Chapter 7 Jake
JAKE
Ifinish my coffee as Dylan works away at his letter.
Maddie has been gone for at least five minutes now. What in the world can she be choosing for amenities in this sleepy little lodge? They should probably be able to lay out all their offerings in about thirty seconds.
She’s spoiled, I can’t help thinking to myself. She’s supposed to be slumming it here and she’s got the whole staff scurrying around bringing her meals and planning her fun. She must be spending an arm and a leg, because they sure weren’t giving me this kind of service yesterday.
If she’s so spoiled, then why does she still seem so humble?
There’s something about Maddie that always makes me feel like she’s on the verge of apologizing. She’s just so… earnest, or at least she seems that way. I can’t put my finger on it, but the Foster heiress is a bit of a mystery to me.
Do I only care because she’s a pretty young thing who seems to adore my son?
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I just need help with Dylan and I have to stop thinking about Maddie Foster like she’s anything more than a babysitter.
Dylan sits back to admire his work, and I lean over to look at the list.
I wnt a tran set
Wrm clos for Made
Ples snd snow
The train set I get, and he asked for snow yesterday too, though both are a little closer to correctly spelled than yesterday’s attempt.
She’s actually teaching him something with her we’re-just-having-fun approach.
“What’s that?” I ask him, pointing at the middle item.
“Warm clothes for Maddie,” he says solemnly.
My heart clenches.
He’s worried about whether she has warm clothes. I gaze at him in wonder as he turns back to his letter, reading over the list again.
“Can you fix it?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I tell him, sort of pleased that he’s not just waiting for Maddie. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t see herself on the list.
I take a second to mark up each item and then pass it back to him.
He rips off the page and sets it beside the pad before industriously copying the corrected words.
Who would have thought he’d be so motivated to read and write like this? Maybe it’s because he’s asking for things. Everyone wants something.
But what Dylan wants is so sweet. He certainly didn’t learn that kind of empathy from his mother.
“How did you think of this list?” I ask him.
His little head pops up and he smiles.
“Maddie says you always ask for just one thing for yourself, then something for someone else, and a last thing for everybody,” he tells me proudly.
“She does, huh?” I say, reaching over to tousle his hair.
“I think it’s nice,” he says dreamily before bending over his work again.
He concentrates so hard on the writing, like he’s chiseling the letters in stone or something. Maybe it will get easier for him with practice.
As Dylan finishes up, Maddie finally reappears with a tentative expression on her face.
“Sorry about that,” she says softly, removing her jacket and hanging it on the back of her chair.
She’s wearing the same clothing as yesterday.
Her gaze follows mine back to her sweater and she gets this mortified look on her face.
“I think I know what’s going on,” I chuckle.
“You do?” She still looks horrified, but she really shouldn’t be.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell her. “It happens to everyone at some point. The airline lost your luggage.”
There’s a brief pause and then she shakes her head in wonder.
“How did you guess that?” she asks.
“It’s why I always fly private,” I tell her. “We can stop in the village before we go back to my place and pick you up a few things.”
“I don’t… I mean I can’t…” she stammers.
Good grief, her credit cards were in her checked bags? Talk about overconfidence.
“I’ll cover it,” I tell her. “Not a big deal. You need warm clothes if you’re going to be taking care of Dylan up on the mountain. He likes to go outside.”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but then she closes it again.
“Thank you,” she says.
“It worked,” Dylan whispers to himself.
“What worked?” she asks him.
“He finished his letter,” I say quickly, grabbing it from him and folding it in half.
I get up and Dylan scrambles after me so he can put it in the box himself.
As I watch him place it carefully with the others, I wonder why I’m being so protective of Maddie’s feelings. She might find it cute that Dylan is asking Santa to give her clothing.
But probably not. She’s a funny little thing. She had such a guilty look on her face when she agreed to let me buy her clothes.
Anyway, the letter is safely stowed in the box now, and Dylan is already scampering back to her and asking what color clothes she likes best.
“I don’t really have a preference,” she tells him, looking surprised that he asked.
“Don’t worry,” he tells her. “We’ll find something you like, okay?”
“Thank you, Dylan,” she tells him, the look in her eyes so fond that I have to turn away.
No wonder he adores her. Anyone would want to be looked at like that.
