She flopped onto my couch dramatically. “We LeBlanc girls really do have a type, don’t we?”
Ignoring her, I sat at the other end of the couch.
“Burly lumberjacks,” she said with a wistful sigh.
She’d said that before. I still didn’t want to think about it too much.
“You know,” she elbowed me, “giant protectors with teddy bear personalities who secretly want us to dominate them.”
“Ew.” I hit her with a throw pillow. “Chloe, I did not need to hear that.”
She shrugged. “Regardless, I get it. You’ve been through hell. He seems like a good guy. But Celine, this is not the time to be getting distracted.”
Her words hit me hard. As usual, my big sister was right. She was the practical one and I was the one with my head in the clouds.
“Of course.”
“Let me schedule a call with the lawyers this week. And I’ll talk to my friend at the state house. There’s a good chance we can get this parole denied or, at the very least, delayed.”
I nodded, a plan already forming in my mind. I’d have to take a few days off, probably drop the kids with Chloe and Gus, and head to court in Bangor. I’d say whatever the lawyers told me to say to make sure he wasn’t released. To ensure he served the rest of his time and couldn’t hurt us anymore.
Chapter 24
Celine
Apple picking was serious business. At least the way my kids approached it was.
I’d avoided Josh all week, at a loss for where to go from here. It wasn’t all that difficult, actually. Between teaching, momming, and calls with my lawyer, who was preparing an objection statement for me to send to the Maine parole board, I’d barely had time to breathe.
After our incredible weekend, the kids were more at ease than ever, so I’d worked hard not to burst that bubble. But keeping all that anxiety to myself, not letting them experience even a hint of fear, was draining every ounce of energy I had.
Staying away from Josh like I had hurt. Warm, flannel-clad Josh, with his thick beard and kind eyes. So when he’d sent a group text last night, asking for help picking the last of the apples in his orchard, I couldn’t say no.
All around, the maple trees were exploding with color—burnt orange, crimson, and gold. The air was chilly but clean, recharging some of the energy I’d lost this week.
We trudged through the spongy grass of the orchard to the sound of laughter and the thudding of apples falling into crates. My hands were cold, but the sun warmed my face. It was the perfect October day. There had been a time in my life when this was my favorite month. It always felt different from the rest. An invitation to slow down, to linger. The last buffer of color and sun before the long winter.
“You’ve been busy.” Josh approached, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. It was a good thing, since with one reminder of what those thick, strong hands could do, I’d probably spontaneous combust.
I nodded, scanning the area, noting Callie and Evie nearby, along with Jasper and Vincent, the little guy content in his dad’s arms, gumming on a giant red apple.
My kids were having a blast, Ellie currently lifting Julian so he could reach apples higher up one tree.
Jenn and Mel were here with their boys, and a few other folks from town joined in as well.
Including Stella, who was pretty heavily made up for nine a.m. on a Saturday. She was constantly looking around, probably hoping Gabe would show up.
I, on the other hand, was drinking cold coffee out of my mug and wearing yesterday’s clothes.
“Fun footwear,” Josh said, looking down at my feet.
Bristling, I followed his line of sight.
Shit. I was wearing two different Crocs. One blue, one pink glitter. Damn Ellie. Now that her feet were the same size as mine, my shoes disappeared randomly, sometimes only one at a time.
I’d been tearing the house apart looking for my left pink sparkle Croc but had just given up.
“Don’t hate the Crocs.” I stuck my tongue out. “So you invited us for the free labor, I assume?”