Page 45 of Pieces Into Place

Chapter twenty-two

Olivia

“Tell me about your family,” I say, sitting with Kane under a thick fleece blanket later that evening.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before beginning. A small smile creeps onto his lips as he seems to think about them. “They’re awesome. I have a younger brother and sister who are twins. They’re basically better than me at everything,” he says, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Are you close to them?” I ask.

Kane’s expression changes slightly, his previously jovial smile replaced by one of nostalgia. “We were, when we were younger,” he says with a sigh. “But I’ve been away from home for the past few years, and it’s been tougher to keep in touch often as we’ve all gotten older.” A hint of guilt hangs in the air as he finishes his sentence.

“And your parents?” I inquired further, taking a sip of my hot cocoa as the warmth spread through my body.

Kane seems to lighten up again at the mention of his parents. His smile widens and a twinkle sparkles in his eye. “My parents are great,” he says proudly. “My mom is a photographer and my dad was a detective until he retired last year.”

“Sounds perfect,” I note with admiration.

Kane shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not perfect,” he admits, “but then again, no family ever is.”

I’m always fascinated to talk to people who have happy, functioning families; if my mom and grandparents hadn’t been killed, I know our home would have maintained that same dynamic too, despite my mother being a single parent. Even though there was pain hidden behind their smiles, love and happiness were never lacking from our home.

“So your mom is a photographer?” I ask, eager to learn more.

Kane nods. “She’s really good, too.”

“How did your parents meet?” His eyes sparkle with nostalgia at the mention of his parents’ meeting story, but soon dim with sadness. For a moment he goes somewhere else; somewhere profoundly sad, but returns to me with a shake of his head.

“It’s an interesting story, actually,” Kane begins. “My dad was on a case. He was trying to protect my mom from someone who was stalking her.”

I lean back against the couch in disbelief, somewhat caught off-guard by the similarities in our meeting stories. “That sounds a little familiar. Was he a grumpy ass at first as well?”

Kane shrugs with a half-smile and continues, “Probably, but Millie wasn’t having any of it, though. She didn’t particularly want his help. She was feisty and independent. Still is. Even though my father is bigger than me, it’s always been my mother I’m scared of.” He laughs.

I can’t help but chuckle in agreement. “Aren’t most men scared of their mamas though?”

He nods knowingly. “I met plenty of guys during my service who were the toughest motherfuckers you could imagine, but if their mothers called them out? Forget about it, they’d just about shit their pants.”

“Sounds about right.” I giggle. “So, she finally allowed him to help her?”

He nods. “She fought it for a while. But eventually he got his way. And they fell for each other.” His eyes soften with longing as a ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

“I love that,” I tell him.

“Some enemies make the best lovers.”

Kane grins widely and pulls me closer so I’m straddling him on the couch. His hands settle gently at my waist, and I can feel the warmth in his touch. “You think so, huh?” he says.

“All evidence points to yes, so far.”

Kane gently teases a strand of my hair away that has fallen across my eyes.

“So what about you? Was your mom scary and tough too? Was she like you?” he asks softly with trepidation. The snowflakes outside fall as gently as his question as they pile up on the window sill waiting for my answer.

I sigh. “She was nothing like me. She was sweet and magical. I’ve probably built her up in my mind as a saint after all these years, but she baked everything from scratch. No shortcuts, no cake mixes for cakes or pumpkin from a can for pumpkin pie. She would actually bake the pumpkins. She was kind, never hurt a creature, not capable of it. She was the type to rescue bees from the sidewalk, and take hapless spiders that found their way into our house outside with a Dixie cup. Neighbors loved her. She took care of everyone. She’d stay up with you for hours if you had a nightmare. And she was so beautiful. She never wore a stitch of makeup, but she had this glowy beauty. Kind of Bohemian and ethereal - long hair, long flowy skirts. She smelled like vanilla and summertime.”

“She sounds a little like someone I know, except the spider part,” Kane whispers into my shoulder.

“My memories of her make it hard to reconcile what happened to her. She didn’t deserve it. She wasn’t just mugged. She was murdered.” I choke and feel Kane shudder as he rests his chin on my shoulder.