We bundle up and head out into the cold rain. This time she doesn’t seem as surprised when I open the passenger door for her.
When I start up the car the local station is too crackly, so I turn it off. That seems to happen a lot up here.
“I want music,” Dylan whines.
“Why don’t we sing?” Maddie offers, before I have the chance to get annoyed at the whining.
“Okay,” Dylan says. “A Christmas song?”
The radio up here has been playing pretty much non-stop Christmas music since we got here. I was honestly glad for a little break from it, but I’m not going to ruin their fun.
“How about ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas?’” Maddie suggests.
“I can’t remember all the stuff in it,” Dylan says sadly.
“I’ll help you,” Maddie tells him. “I know every day.”
She starts singing, then he joins in, and it’s pretty cute to hear them. Maddie sounds a little husky but she keeps the tune just right. And Dylan’s squeaky voice is so expressive that it almost makes the song better when he gets one of the items wrong.
More than once I almost start singing along myself without meaning to, but I manage to keep a lid on it.
I don’t sing, especially not Christmas songs.
Dylan is so captivated that we manage to make our way down the whole mountain without him freaking out that the car is going to fall off, so that’s a win.
Not that I can really blame the kid about being worried up here.
We come from a hilly San Francisco suburb, but this mountain is something else with its narrow windy road and sudden extreme vistas.
It’s caught me off guard a few times since we arrived.
By the time we arrive at the outskirts of the small business area that passes for a town here, the rain has stopped. Another small win, but I’ll take it.
We pass a cute little park and enter the street with the shops. I pull into a parking space and take a quick look around at a whole lot of nothing. It’s so quiet here, even during the day, so different from our old town that always seemed to be hopping, day or night.
Maddie is out in a heartbeat, helping Dylan out of his booster and leaving me to scan the storefronts for a shop to take her to. There’s a boutique ski shop, probably a newer place by the looks of it. My ex would have made a beeline to it, so I’m guessing that’s what Maddie will want too.
Interestingly, the town seems to be a hodgepodge of ancient shops that probably cater to the old year-round population, touristy spots for the summer and Christmas crowds, and newer high-end places that probably came in along with the chalets and the Manhattanites.
I know I should pay attention, but watching Maddie shiver as she holds Dylan’s hand, I figure I can do my market research another time.
“Come on,” I say gruffly, heading for the boutique.
Dylan wants to run ahead, and instead of holding him back, Maddie runs with him, her dark hair lifting in the breeze, both of them laughing.
It’s nice. And the air smells like the snow that never seems to fall.
I could get used to this.
I won’t though. This place isn’t my speed. We’re here to get the project going. Then I move on to phase two.
Maddie and Dylan reach the boutique, but she surprises me by going into the thrift shop next door instead.
I’m thrown for a moment, but then I remember that thrifting is trendy now. All the kids are doing it these days. Or up-cycling, or whatever they call it.
They also have their credit cards stored on their phones or they pay with those online systems. A lost suitcase wouldn’t even slow down their consumption.
But there’s no time to try to unravel the mystery that is Maddie Foster, because they’re already out of sight.
I push open the door, sending the bells over it jingling, and scan the racks until I see Maddie, holding up a sweater to herself.
Dylan is talking to her excitedly and I head over to see what’s going on.
They both clam up as soon as I’m in sight.
“You like thrifting?” I ask her.
She nods.
“That’s actually nice,” I tell her, eyeing the sweater. It’s pale gray and cozy looking.
“She said it’s too expensive,” Dylan says sadly.
“Really?” I ask, holding my hand out. Maybe it’s designer. I guess even the thrift shops are being impacted by the influx of New Yorkers.
She hands it over without making eye contact, and I look at the price.
“That’s not expensive,” I realize out loud. You couldn’t buy a single mitten for that price in my neighborhood.
What’s she playing at?
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Grab whatever else you need,” I tell her, trying not to get annoyed.
I don’t like timewasters, and this little performance sure feels like a waste of time.
She slinks off into the racks with Dylan at her heels, and my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s my lawyer and I try not to roll my eyes as I text him back, going over the same points we go over every single time we talk. I lose myself in the conversation for a bit, and by the time I look up, she’s got an armload of clothes and they’re heading to the changing rooms.
I follow and see that it’s really just a little alcove with a curtain in front of it and a mirror outside.
