“Do they know when?” Tackle asked.
“He thinks within the last hour. He’s working on confirmation now.”
“I’m sorry to sound less than sympathetic, but why does Caruso’s death bother you so much?”
“It doesn’t, peanut. I just don’t like to talk about stuff like that around the baby.”
I smiled and held my hand out to my brother. “Get over here and let me give you a hug.”
After Knox left, Tackle insisted on staying at the hospital with me overnight. “If you’re on bed rest, so am I,” he told me, sitting in what looked like a really uncomfortable chair.
A little while later, when one of the nurses came in to check on me, she told him the recliner in the corner opened to something closer to a bed. He rolled it over so he could still hold my hand when we fell asleep.
The next morning, when my parents arrived, I told them I’d decided to stay at the Chestnut Hill house instead of with them.
“Our house,” Tackle said when he heard how I referred to it.
“I’ll come over and help, and so will your father.”
“I appreciate that, Mom, but it’s still being renovated. You might be in the way.”
“We’re done, except for the exterior,” muttered Tackle, stretching his arms over his head.
“You are?”
“My dad had crews working around the clock to finish up what was left of the inside. Pays to own a construction company, I guess.”
“Tackle, can I speak with you for a minute?” my father asked.
“Of course.”
Both men left the room.
“What’s that all about, Mom?”
“Your father wants to talk to Tackle about a job.”
“He wants to do construction?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s retiring, and there may be a position with the State Department opening up.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but I had no interest in history repeating itself. Tackle knew how I felt, and I hoped he’d at least discuss it with me if he was interested in pursuing it. I hated that it felt as though I was testing him, but I was. If he took the job with State or went back to work full time for K19 and didn’t talk it over with me first, we were going to have a problem. There was no way I would agree to live the kind of life my mother had. But what was the alternative? Would I issue him an ultimatum like I guessed my mother had done to my father? If I did, wouldn’t I be showing him the same lack of respect I didn’t want him to show me?
I thought back to when I drafted my imaginary dating-site listing. Boring homebody, I’d said, but I knew deep down, clipping Tackle’s wings would result in neither of us being happy.
When they came back in, I held my breath. Tackle looked stressed, which told me everything I needed to know.
“What do you need at the house?” my mother asked, maybe to break the tension in the room. “We’ll go shopping.”
Tackle looked at me, and I shrugged. “Food?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s go, Carolina,” said my father. “We’ll check with Sloane and Tackle after they’ve had a chance to get settled and better figure out what they need.”
My mother kissed my forehead and rested her hand on my belly. “I love you, mija.”