look—what’s wrong?”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes dry. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Piper,” I warned.
She rolled her eyes, still swiping at the tears. “I’m fine.”
As I stepped into the camper, I saw dishes in the sink. The oven was on and it smelled like chocolate.
“Are you baking?”
She nodded just as a sob burst loose.
My heart broke as I crossed the floor in two long strides, pulling her out of the bench seat and into my arms. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot how to make my magic cake,” she cried into my shirt.
“Magic cake?”
She nodded. “The last five times I’ve tried to make it, something has gone wrong. The cake isn’t dense enough. The frosting doesn’t taste right. They’ve all been bad.”
As the taste tester for these alleged failed cakes, I had no idea what she was talking about. “Can’t you just follow the recipe?”
“No!” She leaned back and glared. “You don’t make magic cake from a recipe.”
“Right.” Sorry I asked. “Can you call your aunt?”
“I already did.” She huffed and stepped back, walking to the small oven and peering through the glass window. “I’m doing everything right. It’s just not working. So I came in here to try a different oven. It worked in here when I made it before.”
There was more going on here than a need for chocolate. She only made that cake when something was wrong. And as far as I knew, things in our life couldn’t be more right.
Nine months after the boys were born, Piper and I had gotten married in a small ceremony at a guest ranch in Kalispell. From the day she’d walked down the aisle in that fancy rustic lodge wearing a white-lace, strapless gown, I could count on one hand the number of bad days we’d had compared to the good.
“Why do you need magic cake?” I asked gently.
“Because,” she turned from the oven, “I’m pregnant.”
I swayed on my feet. “We’re pregnant?”
“Yup.” She nodded, her eyes filling with more tears.
“That’s . . . fuck. Yes!” I clapped and let out a whoop, my excitement too big for this small camper. “Hell yes! I hope it’s a girl.” I fist pumped, then swiped Piper’s arm and pulled her back into my chest. “I love you.”
But instead of saying it back or smiling, she burst into tears.
“This is amazing news. Why are you crying?”
“Because I’m worried we used it all up.”
“Used what up?”
“Our magic,” she whispered.
Our magic. Now I understood why she was so worried.
While the beginning of Piper’s pregnancy with the boys had gone smoothly, the last month had been unbearable. She’d been placed on bed rest due to high blood pressure. But after two weeks of only getting up to use the bathroom, it hadn’t helped. Things only got worse.
The doctors had monitored her closely, but five weeks before her due date, they’d decided to induce because she was showing other signs of preeclampsia.
The boys had spent their first ten days in the hospital, being monitored. The ten days after we brought them home, I hadn’t slept. I’d convinced myself that if I fell asleep, something would happen to them.
Basically, I’d gone crazy.
Until finally, my body had shut down. I’d dropped, dead on my feet, in the kitchen one day. Piper had been so worried that she’d called an ambulance.
They’d tried to keep me in the hospital overnight, but I’d refused.
That had been the low point.
Logan had picked me up from the hospital and brought me home. Thea had been here, helping Piper when I walked through the door. My mother had shown up two hours later. Piper’s mom six hours after that, courtesy of the Kendrick private jet.
That night, I’d confessed to Piper how terrified I was that something would happen to our family. I’d let my fears from what happened with Shannon and my daughter drive me insane.
Then I’d promised never to let her down like that again.
This time around, I’d do better.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promised. Then I took her face in my hands and gazed at her beautiful face. The face that started and ended my day. “We’ve got a lifetime of magic left.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because it was never the cake.” I brushed my lips against hers. “The magic is us.”
One year later, as our daughter Grace rested in my arms, Piper stood in the doorway of the nursery, watching as I rocked our baby girl to sleep.
“You were right,” she whispered, her dark eyes sparkling with the moonlight. “It was never the cake.”
I smiled at my wife and kissed Grace’s forehead.
Magic.
