Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Lyn called, sorry she was going to be late, and worried, from the hesitancy in her tone, that I was going to be mad. But I had no inclination to be upset. I was fine. When she got there at seven thirty, everyone was fed, showered, and in their pajamas for the ride home. She took one look at them, all sprawled out on the sectional, Pip watching Kung Fu Panda, Micah drawing in his sketch pad, and Tristan playing Mario Kart on his Switch, and burst into tears.
I grabbed her tight and squeezed her until she stopped, ending up with her head on my chest, arms wrapped around my back, and leaning heavily. The boys were all looking at us, curious as to the trouble.
“Mama’s just tired,” I told them.
One by one they got off the couch: first Pip, then Tristan, and finally Micah. She went to her knees and got a kiss and hug from each one, plus a drawing from Micah.
“Oh, baby, I love it,” she told him, wiping at her eyes, then pointing at the tree with the tire swing and then at me with my huge noggin. “Who’s this?”
“Weber,” he told her and smiled.
She froze.
I nudged her to make her voice work.
“O-oh,” she stammered, “well, it looks just like him.”
He nodded and left us.
Slowly, like she was moving through molasses, she rose and faced me—wide-eyed, her mouth agape, making her look like a fish, and her color was all wrong, sort of gray.
“Dr. Erin,” I began telling her, “said he was fixin’ to talk soon, so you should start hearin’ some words sprinkled in with his nods and such.”
She was just staring at me.
“But you shouldn’t make it a big deal, or else he’ll be thinkin’ he’s different, and he ain’t. So when he talks to you, simply talk back.”
Her indrawn breath was thready.
“That’s what the doctor said,” I reiterated.
Those eyes of hers, much like her brother’s, never left my face.
“Say, yes, I heard you, Weber.”
“Yes, I heard you, Weber.”
I grunted.
“One fucking day,” she said breathlessly.
The swearing was new. “Pardon?”
“They were with you alone one fucking day, and Micah is feeling so grounded that he wants to start talking again, and all three of them look happy and content like I haven’t seen them in months.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Apparently, I’m a mountain.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I grinned and patted her arm. “Are you hungry? We made stroganoff.”
“I get dinner too?”
I cupped her cheek before walking into the kitchen to get out of the refrigerator the plate I made for her and warm it in the microwave.
“Weber.”
I looked over my shoulder at her.
“You take better care of my boys than my husband did, and you care more about me.”
“That’s real sad. Maybe the next man you find should be sweet on all y’all. Just a thought.”
She swallowed hard. “Tomorrow I’m supposed to go to a Christmas open house at my boss’s house. We’re supposed to bring our children, and some people bring their nannies instead of their spouses. Would you consider going with me?”
“Surely.” I smiled at her. “I’d love to be the nanny.”
“I would love it too. Permanently.”
Hours later, I sat alone on the couch, watching Sports Center but mostly I was thinking about what I could and couldn’t do.
I often made choices based on what others thought. The only people who would have simply accepted whatever I decided to do or be, with unconditional love and support, was my family. But then my mother died, followed by my father, and finally my brother, and without them, I had no touchstone, no one I trusted. Except Cyrus.
I had faith in Cy, but he loved the cowboy, the excitement of that life, of me riding off into the sunset and pining for me when I was gone. If I was there, underfoot, how could that work?
What the hell was I going to do?
I heard his car pull in before the door from the garage to the kitchen opened, and he came rushing in, eyes sweeping the room before they fell on me.
“Hey.” I smiled. “How was the party?”
He looked incredible in his tuxedo as he crossed the floor to me, smiling wide, his bottom lip trembling.
“What’s with you?” I asked him as he reached me, leaning down close as I slid my hand up his arm.
“I missed you,” he whispered as his lips met mine.
I lifted so our mouths fit better and eased him down beside me, deepening the kiss, letting my tongue take the tour before tangling with his. He moaned and tried to shift against me, but I pulled back.
“What are—”
“Go change. That tuxedo costs more than what I got in the world, Dr. Benning.”
He rose quickly, striding from the room, and I was left again to wonder what I could really do. What made a man a man? Who got to judge?