Chapter 9
ALEXA
My phone buzzing on the nightstand pulls me from sleep. I squint at the screen. Eight thirty a.m. and a text from Colby’s mom asking if Ash wants to come over to play. Then another message follows: We’re planning to go to Laser Quest and the arcade afterward, if that’s okay with you.
I can hear the familiar sounds of video-game music drifting down the hallway, which means Ash is already up and at his Nintendo. On a normal Sunday, I’d probably let him play for another hour while I have my coffee in peace.
Today feels different, though. I’m getting ready for my second day helping Jordan with Henry, and apparently Ash has options that don’t involve tagging along.
“Want to go to Colby’s house?” I ask, showing him the messages. “They’re going to laser tag and the arcade.”
His face absolutely lights up. “Really? Can I go? Please?”
Last weekend, I would have had to make excuses. Tell him we couldn’t afford it this week… maybe next time. The guilt of watching his excitement fade would have eaten at me for days.
Now, thanks to Jordan, I can say, “Of course. Get dressed and brush your teeth.”
“Yes!” Ash jumps off the couch and races toward his room. “This is going to be the best day ever!”
I grab my purse and pull out forty dollars, more spending money than I’ve been able to give him in months. The relief of being able to say yes, of not having to disappoint him, makes my chest feel lighter.
I also send a quick text to Jordan: Running late. Dropping Ash at a friend’s house first. Be there by 9:30.
His response comes back immediately: No problem. Take your time.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the car heading to Colby’s neighborhood. Ash bounces in his seat, talking nonstop about laser-tag strategies and which arcade games he wants to try.
“See you at five.” I hand him the forty dollars. “Have fun and listen to Mrs. Fogleman.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best!” He gives me a quick wave before bolting from the car, not even mentioning Henry or asking about my day.
I watch him run up to the front door, where Colby is already waiting with a basketball in hand.
The pure joy on Ash’s face reminds me why working for Jordan is about more than just paying bills.
It’s about giving my son the kind of childhood where he can be excited about having a fun weekend without worrying about money.
The drive to Jordan’s takes about ten minutes from this part of town, giving me time to think about yesterday. How natural it felt to help with Henry. How relieved Jordan seemed to have support. How I went to sleep thinking about his smile when Henry finally stopped crying.
Back at home, I park in my driveway, then cross the yard, thinking that I should probably start walking on the driveways instead of the grass. I don’t want to wear a path in Jordan’s yard walking back and forth every day.
On the porch, I take a moment to smooth my hair, then knock on the front door and wait. From inside, I can hear Henry crying. Not the angry wail from yesterday morning, but a tired, persistent fussing that suggests he’s been at it for a while.
Jordan opens the door, and I’m relieved to see he looks much better than yesterday. His hair is combed, he’s wearing a fresh shirt, and the dark circles under his eyes are mostly gone.
“Thank God you’re here,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. “He slept through the night, which was amazing, but he’s been fussing since he woke up an hour ago.”
“That’s progress, though. A full night’s sleep is huge.” I set my purse on the entry table and follow the sound of crying to the living room, where Henry is red-faced in his bouncy seat. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a human being again. I actually got eight hours of sleep.” Jordan runs a hand through his hair, but this time it’s more of a nervous gesture than exhaustion. “I thought maybe we’d turned a corner, but then this morning happened.”
I crouch down in front of Henry’s seat and unbuckle him carefully. “Hey there, sweet boy. What’s going on?”
The moment I lift him up, his crying begins to subside. I settle him against my shoulder, rubbing his back in small circles, and within a minute he’s quiet except for the occasional hiccup.
Jordan stares at me with a mixture of amazement and frustration. “How do you do that? I tried everything—bottle, diaper change, walking around, even that swaying thing you showed me yesterday.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes babies just need a change.” I continue rubbing Henry’s back, feeling his tiny body relax against me. “Maybe it’s a female thing. Or maybe he’s just particular about who comforts him when he’s upset.”
“Here, let me try again.” Jordan moves closer, reaching for Henry, and suddenly we’re standing very close together. His hand brushes mine as he takes the baby, and I catch a hint of his cologne—something clean and masculine that makes my pulse quicken.
