Misty and the Single Dad

‘Ketchup’s more into bones. We’ll ask him to draw bones on Ketchup’s bandages.’

Bailey was giggling. Giggling.

This was too good to be true. His son was giggling on the veranda of a woman who was a part of his future.

His future?

Surely he meant Bailey’s future. Misty was Bailey’s teacher.

But his treacherous mind said his future.

He stabbed the butter and lifted a chunk on his knife, considering it with care. Where to take this?

This did not fit in with his plans.

He’d come to this place with a clear path in view. A steady future. Nothing to rock the boat.

Misty wouldn’t mess with that.

So maybe he could just…see. He could let his barriers down a little. He’d let them down last night and there was no issue.

There were no risks down this road.

‘Are you planning to hoist that butter on a flagpole or put it on our bread?’ Misty called through the window and he saw what he’d been doing and chuckled-and that in itself was amazing. When was the last time he’d felt like chuckling?

He made his sandwiches. He carried them outside, plus a bottle of not home-made lemonade, and he watched as Misty and Bailey munched and Ketchup woke a little and accepted a quarter of a sandwich and retired again.

‘This is the best place for a dog,’ Nick said. He’d settled himself on the veranda steps, not bothering so much about distance now but thinking more of view. If he leaned back at the top of the stairs he got a full view-of Misty.

And of Bailey and Ketchup, he reminded himself, but he was forgetting to remind himself so often,

‘It’s the best place for anyone,’ Bailey declared. He’d eaten two more sandwiches on top of his lunch. For a child who’d needed to be coaxed to eat for a year, this was another thing to be amazed at.

Teddy, Nick noticed, had been set aside.

‘It’s pretty nice,’ Misty said, but suddenly her voice sounded strained.

‘Don’t you like it?’ Bailey asked.

‘Yes.’ But she didn’t sound sure.

‘Where else would you like to live?’ Nick asked.

‘In a yurt.’

He and Bailey both stared. ‘A yurt?’

‘Yep.’

‘What’s a yurt?’ Bailey asked.

‘My mother sent me a postcard of one once. It’s a portable house. It’s round and cosy and it packs up so I can put it on the back of my camel. Or my yak.’

Bailey was intrigued. ‘What’s a yak?’

‘It’s a sort of horse. Or maybe it’s more like a sheep but it carries things. The yurt on my postcard had a camel in the foreground but I’ve been reading that camels bite. And yaks seem to be more common in Kazakhstan,’ she said. ‘That’s where yurts are found. Probably in lots of other places, too, but I’ve never been there to find out. Yaks seem pretty friendly, or at least I think they are. I’ve never met one, but some day I will. That’s my dream. Me and my yak will take our yurt and head into the unknown.’

‘In term vacations?’ Nick asked before he could help himself. Bailey did not need his new-found teacher to be heading off into the unknown.

‘I’d need more than term vacation,’ she retorted. ‘To follow the dreams I have…’ The lightness in her voice faded a little and she gave a wry smile. ‘But of course you’re right. Term vacations aren’t long enough. It’s only a dream.’

‘And you have a really nice house,’ Bailey said placatingly. ‘It’s big and comfy.’ Then he looked at Misty’s face and maybe he could see something there that Nick was sensing-something that was messing with his domestic harmony as well. ‘Could you buy a little yurt and put it in the backyard?’ he asked. ‘Like a tent?’

‘Maybe I could.’ The lightness returned but it was determined lightness. ‘Maybe I could buy a yurt on the Internet-or maybe we could build one as a school project.’

Bailey’s eyes widened with interest. ‘My dad could help you build one. He’s good at building.’

‘Could he?’ Misty smiled, but Nick saw a wash of emotions put aside and thought there were things here he didn’t understand. But then… Why should he want to understand this woman?

He did. There was something about her… Something…

‘Can you, Dad?’ Bailey asked.

‘I’m not sure…’ he started.

‘Well, I am,’ Misty declared. She tossed off her blankets in decision. ‘I think Ketchup needs to stand on the grass for a bit and then we need to remember why you came. We need to look at spare beds-I counted them last night and we have ten. Then I’m going to make a list of everything else you need in your house while you and your dad draw me a picture of a little yurt we could build in the school yard.’ She rose and hugged her little dog tight against her. ‘A little yurt would be fun and we can do without yaks. We don’t need anything but what’s in Banksia Bay, and why would a woman want anything but what’s right here?’

They searched the Internet and learned about yurts. They drew more and more extravagant plans and then Nick got serious and sat down and designed one they really might be able to construct in the school yard. Then they explored the muddle of furniture in the largely unused house.

Misty was right-the place was huge. It had been a big house to start with, and she told him her great- grandparents had built an extension when her grandparents married. She had two kitchens and three living rooms. She owned enough furniture to cater for a small army, and she was offering him whatever he liked.

With Bailey’s approval, Nick chose two beds, two couches, a table and chairs. He chose wardrobes, sideboards, armchairs. So much…

‘Why don’t you want it?’ Bailey asked, intrigued.

‘There’s only me,’ Misty said. ‘And Ketchup,’ she added. She was carrying the dog along with her. He seemed content in her arms, snuggled against her, snoozing as he chose, but taking comfort from her body heat. ‘I’ve tried to rent out the other half but no one wants to live this far out of town. So now I’m closing rooms so I won’t need to dust.’

‘Won’t it feel creepy when it’s empty?’ Bailey asked. ‘Like our place does?’

‘Ah, but you’ve forgotten, I have a watchdog now. Ketchup’s messed with my plans but now he’s here I can make use of him.’

‘Were you thinking of moving somewhere smaller?’ Nick asked, and she gave him a look that said he didn’t get it.

‘I told you. I want a yurt. But I’m amenable. Is this all you want? If we’re done, then how about tea?’

‘You can’t be hungry again.’

‘How can you doubt it? It’s four hours since my sandwich.’

Four hours! Where had the time gone? In drawing yurts. In exploring. In just…talking.

‘I’d like a picnic on the beach,’ she said and visions of gingham baskets rose again-to be squashed before they hit knee height.

‘There’s a great pizza place in town,’ she said. ‘I bribe them to deliver all the way out here.’

‘Pizza,’ Bailey said with joy, and Ketchup’s ears attempted to rise.

‘We’ve hit a nerve.’ She grinned. ‘Picnic pizza it is. If that’s okay with you, Mr Holt?’

‘Nick,’ he said and it was almost savage.

She made him take three trips to her favourite spot on the sand dunes, carrying cushions, rugs and food, because she was carrying Ketchup.

They ate pizza until it was coming out of their ears. Ketchup ate pizza, too.

‘I have a feeling Ketchup’s met pizza in a former life,’ Misty said, watching in satisfaction as he nibbled round