It’s hard for me to imagine the kind doctor who helped me abandoning his only daughter. “So, she committed suicide? I mean, things sound like they were shitty, but she had you and Dean and –”
“I don’t think she meant to,” Latson says. “Dean and I got her into rehab, and I kept Oliver while she got clean. When she was sober, I talked her into terminating Levi’s parental rights.”
“And then?”
“He started coming around again.” Latson scowls. “He wanted her, but not his son. She fell into old habits; her tolerance level wasn’t what it used to be.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You know what happened next.”
I look back at the picture and the smiling faces. Everyone looks so unsuspecting. They look like they’re ready for the time of their lives, like nothing bad could possibly touch them. I can tell they felt invincible.
“It was her choice,” I eventually say. “You did everything you could.”
“Did I?” Latson gives me doubtful look.
“Yes.” I turn my body toward his. “You intervened. She got well.”
“She didn’t stay that way,” he mutters.
“What were you supposed to do? Monitor her every move? Set up shifts with Dean? You two did –”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Latson cuts me off. He sits forward and picks up his guitar. “Do you want to try those two songs again or move on?”
There he goes, shutting down like he did in the car. He may not think he wants to talk about what happened, but he keeps revealing bits and pieces. I’m not sure how much is left to the story, but I wish he’d let it out.
Setting the picture aside, I pick up my guitar as well. “Show me the other songs and then we’ll go back to the first two. That way I’ll know what to concentrate on when I practice later.”
Latson studies me for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing me.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“For not pushing. I changed the subject and you let me.”
I lift my hand and play with his hair. “I can be patient. You’ll discuss it when you’re ready.”
“I’m surprised I’m discussing it at all. I think this tour is messing with me.”
My expression softens. “It probably is. Dean is going without you.”
“You’re going without me.”
I freeze. “If it bothers you that much –”
“Don’t say you’ll stay.” Latson’s eyes grow dark. “Not because of me.”
“I wasn’t.” I smirk. “I was going to say if it bothers you that much, you’ll have to make time to come out and see me. A visit or two won’t hurt, will it?”
He circles my wrist and lowers my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I’m so glad you said that. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you across the country.”
I laugh. “I see. How many trips were you planning?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He kisses my fingertips. “But, there will only be a few. I have some things that need my attention here, like a bar and a kid.”
“Being responsible is so overrated,” I tease.
“You’re right.” He inches closer. “Now you know why I wanted to be a musician and not a doctor.”
I kiss his nose. “I’m happy you’re a musician. I’m also happy I’ll get to see you. Thanks for fitting me in.”
“I think it’s you who will have to fit me in.”
I shake my head, although he would know a touring schedule better than me. “We’ll make time,” I promise.
“Good,” he says, “because we’ll need to be alone when we’re together.” Smiling, he leans over his guitar to kiss me again. This time, when his lips meet mine, they stay there. Our kiss deepens, and our guitars bump together.
“Um, there’s something in the way,” I say.
Latson takes quick care of the situation. “There shouldn’t be anything between us.” He slides his hand around the back of my neck to bring me closer.
“You’re right,” I murmur before my mouth is occupied again. There will be too much distance between us soon enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Eight days later, the sound of hyper first graders echoes in my ears. I put my hand to my forehead to block out the sun and search the playground for Oliver. The weather decided to turn full-on summer for his last day of school.
Eventually I find him at the water balloon station. The kids are paired up on the grass and tossing balloons back and forth like an egg toss. Sporadically spaced around the playground are other activities, like sidewalk chalk, bubbles, tug-o-war, and a bounce house. Parent volunteers man each station, and Latson was assigned to the shoe pile. I was given the ice cream table, and my pre-made sundaes keep melting into mush before they’re eaten.
“This is pointless,” Erica, Donovan’s mom, says as she presses whip cream onto my cups of vanilla soup. “Although, the kids don’t seem to care.”
I add some chocolate sprinkles to our concoctions and look out over the covered pavilion in front of us. Kids are sitting at picnic tables and slurping their ice cream with laughter. Some have vanilla mustaches from drinking the dessert instead of using a spoon. It makes me smile. “As long as they’re happy,” I say.
She agrees and keeps whip-creaming. She stops when we finish enough sundaes for the next rotation of kids. I stick my spoon back in the dish of sprinkles and my eyes roam the playground for Latson. He’s all broad shoulders and khaki cargo shorts, his arms flexing as he helps another mom chuck small shoes and sandals into a mountain of footwear. After the last shoe hits the pile he looks over and waves. I wave back.
“So,” Erica fans herself in the heat, “how long have you been dating Oliver’s uncle?”
When she introduced herself as Donovan’s mother, I introduced myself as Oliver’s friend. She grew concerned about Mrs. Gibson and asked if I was his new nanny. I told her I was seeing Latson to clear up any confusion.
“A few weeks,” I say.
“Well, between you and me,” she steps closer, “I know some PTA moms who are going to be disappointed.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Have you seen your boyfriend?”
Yes, I think. I saw a lot of him this morning after he dropped Oliver off at school. I’ll never be able to look at his shower the same way again.
Erica glances over my shoulder at a group of ladies gathered on the sidewalk. There’s not a lot to monitoring the chalk station, and they’re staring in Latson’s general direction.
“The one on the far right, Natalie Spencer, she’s Max’s mom,” Erica says. “She’s been after your man since she got divorced last year. And the one in the middle? Jackie O’Rourke? She’s been eyeing him since Oliver first started at this school.”
She’s serious. “They really talk about him?”
Erica nods. “I’m surprised he’s not a permanent agenda item. The PTA meetings usually start out like an episode of Cougar Town.”
I laugh. I wonder if Latson knows.
Speaking of, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him walking my way. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and wipes his forehead with it, earning a collective gasp from the chalk moms. I stifle another laugh. I’m tempted to tell him he’s the PTA hottie.
He makes his way over to me with a smile. “Can I get a water?”
“Sure.” I open a cooler under the table marked for volunteers. I hand him a bottle and watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple before I brush it away. “I’m glad I got the job in the shade.”
“Lucky.” He smirks before downing half the bottle. “I’m surprised how bad little kids shoes stink in the heat.” He makes a face, then looks down. “How are your feet?”
I look at my exposed toes in my flip flops. “They don’t smell.”
“I meant are they cold,” he says. “You’re getting on a plane in a few hours.”
“I know,” I sigh. “It’s hard to believe I’ll be in L.A .tonight.”
The past week has flown by so fast my nerves haven’t been able to keep up. It’s been both a blessing and a curse: while I haven’t had a chance to be anxious, I know, sooner or later, reality is going to bite me in the ass. I’ve been going through the motions to make sure I stay busy, so I won’t second guess my decision. Keep working: check. Spend time with Pete and Jules: check. Try to learn Dean’s songs: check. Try to pack everything I own: check. Spend quality time with Latson: check. And last, but not least, attend Oliver’s picnic.