Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
PETER
W e pulled into the garage an hour and a half later with Maisy curled in the back seat, her legs tucked up in front of her. She’d been whimpering most of the way, clutching for dear life to the spare pitcher Amber had given her.
We weren’t sure if it was a stomach bug or something she’d eaten, but whatever it was had her vomiting every hour or so. Every window in the car was rolled down in an attempt to alleviate the putrid smell.
When Ainsley parked the car, I slid out of my side door, hurrying to scoop Maisy up and carry her inside. Ainsley was just behind me, carrying the bag from the grocery store we’d stopped at to stock up on whatever our daughter might need.
This was when we were at our best—Ains and I. When we had to work together as a team, no matter the reason, we fired on all cylinders. It was why we were so good. So much of our life had been bouncing from one situation to the next. One problem after the other: sick kids, work emergencies, her parents’ divorce, Glennon getting cancer, her grandfather’s dementia. We’d been in crisis mode for so long, sometimes I wondered if we even remembered how to be normal.
Then again, what was normal anyway?
Actually, now that I thought about it, the most normal time in our marriage had also been the most drab. Perhaps the most problematic.
It was that period of time that led us to try the arrangement in the first place.
At least, that was what Ainsley had let me believe in the beginning.
I placed Maisy in her bed, tugging her shoes off her feet and pulling the comforter around her shoulders. Ainsley was just behind me, pouring her a glass of ginger ale and placing a plate of crackers next to it.
“Get a washcloth,” she instructed, lowering herself next to Maisy as she rubbed her cheeks carefully.
I did as I was told, returning moments later and handing it over. Ainsley was helping her out of her clothes as Maisy whined.
“Come on now, sweetheart, you’ll feel better once you’ve changed.” She tossed the clothes next to her on the floor and held out a hand for the washcloth. When I handed it to her, I knew I’d done something wrong. Her face contorted, eyes rolling. “Peter, did you wet this?”
“You didn’t say…”
She shoved it back toward me. “Warm water. For her head.” I turned away from her, cloth in hand, and retreated toward the bathroom again. When I came back, Ainsley had Maisy dressed in her pajamas. She took the washcloth from me and used it to stroke Maisy’s forehead. “Is there anything else we can get you, baby?” she cooed. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to me that way.
Maisy shook her head. “Thanks, Momma.”
“I’ll just be down the hall,” she said.
“Try to get some rest,” I chimed in.
With that, we backed out of the room, watching as Maisy pulled the comforter up around her chin. Once we were safely in the hall, Ainsley nodded at me.
A confirmation that it was all going to be okay.
“I need a drink,” she said simply, turning to walk toward the kitchen. As she did, I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. It had gone off on the drive home, but I’d been too preoccupied to check it at the time.
When I spied the name on my screen, my stomach tightened instinctively.
It had been years since he’d called me on my personal phone, even longer since I’d answered. What could he possibly want now?
We’d long since severed ties personally, choosing only to continue our semblance of a relationship professionally.
Even that was a stretch.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket, trying to tamp down the curiosity as I made my way into the kitchen.
I had enough on my plate. Whatever he wanted, it would have to wait.
Always one crisis to the next.