Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
HAYDEN
I’m on time for work.
Not sprinting through the front door while trying to shove a piece of cold toast into my mouth. Not fielding a call from the school because I forgot to pack Presley’s lunch. Not already exhausted before my day even begins.
I have to admit, I didn’t exactly have high expectations for Rowan.
Sure, she handled herself well last night. Better than I did, honestly.
Between the burned grilled cheese, Jemmy’s ketchup disaster, and the smoke detector going off, I was barely holding it together.
Not Rowan, though.
She swept in like a modern-day Mary Poppins and put my house together.
A very attractive, tattooed Mary Poppins.
I figured it was a fluke.
A one-time thing.
But she was just as calm this morning. She didn’t wait for me to tell her what to do. She stepped right in.
Like she’s been doing this forever.
Like she’s been part of our little family for longer than a few hours.
And she didn’t just make sure the kids ate.
She made sure I ate.
I can’t remember the last time I actually ate with my kids. While my mom has the entire family over for dinner once a month, that doesn’t really count. She cooks, my siblings fill the house with noise, and the kids run wild.
But this morning, it was just Presley, Jemmy, and me. Like life was before Cora died.
No wonder it felt strange. Like I didn’t know how to spend time with my own kids unless I was telling them what to do.
It makes me feel like a shitty father.
I try to shake it off as I walk into the clinic, waving a quick good morning to Margaret before heading toward my office, the heaviness increasing when I pass Cora’s portrait.
After shrugging into my coat, I slide on my glasses and flip through the short stack of patient messages I need to return. Within seconds, Robert steps inside.
As usual, his gaze flicks to the clock.
But instead of the smug look I’m used to, his brows lift slightly. Almost…surprised.
“Is there something you need, Robert?” I ask, pretending to be focused on the messages.
He clears his throat. “I wanted to let you know I took the liberty of hiring a nanny for you.”
I clench my jaw. Of course he did, even though I told him Dylan knew someone who might be a good fit.
“She’s available for the hours you need. Her name’s Dana. She teaches Sunday school. If you actually attended church, your kids would already know her.”
I don’t miss the condescension in his tone. He’s made his opinion on my lack of church attendance well known. And I’ve made my own opinion on organized religion equally clear. He has his beliefs. I have mine. I respect his.
I wish he’d respect mine.
“I appreciate it,” I begin in as even a tone as possible, “but I’ve already hired someone.”
His eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Dylan’s friend.”
“The dog walker?” he sneers.
I remove my glasses, sliding them into the pocket of my coat. “Her name is Rowan, and the kids seem to like her. Even Presley.”
His mouth tightens. “Dana has decades of experience with kids. How much experience can a dog walker possibly have?”
“Certainly not decades, but she’s great with the kids.
That’s all that matters to me. That, and she’s already made my life easier.
She has no problem cleaning. Doing laundry.
Things the nannies you hired refused to do.
While she may not have the same amount of so-called experience, she has a natural talent for making my kids feel comfortable. ”
He studies me, clearly unconvinced. Then again, I could tell him Rowan once nannied for the British Royal Family and he’d find something lacking about her.
All because he didn’t make the decision to hire her.
“I appreciate all your help in finding the last few nannies. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll talk to Dana. But so far, Rowan’s been more than great.”
I step past him before he can argue, that familiar sensation creeping in as I walk toward the nurse’s station. Even though I’m an adult, Robert still has a way of making me feel like I’m constantly falling short. Like I’m not good enough.
I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I try to tell myself I don’t.
But he’s Cora’s father.
I think a part of me will always want his approval.
Will always try to please him.
Will always try to prove that I am good enough.
And he’ll probably always make me feel like I’m inadequate.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I retrieve it. When I see Rowan’s name flash on the screen, my stomach drops, panic overtaking me.
I open the message, already bracing for disaster.
Rowan:
Thought you might like proof of life to ease your mind.
Below it is a picture of Jemmy holding up today’s newspaper like a hostage.
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my throat. It feels foreign to laugh again after all this time.
Me:
Hope he’s not giving you too much trouble.
Rowan:
Never.
“That’s something I haven’t seen in a while,” a voice cuts through.
I snap my head up, clicking off the screen as one of the nurses approaches.
“What’s that?” I ask Nancy.
“You. Smiling. Did you meet someone?” she asks in a hushed voice, knowing all too well how Robert would react.
After all, Nancy is Cora’s best friend.
Was Cora’s best friend.
I open my mouth, trying to formulate a response.
I did meet someone.
And she is absolutely the reason I’m smiling.
But it’s not like that.
Except my brain immediately reminds me of the way I kept stealing a glance her way as she made breakfast this morning.
The black leggings.
The t-shirt that rode up when she reached for the cabinets.
The tattoo of a thorny vine snaking out from under her shirt and along her collarbone.
I shouldn’t be wondering what the rest of it looks like.
But I am.
I’m also wondering what other tattoos she might have.
And where.
“With what time?” I respond with a nervous laugh, worried if anyone might see through me it’s Nancy. “And I’m not interested in meeting anyone.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So you plan to play the grieving widower forever?”
I exhale slowly, shaking my head.
It’s not the first time I’ve had this conversation.
At first, no one brought it up. The wound was still open, the pain too raw.
But over the past few months, people have started to mention it, especially as we near the one-year mark.
“Do you really think that’s what Cora would have wanted for you?” she adds gently. “And her kids?”
“I just…” I blow out another long breath as I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not ready.”
“We’re never ready. But that doesn’t mean we should close down and stop living. You shouldn’t stop living, Hayden.”
I search my brain for something to say, insist I’m happy. But I can’t seem to say the words. Instead, I grab my phone and show her the picture of Jemmy.
“The nanny sent proof of life. That’s what I was smiling at. He looks like a miniature hostage.”
She laughs softly, a twinkle of nostalgia forming in her eye. “He looks so much like her.”
“He does.”
We stare at the screen for a beat longer than necessary. Then I clear my throat and return my phone to my pocket. “What do we have today?”
“Mr. Alba’s in room two.”
I arch a brow. “Again?”
“He’s convinced the twitch in his left eyelid is brain cancer,” she says cheerfully, handing me a tablet.
“Of course it is,” I mutter under my breath.
While I would never assume to know more about a person’s body than they do, ever since Mr. Alba’s wife passed away earlier in the year, he’s been to this clinic at least once a week, sometimes more.
I get the feeling he’s just lonely, so he makes up some excuse to come here.
I head down the hallway toward the exam rooms, pulling up Mr. Alba’s file on my tablet. As I’m about to knock on the door, my phone buzzes again.
A ridiculous spark of anticipation rushes through me, and I quickly open Rowan’s message.
It’s another picture. But this time, it’s a selfie of her and Jemmy, roaring at the camera like dinosaurs.
Rowan:
Jemmy says ROAR!
My chest tightens. Jemmy looks happy. Really happy.
And Rowan looks so alive. Like joy is her default setting.
I wonder what it would be like to go through life that way. To find joy in even the small things. I trace my gaze over her face. From her bright blue eyes. To her button nose. To her high cheekbones with a hint of pink. To her full lips.
I quickly shake my head, pocketing my phone.
Rowan’s my nanny.
My employee.
I’m older. A single dad still grieving my wife’s death.
Or maybe that’s the excuse I’ve been hiding behind for too long now.
Either way, as I see patient after patient, Rowan’s smile lingers in the back of my mind.
And for the first time in a while, I don’t hate how it makes me feel.