Just one third to go #3
“Well, I need to get my pebble collection anyway,” she announces. “To show Penny.”
She disappears down the hall with Gus scrambling after her, claws skidding slightly as he goes. The house falls quieter without her commentary, and Penny shifts slightly on the couch, turning toward me.
The television continues humming in the background, about choosing mates and giving pebbles, but neither of us is really watching it now.
“So you’re really thinking about staying here long-term?” I ask, because the question has been sitting there since the table.
“Yeah,” she says with a soft smile. “I am.”
“Maplewood’s not exactly thrilling.”
“I don’t want thrilling.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes moving to mine. “I just want something real.”
Her words settle over me, and I nod, letting them sink in.
“I’ve done the fast-pace thing,” she continues.
“After my dad died, his business, which I worked in, changed. My stepfamily took over, and everything shifted.” Her gaze drops, focusing on the slow circle of her thumb on the back of her hand.
“I spent years holding together something that wasn’t his anymore—cleaning up their messes and playing peacemaker. ”
I know that feeling well.
Her shoulders draw in slightly. “It just felt wrong. There was no integrity left, and I felt like I was slowly losing parts of who I was every time I had to do their dirty work. I don’t want that anymore.”
I’m silent for a moment, sensing the weight behind those carefully chosen words. “You don’t strike me as someone who quits easily.”
“I didn’t quit,” she says quickly. “I just got tired of twisting myself to fit for people who never really wanted me there.”
There’s something raw underneath her words, something old enough to have scarred instead of healed. And it scrapes at something in my chest, because nobody should sound that certain about being unwanted.
“You’ve got the Maplewood Motel for now?”
“For now.” She smiles faintly. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s fine.”
“And work?”
“I’ll find something.” She shrugs. “I’m good at figuring things out.”
I study her for a moment. My shifts are long, and some weeks they stretch in ways I don’t always anticipate.
I manage with Elle, I always have. But I think about mornings when I leave before Elle’s awake, and the afternoons when she stays with neighbors or Remi or the Parnells longer than I like because a call runs over.
Or when we get a major, and I have to drop everything and head straight in.
“You’re good with Elle,” I repeat, aware that I’m crossing an invisible line I normally don’t breach—at least not this fast, and never this easily.
“She makes it easy.”
“She doesn’t. Not always…”
Penny smiles at that. “I like her.”
“I can see that.” I look down at my hands. “She likes you, too… Gus, too.”
“Well then,” she says, nudging my knee lightly with her own. “Just one third to go, huh?”
I hesitate as I stare at her for a beat, then push forward before I talk myself out of it.
“I work long shifts,” I say. “Sometimes they flip from days to nights. From twelves to longer—but I manage it. We’ve got a system, mostly.”
She nods, listening.
“But with school starting soon, Elle needs something more consistent and someone who enjoys her company.” I meet her eyes properly. “If you’re still looking for work.”
The words hang there, and I hope I’ve made them sound practical. But Penny doesn’t light up and answer immediately. Instead, she glances down the hallway where Elle disappeared.
“What do you think Elle would think of that?”
Not what it would pay or how many hours.
What would Elle think.
It’s the first thing out of her mouth, and it tells me more than any questionnaire could’ve.
“She’d be thrilled,” I say honestly.
Me too.
Penny’s mouth curves slightly at that, but she still looks careful. “I’d have to be sure I could do it properly. You know, not just be filling space when you’re on shift.”
“There’s no way you’d just be filling space,” I say before I can stop myself. “Miss Mabel retired, and we’ve been patching it together since. Neighbors and friends and Remi. It works, but it’s not consistent.”
“I’d want it to feel stable for her,” Penny says quietly. “Not like I’m just passing through.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I reply.
Her gaze flickers slightly at that, but before we can discuss it further, Elle comes thundering back down the hall.
“Daddy! I found the shiny one!”
She barrels into the living room, clutching a small tin, Gus skidding behind her. She plops down on the rug at our feet and flips the lid open with a dramatic flourish.
“Yes!” she says, holding one up triumphantly. “This one is for getting married. Penguins use pebbles to get married, Penny.”
“That’s not exactly—”
“That’s a very strong candidate,” Penny says as she leans forward, studying the stone.
“I know.” Elle beams. “It’s smooth. That means you picked good.”
“Picked good?” I repeat.
“If you pick a bad pebble, they don’t marry you,” Elle explains patiently, clearly wondering how her father reached adulthood without knowing this critical fact.
“That makes sense,” Penny says, nodding.
I look from her and back down to Elle, clearing my throat and considering my next words carefully.
“Bug, how would you like for Penny to stay here for a while? Like Miss Mabel did, to help you when I’m at work?”
“Oh!” Elle suddenly looks between us, her eyes wide with excitement. “So if Penny stays here, does that mean she’s like our penguin?”
I nearly swallow my tongue. “What?”
“You said penguins stay together for seasons,” Elle continues, completely undeterred.
“So if Penny helps me instead of Miss Mabel, is that a season? Is she staying? Is that like getting married but not married? You don’t have pebbles, Daddy, but I have pebbles, so you can borrow one of mine if you—”
“Okay,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. “Elle, I promise you, childcare and penguin marriage are not the same thing.”
Penny is softly laughing now, but she reaches out and steadies Elle by the shoulders.
“Helping to take care of you wouldn’t mean I need a pebble,” she says gently. “It would just mean I get to spend more time with you, which is one of my favorite things.”
“For a season?” Elle presses.
“For as long as it makes sense,” Penny answers.
Elle looks at me again, hopeful and relentless. “So she can stay forever?”
I choke on air properly this time, and Penny’s gaze flicks up to mine over Elle’s head. There’s humor there, but there’s also something softer. She hesitates briefly, then looks back down at Elle’s hopeful expression.
“I don’t know about forever,” she tells Elle. “That’s a really long time. But as long as you both want me here, I’d love to stay.”
Her eyes move back to mine, and I see the vulnerability mixed with certainty that this means something for her, too. Something real.
Elle looks back at me and waits. I look at the tin of pebbles in my daughter’s hands, at the shiny one she’s plucked from it and has decided is worthy. At Penny, sitting on my couch, in my house, with my dog leaning into her leg like he’s already decided something too.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that if Penny wants to help look after you, we could try it.” I glance up and meet Penny’s careful eyes. “See how it feels. For all of us.”
Elle gasps. “Really?!”
“Really,” I confirm. “But we’d still need to talk about it properly. And get the guest house ready.”
It’s a bigger offer than it sounds, but somehow, I don’t regret it. The calm, open look Penny gives me makes it clear she understands exactly what I’m trusting her with.
Elle launches forward and throws her arms around Penny again.
“See? I told you!” she murmurs into her sweater. “You get to be our penguin!”
Penny laughs, hugging her back, but her eyes lift to mine. There’s an understanding there, now. She’s looking for stability, and that’s what we need too.
Inviting someone into our life this quickly is a risk I’d normally avoid, because I don’t rush things. I don’t gamble with Elle.
But I sit here, watching my daughter press a shiny pebble into Penny’s palm, entrusting her with something much more valuable than a simple stone. Watching them quietly murmur to each other with excited, matching blue eyes.
This should feel reckless, but it doesn’t.
Penny doesn’t.