It was still early enough I could find somewhere to go…and someone to go with…but after scrolling through all the drunken photos, I set my phone aside. I flipped over on my bed, and my gaze landed on the binder resting precariously on a stack of junk on the table.
With a resigned sigh, I reached for it and flipped to the first page, which I’d bypassed the other night when I’d only read the schedule.
“Dear Slade,
If you’re reading this, I am totally shocked. Seriously, a tear in the universe probably just opened up a wormhole to another dimension. But anyway, if you are reading this…thank you. I hope you don’t think it’s completely lame. If you’ll just play along, and flip to the next page(s), maybe it will help you understand my plan for the summer.”
My heart rate picked up considerably. No wonder she’d been so pissed I hadn’t read it.
“I’ve known Gillian since she was two, but I don’t know Max very well. He seems kind of serious, from the few times I’ve met him at Gillian’s. I’m hoping he’ll relax around you, since you’re a guy.
“The Moms want the kids to do some educational activities this summer, so I’ve come up with a big list of possible field trips, books to read, even a few documentaries. That probably sounds dorky, but maybe we can make it fun? You always know how to make people laugh. Even in the most boring classes. ”
Guilt covered me like a heavy cape of shame. I’d made the kids laugh all right, after encouraging a full-on mutiny that led to a complete and total Trina meltdown. I ran a hand through my hair.
I glanced at my alarm clock. 11:37 p.m. Too late to text her. Knowing her, she was probably already asleep. Picturing her in bed made me swallow and reach for my water bottle.
What would I text, anyway? Sorry I was such a dick, but hey, that’s how I roll.
Maybe it was good we had a weekend apart before we saw each other again. We could both clear our heads and figure out how to make this nanny thing actually work.
Because we would work this out.
I’d make sure of it.
Chapter Twelve
Trina
Saturday, June 8
I read the date on the can of corn: May 5, 2007. I snorted and chucked the can into the trash barrel. What was wrong with people? Who donated ancient, expired food to a homeless shelter?
“Anything salvageable?”
I spun around, startled by the sound of Sharon’s voice.
“Don’t scare me like that.” I threw a can of expired peas into the trash.
Sharon grinned. All five feet ten inches of her was covered with dust, which was a shame because underneath the dust she wore a gorgeous outfit, as usual. She said she dressed up so she could be a good role model to the moms who stayed in the shelter with their kids.
“So far, nothing at all from this load.” I frowned. “Who dropped it off? I’d like to hunt them down.”
Sharon laughed, brushing dust out of her long, dark hair. “Beggars can’t be choosers, honey, you know that. Most of the time we can use the donations. But once in a while…” Her voice trailed away as she surveyed the nearly empty pantry shelves. “I was hoping we’d hit the mother lode with this donation, but I guess not.” She looked into the nearly full trash barrel and shook her head.
I felt horrible, even though I knew it wasn’t my fault the food I was sorting was unusable. The Redemption Shelter had been running low on food lately. Sharon said it wasn’t just Redemption; every place in town was having trouble keeping up with demand.
“Isn’t there something we can do?”
She shrugged. “I’ve reached out to all our regular donors.” She wiped dust off her forehead. “But I’ve got more urgent problems than food right now.”
My chest tightened. I’d been volunteering at Redemption for over a year. All of Sharon’s “clients,” as she called them, were homeless moms and their kids. Most of them were in pretty bad shape when they arrived. Scared. Hungry. Running from abusive men.
Sharon liked for me to spend time with the kids, reading to them and encouraging them to play on the ancient playground equipment in the rundown yard behind the shelter.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.
Her dark eyes closed briefly behind her red cat-eye glasses. “Oh, it’s just…I’m tired, Trina. Things always look worse when I’m tired.”
I didn’t believe her, but I wasn’t sure how much I should pry. I tore open another box and started sorting. Expiration date 2003? Furious, I threw the can so hard it almost knocked over the trash can.
Sharon laughed. “You ever play softball?”
“No.” I laughed. “Maybe I should.”
She grinned at me. “Never too late, that’s my motto.” She opened the fridge and grabbed two sodas, then gestured for me to sit at the table.
“To summer,” Sharon said. We clinked our cans together. “So tell me about your summer. How’s the babysitting job?” She gestured toward the trash can. “I’m sensing some pent up tension from you.”
So much for burying myself in other activities to keep away thoughts of Slade. I shrugged. “It was a long week.”
“Yeah?” She brushed more dust off her blouse and shot me a grin. “Tell your Auntie Sharon all about it.”
The crazy thing was, I could tell her all about it. We talked about lots of stuff. She seemed so much wiser than me. Probably because she was.
“It’s just…the other nanny. He’s kind of…challenging.” I shifted in my chair, unable to get comfortable. Maybe it was the heat flooding through me as I remembered how Slade had looked at me yesterday.
She raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “He? Do tell.”
“It’s not like that,” I said defensively.
Her penetrating gaze stayed pinned on me. I frowned when I saw her speculative half smile.
“It’s not!” I insisted. “We’re just…” What were we? Not friends. Not yet. Probably not ever. “Partners,” I said. “Just partners.”
“Mm-hmm.” She took a long drink, but kept her eyes on me. “And your partner is challenging you how, exactly?”
“He’s…unpredictable. But the kids love him. We don’t agree on anything. Yesterday he quit, but then he came back. And then I almost quit.”
Sharon folded her arms over the necklaces tangled across her blouse. “That’s a lot of drama for one day.”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, it was.”
“Sounds like emotions are running high between you two. Could be something else is going on.” This time she arched both eyebrows.
“Nothing else is going on,” I said. “Other than we sort of hate each other.”
That wasn’t entirely true. We’d ended on a good note yesterday, after the ice cream. He’d been really…decent. Thoughtful, even. I bit my lip, remembering how he’d held my car door open when we’d said good-bye. How he’d told me not to drive angry, imitating Bill Murray in that silly Groundhog Day movie my mom watched every Christmas.
“That’s what I thought,” she murmured.
“What?” I almost barked. “You thought what?”
“I see it on your face, sweetie. I don’t think you hate this boy. Not at all.”
Air escaped me like she’d popped the Trina balloon. “Okay, so I don’t hate him. But I don’t really like him, either.” I fiddled with the Flintstone salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I can’t figure him out.”
She snorted. “Welcome to the club, honey. You ever figure out the male brain, you let me know.”
“I’ll be the last person to do that.”
She smiled at me as she scooted her chair away from the table. “Well, you’ve got all summer to work on it.” She stood up. “Come on. I’ve got a ton of clothes to sort through.”