Swap Out (42 page)

“It was a mistype,”
I sign to my dad
. “And last time you offered six thousand for me to move back home.”

“You’re so expensive,”
he signs, wrinkling his nose teasingly, and I jerk my chin at him.

“Madeline just hit Isaac with a book.”

His eyes bulge and he whips around, and I can’t help my snicker as I see in the background that my twelve-year-old sister is repeatedly smacking our laughing brother’s shoulder with a three-inch paperback. My dad darts off and I watch as he gets between them, taking the book and saying something to each that does not look like he’s pleased. Madeline huffs and stomps her foot, pointing around Dad to accuse Isaac who just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. I swear when he does that he looks just like our dad, jet black hair and our trademark ice blue eyes, and freakishly tall for his age.

I yawn as Dad’s eyes widen at whatever Madeline just said, then he turns around and smacks Isaac upside the head. But since he has the ability to stay mad for ten seconds at the most, he then hugs him with one arm and with a light shove, sends him back upstairs to his room. Turning back to an obviously infuriated Madeline, Dad hands her back the book and bends a little lower, saying something that makes her burst out in laughter. An exploding fist bump and kiss dropped to her hair later, she too makes her way back upstairs as Dad watches, then he comes back to where he left the phone.

His eyes look a little tired and he scrubs a hand over his face, then signs with a grin,
“Eight thousand, with benefits.”

“What are they fighting about?”

He sighs.
“Privacy.”

I scoff.
“Does such a thing exist in the Roark household?”

“It seems to for Charlotte. Have you talked to her recently?”

I shake my head with a yawn, and his lips move like he cursed under his breath.

“She’s hiding something from me.”

“Where is she?”
I ask, and he tosses a hand up, exasperated.

“Something about a school project.”

I level a look at him.
“She’s eighteen. What senior worries about school projects on a Saturday a week before winter break?”

He takes a deep breath, then signs,
“She’s with a guy, isn’t she?”

“Probably.”

“Nine grand.”

I laugh, then shake my head.
“Have Mom call Audrey. Someone needs to tell her that we’ll love her all the same even if she doesn’t graduate a year early.”

My darling roommate, my twenty-one-year-old sister, is determined to defy the laws of space and time and run herself ragged by finishing her degree in Graphic Design in a three year span. And if anyone could do it, she could, but the late nights at the library and the four weeks’ worth of laundry are getting a little out of control.

“I talked to her last night and she seemed fine…”
Dad signs, his face twisted with worry, and I shrug.

“If you say so.”

“Dammit,”
he signs. Then starts to say something else, but I miss it when I sneeze. I groan once more at the pain in my chest and when I re-open my eyes, wiping at my nose, my dad is staring me down, head tilted.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Because I’m fine.”
I reach over to the side table for a Kleenex, then blow my nose and toss the used tissue away.

“You’re not fine.”
His brow crumples.
“How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Since Tuesday.”

“Evelyn!”

“What?”

“You can’t just
not
tell us when you’re sick. And Audrey better have a good explanation as to why she failed to mention it when I talked to her yesterday…”

I sigh, but have to pause before I respond due to a lovely wet coughing fit.
“She probably hasn’t noticed since she’s been living at the library.”

“That is totally unacceptable, Eve. You two are supposed to be taking care of each other in that shoe box apartment and—”

“It’s just a cold, Dad, I’m not dying.”

Although when I sneeze again, it certainly feels like it.

“That’s it. I’m coming to get you.”

“Dad!”

His head turns and he yells something, and I roll my eyes. Not a moment later does my mom appear, apparently having just been woken up based on the slight rumple of her hair on one side and the silk robe she has on over her PJs. But even so, she’s an inspiration to women everywhere on how to age gracefully, and seemingly, not at all.

He says something to her and then presses a kiss to her temple, leaving the screen as she yawns.

She smiles, then the corner of her mouth tugs down.
“You’re sick, honey?”

“Mom, stop him. He’s going to come up here and I’m fine.”

She smiles again.
“He’s already out the door.”

I huff out a breath.
“You married a paranoid spaz.”

“Yeah, well, he was hot.”
She shrugs.
“What can I say?”

I sneeze again, then settle a little deeper into the couch, feeling like total crap.

“Mom?”

She grins, waiting like she knew it was coming.

“Can you call Dad before he gets too far and ask him to bring me your cashmere blanket?”

“You mean the one that was in his hands when he left?”

I nod, slowly.
“That’s the one.”

“I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you too,”
I sign, then hang up.

I curl onto my side, my phone hugged into my chest. Right now, I don’t even care how embarrassing it is that my dad is on his way up here and will arrive with my favorite blanket and probably a pharmacy’s worth of medicine. It’s exactly what I need when I have a new class of kids scheduled to arrive sometime in the next thirty minutes, and I can’t let them down. They have every right to learn how to rock climb, and I want to teach them,
show
them, that they can do anything. Just like my dad showed me. But if I can’t pull it together in the next twenty minutes, he’ll take care of them. That’s what he does: takes care of everyone. Besides, the camp was half his idea in the first place and it’s not like everyone up here doesn’t already know him since he’s here climbing every spare minute he gets.

