Chapter 10
My kid is tucked into bed, it’s a chilly, cozy night, and I’m curled up under a blanket on the couch with a glass of pinot noir, half-watching a movie. It’s a romance I’ve seen dozens of times, which is fine, because I’m not really paying attention anyway.
I can’t stop thinking about earlier. Between the creepy house with the mystery box and my flirty millionaire client, I’ve got plenty to occupy my mind tonight.
After we left the first strange house, we looked at two more within a half-hour drive, one in a neighboring town just over the hill.
He wasn’t in love with any of them. He didn’t really seem all that invested in looking extensively at any of them, to be honest. Which is weird, considering he reached out to me, expressing interest in buying a place in the area.
If I were a fool, I’d say this handsome, loaded, mysterious man with an Irish lilt was more interested in… talking to me.
He asked me so many questions about myself that I stumbled a few times. I’m not used to anyone showing that much interest in me. Even on dates, they usually talk about themselves more…
But do I actually think he’s interested in me?
No. I don’t know what he’s up to, but that kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.
It’s the kind of storyline you see in movies on the TV screen, designed to make foolish girls like me swoon.
I know better. That’s fantasy. He could have anyone he wants, so why would he be flirting with a twenty-nine-year-old woman who was a teen mom, can barely manage to style her hair most days, and still doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up?
I get up and grab the old jewelry box I hid from Jess earlier, returning to the couch and setting it on the coffee table with exaggerated care, as though it might shatter at any second.
I sort through the items more slowly, but don’t make any new discoveries. Maybe the girl simply had strict parents, and this is where she kept her secrets, as innocent as they may seem.
Just as I’m about to close it, my phone buzzes with an alert.
Jess’s blood sugar is low. I head to the kitchen, grab a juice box, and carry it to her room. Her pump automatically gives her insulin when her blood sugar is high, but when it’s low, she needs a quick snack to get it back up.
It’s been five years since her scary diagnosis, so we pretty much have it down now. If there’s a night without an alert for low blood sugar, that’s a rare one. It always dips at night.
I sit on her pink sheets and stroke her blonde hair to gently wake her. Some nights I’m not even sure if she’s really awake when she props herself up on an elbow to chug the juice or snack. Her eyes don’t even open. When she’s finished, she flops right back down, completely unbothered.
I look at her and think, for the thousandth time, how brave she is. How deeply I admire her courage.
“Love you,” I whisper as I stand and slip out of the room in the dark.