I get a funny little tingle at the idea of her changing when I’m right here.
Feeling furious at my runaway libido, I move back so that the curtain is out of sight, and turn my attention back to my phone. I’ve got plenty of emails to distract me.
Then why are you waiting by the changing room for her?
Dylan is standing right on the other side of the curtain, looking super excited.
I’m probably waiting for the same reason he is. It’s kind of fun to do something nice for someone else.
I’m struck by the fact that he’s showing such generous impulses today.
There’s a whole wall of toys and games in here, even a couple of bikes and skateboards, and he walked right past all of it just to help a grown woman find some warm clothes.
After a moment, I hear the sound of the rings on the curtain skittering open.
“What do you think?” Maddie asks softly.
“You look snuggly,” Dylan says happily.
When she moves to the mirror I can see her.
She’s wearing that soft gray sweater along with a pair of green sweats, and Dylan isn’t wrong. She looks so cozy that I have the impulse to pick her up and hug her.
Frustrated with myself, I turn away and lose myself in my phone again.
“Thanks,” she tells Dylan. “But I don’t think your dad likes it.”
“You’re getting it,” I retort, my voice angrier than I mean for it to sound. “Just… get all of it.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I turn back and our eyes meet in the mirror for an instant.
It feels like someone just flash-fried my soul.
What is happening to me?
“Yes,” I say, tearing my eyes away. “Let’s just get it and move on.”
“They don’t have coats or boots for Maddie,” Dylan says. “They’re all for little kids.”
“We’ll go next door then,” I say firmly, marching for the front of the store before she can argue.
Maddie gathers up her clothes, including some underthings that I deliberately do not notice or think about in any way, except to see that they are still new in the package, which is good.
I’m all for thrifting, but I draw the line at wearing someone else’s underwear.
A few minutes later, they join me at the counter where a middle-aged lady is reading a magazine.
There’s a can on the counter to collect donations for something called the Mountain Angels Fund, and a flyer advertising the Angel Mountain Christmas Mingle.
“Maddie?” the lady says. “Little Maddie Foster?”
“Hi, Mrs. Miller,” Maddie says. “You remembered me.”
“I’ll never forget you and your daddy,” the lady tells her warmly. “He bought so many flannels here over the years. And he donated all your things whenever you grew out of them.”
“It was one of our traditions,” Maddie says, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
“I’m going to tell Aggie you were here,” Mrs. Miller tells her. “Have you stopped by the factory yet?”
“No, not yet,” Maddie says, looking a little sad.
“You be sure to do that,” Mrs. Miller tells her as she rings us up. “The ladies will be so glad to see you.”
“I will,” Maddie says softly.
Dylan almost knocks over a rack of sunglasses, and I miss the rest of the conversation, but Maddie is silent as we leave, a heaviness about her that I haven’t seen before.
Even Dylan seems to pick up on it and stays uncharacteristically quiet himself during the short trip along the cold stretch of sidewalk.
It was interesting, what the lady said about Maddie and her dad. Heiress or not, it sounds like she came by her own generous impulses honestly. It occurs to me that there might be more to Maddie Foster than I expected.
“Here we go,” I say, opening the door of the boutique for her.
There aren’t any dented brass bells to jangle over this door. The place is almost offensively well-heated and it smells like what you’d get if there was an earthquake in a perfume shop.
“How may I help you?” a slender woman in a cream-colored pantsuit trills as she floats up to me, completely ignoring Maddie.
“Miss Foster needs a good coat,” I say, gesturing in Maddie’s direction. “Something appropriate for winter in the mountains.”
“Of course, sir,” the lady simpers. “Shall I bring out some options, dear?”
“Yes,” Maddie tells her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t move a muscle,” she tells Maddie, winking at me over her shoulder as she scurries off.
Her behavior reminds me of my ex, and I’m instantly uncomfortable.
I would have thought going up in the mountains on the opposite coast I might get a break from that kind of attention.
But when you have money, there are women all over you, seemingly wherever you go.
It’s like they can smell my bank account balance.
What about Maddie? She’s a woman, and nothing about her has made me uncomfortable.
Honestly, I’m not really sure why she isn’t giving me that vibe. Maybe it’s because she’s got plenty of money of her own.
But it doesn’t matter, I’m going to keep my guard up anyway.
Somehow.