Chapter Five Madelyn #3
“What’s tedious?” Zack asks.
How come he can say “tedious,” but not “courageous”? This kid...
“It means hard, long, and boring,” I supply. “But it pays the bills, and it lets me have time with this little guy.” I didn’t mean to say what I said next, but it came out, a soft mutter, “and only this little guy.”
Krakens have very good hearing. “It is hard being new in town. Or being the only one to look after someone.”
“Do you have kids?” Zack asked.
“No, but my mother became very ill when I was younger. I took care of her, the way she always took care of me. And uh—well, when she didn’t need me to take care of her any longer, I went looking for a place to call home and family to make that home with.
I haven’t found them yet, but my cousin has found his happy place in another little town in New York, so I thought I might do the same. ”
I appreciate the way he skimmed over what I can only assume was his mother’s passing, even though I want to know more, and my heart hurts for him. I’m grateful that he didn’t put the thought of losing a mother in Zack’s head, though.
Part of me also appreciates that little detail about no kids and looking for home and family. That’s a steady sort of guy, right?
Or he knows what lines to say to women. Eli knew what lines to say to you, as long as he still wanted you.
“Mom, if Mr. Mercer comes for dinner, we can play. You work?” Zack asks through a sudden yawn.
“Honey, that’s a sweet thought, but we aren’t ready for company yet. We can’t serve a dinner guest frozen pot pies.”
“You seem so busy. Could I bring dinner? Tomorrow night?” Mercer passes me the beach bag he carried for us, and watches me strap Zack into the bike seat.
“Yay!” Zack shouts, so pleased at the idea. “Is it pizza?”
“It’s fish. I catch a lot of fish,” Mercer explains.
Zack makes a face. “Fish sticks?”
“You can have a pot pie, honey,” I say quickly, not sure how all of this is happening. I mean, I know this guy saved my precious son’s life, and I invited him to dinner. That part is fine. Normal. What’s not normal is how I’m suddenly feeling confused.
Is he taken with Zack to the point that he really wants to hang out with him? I could see that, even though that also makes my “You’ve seen the sickos on the news” alerts go off in my head.
Is he pitying my lonely, single-mom life?
Are we two newbies in town, desperate to make any kind of connection?
Can he sense my daydreams? The ones I’m mad at myself for having?
Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter now. My big mouth and Zack’s big heart have taken over the role of social secretary.
“We eat kinda early,” I croak, snapping Zack’s helmet on his head. “Before six.”
“Mom reads bedtime books. You can hear them, too,” Zack offers, squinting up at Mercer.
“Um, yes, he goes to bed pretty early, so I can try to do a little work while he’s asleep and I’m still awake enough to function.”
My soon-to-be dinner guest gives another of those grave nods. He’s still smiling, but it’s a serious, patient smile.
Oh, yes. Definitely pity.
“Tomorrow morning for lessons?” he asks.
“Please, Mommy?”
“Sure,” I croak again. This guy is going to think I’m a frog shifter, if that’s something that exists.
“Excellent. Lessons tomorrow morning, and I’ll bring dinner tomorrow night. If I may come around five, I could do the cooking, and you could work. Zack can help me in the kitchen. He seems very mature.”
“I’m almost three!”
“Well, you speak like you’re almost five,” Mercer says, bowing like some knight addressing a prince.
“Sounds good,” I say, and hop on my bike. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Mercer uses a single word, and it sounds like some big, fancy promise in my head.
“That was so fun.” Zack sighs, and I can feel him kicking his feet as we pedal away.
“I’m glad, honey.” I let out a shaky breath.
Hey. Yesterday, your son almost drowned.
The guy who is giving him swim lessons and saved his life is coming to dinner.
Stop overthinking everything and just be a gracious, grateful person.
Stop being crazy. Stop living with Eli’s ugly words in your head.
“You didn’t have fun?” Zack picks up on my silence. I’m just glad he hasn’t reached the stage where he can predict my internal monologues yet, but I bet you it’s coming.
“I did. I loved seeing you have fun in the water and learn things to keep you safe.”
“I can blow bubbles. Did you see me kick? Did you see me dunk?”
“So good, honey!”
“Are you scared? Were you scared I wouldn’t swim good like today ago?”
“I wasn’t afraid like I was yesterday.” I let out a long, silent breath, and when I talk again, I keep my voice cheerful.
This is a new life. A new place. I’ve already met an adult to talk to who is also great with my son.
I have a bigger, better space for him, in a way more beautiful place.
“I am afraid, little man. Afraid that I need a second cup of coffee. Watching you swim made me tired. Are you tired?”
“No!”
Of course not.