I sniffle and burrow down a little more, freezing. I should have told my mom to have him bring me a change of clothes, but it’s fine. Because I’d bet my best climbing gear that when he gets here he’s going to dope me up and make me sleep while he takes over my class, then he’s going to insist I go back to the house and stay in my old bedroom instead of my shared apartment with Audrey. Who will then come home too and for the rest of the weekend, the house will be bursting at the seams. At least I’ll be able to rest peacefully since I can’t hear the bedlam, and my parents will spend the entire time smiling because they’re always happiest when we’re all home.

You’d think with five kids that they’d be ready for us to move out so they can get back to a life spent by themselves, but my parents are weird. They can’t seem to just take anything for granted, and everything is a big deal. Every nothing achievement is important. It’s being told a dozen times a day how special we are and how much they love us, that we’re never alone and yadda yadda yadda. I would be inclined to assume that it revolves around my dad being an orphan and my mom having no contact with her family, but I think it all has something to do with some mysterious climbing accident my dad had when they were dating because that’s all they will say about it. Dad fell, he got hurt, it was really scary for a minute and then he got better. End of story.

The kicker is, he’s wearing a boot on his leg and a cast on his arm in their wedding pictures, and my mom was already more than a little pregnant with me. But they won’t talk about the order of events and how they fail to line up with the story we were told of boy meets girl, and what’s even weirder is that every time someone brings it up, Mom starts to cry and then she hugs Dad for like five minutes. And maybe one day I’ll get to the bottom of it, but maybe I won’t. I guess it’s their story to know.

A light hand lays on my hair and my eyes open, looking up and expecting to see my dad, but instead it’s Pete. He smiles and hands me a white paper sack before he leaves to go back up front, and my brow furrows as I sit up, sniffling.

But when I open it my eyes pop, because there are two cups in it, lids secured. I take out the first and there’s the string of a tea bag dangling on the outside, and I chuckle in disbelief as I set it on the side table. But my amazement gets bumped up a notch when I take out the second cup.

Chicken and dumplings.

I peel off the lid and close my eyes as I breathe it in, drowning in the aroma of creamy goodness and feeling the heat from the steam flirt with my skin. God, that’s fantastic. I check the bag to see if by any chance the clumsy yet suave stranger thought to include a spoon. He did. Along with about four different over-the-counter Cold and Flu medicines that were hidden under a very thick stack of napkins.

I don’t even care when a deep blush creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, because this is just too much. Bless Mystery Flower Man, whoever he is.

I take out the packages of medicine and set them aside, and I’m just starting to crumple up the bag when I stop. Because beneath the last box was one more napkin, and written on it in black marker and square little letters are a phone number and the words: Feel Better Soon—Thaddeus Hale.

Oh, he’s good.

Acknowledgements

First, to my beloved husband, for being so incredibly patient and supportive. I cannot count the times that we held discussions revolving around characters and motivations, all while you cooked dinner and folded laundry because I was busy tearing out my hair. And if it wasn’t for you, these two probably would’ve been named Bob and Jane. Couldn’t do any of this without you, lovey, and I wouldn’t want to.

To my family, for sticking by me, even when I’m stubborn. And my son, who makes me smile constantly.

To Hoku and Sandra, who have never hesitated to send feedback laced with high-intensity laughter and self-esteem boosters, even when I’m asking their opinion on the same subject for the eighteenth time.

To Morgan, for reminding me to follow my dreams even when I had forgotten about them, and for twenty years of friendship that has been a gift I will treasure my whole life. There is not a word to describe how precious your friendship is to me, but I will keep looking for one to do it justice.

To Michelle, my partner and editor, my springboard and conscience. Meeting you has transformed every word I write, everything I aspire to be, and I can’t wait to see what we will accomplish together in the future. Thank you for your limitless understanding of my strengths and weaknesses, for sharing Macomber, and for A Modest Proposal. I don’t even want to think what my life would be like without that email.

To all the men and women of our armed forces, there is no way to thank you for your bravery and the sacrifices you have made for our country.

And finally, to every person who has supported me from the beginning by reading, reviewing, favoriting, following, messaging, tweeting or tumblr’ing my writing. None of this would be here without you guys, and I hope you will continue on this journey with me.

About the Author

Katie Golding is a wife and mom whose life has always been inhabited by words. She's surrounded by bits of poetry escaping out onto the backs of grocery receipts and crumpled flour sacks, stanzas lost under piles of freshly laundered socks and verses tucked into paperbacks, swaddled in the stories of others. She goes about her days with one earbud perpetually plugged in, lyrics flowing through her from her shamefully overworked Pandora radio account.

Ms. Golding lives in Austin, Texas with her beloved husband/research assistant, a prized griddle larger than some European nations, and a son who shows every sign of growing up to be a caped avenger of some stripe, fearlessly attacking plush triceratops and imagined alligators in the defense of the meek and vulnerable.

She is the author of “The Sounds of Tomorrow” and “Resonance of Reality”, “Mirrors and Broken Things” and “Unthinkable” at Amazon Kindle Worlds under the penname C.L. Marlene and is currently at work on her next novel. She is also intermittently posting The Vampire Diaries fan fiction under the username goldnox at fan fiction (dot) net.