While I took a secondto process the moment that somehow seemed profound, Jon cleared his throat andbegan the introductions. “So, you’ve already met Annabel and Shelly.” Hetouched each girls head as he said her name, until his hand flipped theponytail of the tallest girl. “And this is my oldest, Lilly.”
I crouched to the floorand smiled. “Hello ladies,” I spoke softly, looking each girl in the eye. “It’sgood to see you again, and it’s nice to meet you, Lilly.”
“It’s nice to meetyou,” Lilly parroted, offering a smile I instantly adored.
“Daddy.” Shelly turnedher head, while keeping her gaze on me. She reached ahandoutto tug one of her father’s belt loops.
Jon turned hisattention to her. “Yeah, baby?”
“She saidladies. You say ladies, too.”
“Well,” Jon began,crouching down beside his daughter and resting a gentle hand against hershoulder, “that’s because when I was looking for someone to watch you guys, Imade sure they were a part of the Cool Grown-Ups Club. Just like me.”
“Ooh,” Shelly repliedslowly, nodding as though it all made sense.
“Now, can you ladies goplay in your room for a little while, so I can talk to Tessa?” Without havingto ask twice, the three girls turned to march toward an open door, just off theliving room. Jon stood and called after them, “And can you do it withoutfighting? Please? I’d really appreciate that.”
“K, Daddy,” thebiggest, Lilly, mumbled in reply.
Jon crossed his armsover his chest. “Ten bucks says they’re pulling each other’s hair within thenext five minutes.”
“Oh, yeah?” I rose fromthe floor. “They fight a lot?”
He turned to me with astartled expression and began shaking his head before he spoke. “Oh, God. Lookat me, already screwing this up.” He stepped aside, allowing me to enter theliving room, as he shut the door behind me. “Nah, they’re usually great, butevery now and then, they have a bad day. Today’s one of those.”
“Oh, believe me,” Imuttered, thinking about my grandmother as I swept my gaze over the small,cluttered room. “I know how that goes.”
“Oh, yeah, I canimagine.” He gestured out toward the couch and a lonearmchair. “Take a seat. Would you like anything? Water? Juice?”
I dropped my bag besidethearm chair. “Uh, juice sounds good.”
“Apple okay with you?”
“Apple’s great.” Ilooked over my shoulder to shoot him a genuine albeit nervous smile, and thenhe left me to hurry into the adjacent kitchen, while I sat in the chair.
It was old and lumpy, Inoted immediately. In fact, everything in the living room was. The cherry stainon the coffee table had been completely worn down in some spots. The dark browncouch was torn and ripped down the seam of one cushion, while other spots hadobviously been stitched back together with mismatched thread. The carpetbeneath my feet was matted and a mottled shade of green, and the walls weredirtied with age.
I wasn’t judging. Godknows I couldn’t afford my own place, let alone new furniture, but it made mesad for him, and for them. And I felt guilty, knowing he clearly didn’t havemuch money, and here I was to take what little he had.
My eyes lifted from thecouch to a wall of framed pictures. I smiled at the scattered photographs of thegirls when they were babies, riding ponies, holding flowers, and sitting on thebeach. And then, there was the largest picture, in the center of them all. Jon,younger and in a tuxedo, with his arms wrapped around a young woman in awedding dress underneath a sunny sky.
Remembering his weddingring, it all suddenly struck me as strange, or at the very least different, thatthis man was obviously married, yet his wife seemed to be uninvolved. Where wasshe, while her husband was caring for the children all day and hiring ababysitter to watch the kids while he worked at night? Why wouldn’t she want tobe involved? My inquisitive mind begged for answers, while my rationale knew itwas none of my damn business to begin with.
“I hope juice boxes arecool with you, because that’skindaall I have,” Jonsaid with an embarrassed chuckle, as he returned to the living room. I divertedmy gaze to smile gratefully at him, but not before he could catch me looking atthe beautiful picture of a smiling couple on a sunny day. “Ah, yeah, that’s …that’s my wife, Beth.”
“She’s beautiful,” Icomplimented, taking the juice box from his hand and removing the wrapped strawfrom its side.
“Yeah, she was,” hereplied shortly, hurrying to take a seat across from me on the couch.
Was. Myeyes flicked to his left hand and there was the wedding band. Plain and gold,glinting in the dim light. He was still married, clearly, but …was?
“So, I meant to ask onthe phone the other night,” he began, hooking his clasped hands over a knee,“what do you write?”
Oh,of all the questions to kick this off with… “Well,” I took adeep breath, clutching my own hands on my lap, “up until six months ago, mostlyfreelance work, but I don’t do that anymore.”
He nodded withinterest. “What kind of freelance work?”
“Oh, um, blog posts,greeting cards … you know, nothing to brag about.” I let loose a laugh at myown expense, expecting him to follow suit or at the very least smile at myself-deprecating jab, but he didn’t.
