Mary nodded. “I see.”
Tucker alerted to her hesitant tone. “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” She paused. “Maybe she knew she’d be leaving.”
He glanced back at the notes, seeing them through different eyes, a string pulling taut in his gut. All at once, the dream he’d had back at the safe house came back to him in fragments, like voices whispering into a tunnel.
So your father won’t forget where things are.
Will you remember how to bake his favorite cake? Should I write it down?
Thing was, Farah was always around to remind him right up until she left. She didn’t have a job. Her hours were spent in the house or close by. She’d been a self-proclaimed homebody, come to think of it. Tucker had already suspected she planned to leave, that she’d grown tired of their life and moved on to a place with more suited to her than Buckhannon. And this was just further proof. She’d been planning ahead. A thoughtful deserter.
A wrinkle had appeared in Mary’s forehead. “Tucker, when did you say your mother left? What year was it?”
“Ninety-seven.”
The furrow of her brow deepened. “That was the year my parents were abandoned here. An Exodus year.” Biting her lip thoughtfully, she eventually shook herself and turned away. “What else is down here?”
Something about Mary’s revelation niggled at the back of Tucker’s mind, but he chose to ignore the inconvenient pull. Chose to distract himself from what could only be a complication to a problem that couldn’t be solved. His mother was gone and it didn’t matter how or why she’d left. Not all these years later. “There’s, uh…stacked boxes, a furnace. Some mouse traps I’d rather not think about. No sunlight, though. That’s the main thing.”
“Your father is upstairs nailing cardboard over the windows,” she said softly. “I think he’s hoping we’ll stay longer.”
An unspoken question hung in the air. Was she leaving or staying?
Just like not wanting to know the reasons for his mother bailing on their family, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Mary tell him why she had to leave. Not yet. So he hurried to fill the silence before she could. “There are a lot of board games down here, too. Scrabble, Candy Land. Jenga.”
“What’s Jenga?”
“You stack a bunch of wooden blocks into a tower and try to pull them out, one by one, without knocking over the whole thing.”
“Can we play?”
“Of course. Hold on.” He rearranged some boxes to create a low table out of one, two chairs with some others. In the center of the table, he slowly emptied the tower of smooth wooden pieces and went to bring Mary over. But when he guided her to one of the makeshift seats, she pushed him down onto it and settled into his lap, her tight rump pressed right up against his stiffness. “Unfair advantage,” he managed, barely resisting the urge to clutch her hips and drag her butt up and back. Once or twice was probably all he would need.
“Okay, just bring my hand to the tower once and I’ll know where it is.”
“Roger that.” He took her small hand in his and brought it forward. “Another half inch and you’ll be there. Come to think of it, this might be the perfect game for you. It’s all about feeling and balance.”
Mary ran her fingertips down the side of the stacked wood, finding one in the middle that stuck out ever so slightly. She traveled around to the other side to make sure nothing was blocking its exit, then started to tap the coarse end gently, sliding out her first piece without disturbing the tower even slightly. “I like Jenga,” she murmured happily, leaning back against Tucker’s chest. “You better not let me win.”
He took a long smell of her hair, her soft feminine aroma scrambling his senses and dropping his eyelids to half-mast. “I’m sensing a competitive streak.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“To me, it depends what a person is competitive about. If they’re always in competition with someone over looks or having the best lawn, or some pointless shit like that, it’s a bad thing. Wanting to beat someone at a board game is the good kind of competitive. Healthy.”
“Oh good, because I really want to beat you.”
“Are we wagering anything on the outcome of this no-holds-barred Jenga match, Wanna Win Wendy?” he drawled.
Her giggle warmed the entire basement. “Oooh. Like betting?” In her enthusiasm, she wiggled a little in his lap and his eyeballs almost bugged out of his fucking head. “Let’s do it. If I win, I want to drive your Impala.”
“Jesus, that really rolled off the tongue.” Tucker barked a laugh. “How long have you been holding on to this secret wish?”
“Since the first time you turned on the ignition.” A wistful sigh. “It purrs like a lion.”
“Can I be frank with you?”