For a moment, we’re both focused on transferring Henry carefully, our faces inches apart. Jordan looks up at me, and there’s something in his eyes that has nothing to do with baby care and everything to do with the way I’m standing so close I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
The air between us feels charged, like it’s made of Pop Rocks and won’t stop crackling.
Then Henry makes a small sound, breaking the spell, and we both step back quickly. Jordan clears his throat while I smooth down my shirt, both of us suddenly very interested in anything other than looking at each other.
“He seems calmer,” Jordan says, his voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Yes. Much calmer.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to ignore the way my heart is still racing.
“Maybe he just needed both of us,” Jordan says.
“He might be going through a sleep regression. Or he could be missing his mom.”
The words hang in the air between us. Jordan’s expression shifts, becoming guarded in a way that makes me immediately regret bringing it up.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “That’s not my business.”
“It’s fine.” But his tone suggests it’s anything but. “You’re probably right. This is all new for him too.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes my chest ache. New for Henry. Not temporary. Not until his mom comes back from wherever she is.
I study Jordan’s face, looking for clues I probably have no right to seek. The exhaustion is obvious, but there’s something else underneath it. Worry that goes deeper than new-baby tiredness. Fear that feels bigger than normal new-parent anxiety.
“Jordan,” I start, then stop myself. Whatever’s going on with Henry’s mother isn’t something Jordan wants to discuss, and pushing will only make him pull away.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.
Henry turns his head to look at Jordan, making soft baby sounds that might be his version of conversation. Jordan’s expression immediately softens, and he reaches out to touch Henry’s tiny hand.
“He seems so much happier when you’re here,” Jordan says. “Maybe it is that you’re a woman. You know, like you said about missing his mom.”
The way he says it makes me think he’s testing the words, seeing how they sound out loud. Like he’s trying to convince himself of something.
It reminds me of being seven years old, making excuses for why my parents hadn’t come home yet. They’re just running errands. They’ll be back soon. They’re probably stuck in traffic.
The memory hits me harder than I expect, and I have to take a deep breath to push it away. I was an adult before I finally admitted to myself that my parents’ disappearances weren’t about traffic or errands. They were about a lifestyle that didn’t include consistent parenting.
I look at Jordan, at the genuine concern in his eyes when he watches Henry, at the way he’s clearly trying so hard despite being completely out of his depth. Whatever situation brought Henry to him, it’s not the same as what I experienced as a kid.
At least… I hope not.
Maybe I’m just kidding myself and seeing what I want to.
“Maybe,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Or maybe he’s just responding to someone who’s calm and well-rested.”
Jordan laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Well-rested. That’s something I need to remember how to do.”
“When’s the last time you showered?”
“Yesterday morning. I think.”
“Go shower. Take your time. Henry and I will be fine.”
“Are you sure? What if he starts crying again?”
“Then I’ll handle it. That’s what you’re paying me for.”
Jordan hesitates, clearly torn between his need for basic self-care and his reluctance to leave Henry with someone else.
“Go,” I insist. “Fifteen minutes. The world won’t end.”
After Jordan heads upstairs, I settle more comfortably on the couch with Henry. He’s completely content now, playing with my fingers and making happy baby sounds.
“What’s your story, little guy?” I whisper. “Where’s your mama?”
Henry just looks at me with those serious dark eyes, as if he understands the question but doesn’t have the words to answer.
I think about Jordan’s evasiveness yesterday, the way he changed the subject whenever I got close to asking about his sister. The exhaustion that seems like more than new-parent tiredness. The careful way he talks about watching Henry “for a while.”
None of it is my business. I’m here to help with baby care, not to pry into family situations. But I can’t help hoping that whatever’s happening, it’s not like what I experienced growing up. I can’t help hoping that Henry’s mother is coming back.
Because the alternative, that Jordan is raising his nephew alone without any support or plan, is heartbreaking in a way that makes my chest ache.
Then I remember that Jordan will be back soon, and I should probably have something constructive to offer beyond my unauthorized speculation about his family situation. “How about we work on tummy time when your uncle gets back?” I ask Henry. “Build up those neck muscles.”
Henry responds with what might be a smile or might be gas, but either way, it’s better than crying.
Small victories. That’s what getting through this is going to be about. For all of us.