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Right now the one thing I can handle less than cruelty is kindness. It triggers all the issues I’ve worked so hard to shore up. At the top of that list is low self-esteem. Next comes the insatiable hunger for any scrap of praise thrown my way. And he’s going after both with a battering ram.
“Whatever, Hendricks.” I expect him to leave, to take that as his cue to beat it but no, he hangs around some more. The atmosphere gets heavy. I can tell by his posture that there’s more he wants to say, even though I don’t have the courage to outright look at him.
“Why do you always fist your hands?”
He’s got me jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof and I am not about to grant him more ammunition he can inflict upon me later. This new and gentler version of him could be gone in a heartbeat. I’m not ready to trust him.
I flex my hands, and despite the unbearable urge to curl them back into fists and hide them, I keep them flat on the coverlet. “None of your business.”
The weight lifts off the bed. “I’m going to take Roxy for a walk.” Shifting on his feet, he sighs. “Is that okay?”
All I can muster is a weak nod. The next sound I hear is the door closing.
“So…how was it?”
Sam shrugs, not taking his attention off the video game he’s playing on his iPad.
He got back from having lunch with Ronan earlier than expected and hasn’t said much since. It’s making me increasingly nervous. While he sits at the kitchen island semi-ignoring me, I take the sea bass out of the refrigerator that I’m cooking for dinner.
“Sam?”
When he doesn’t respond, I stop what I’m doing to study him. Head resting on a small fist. Expression serious. This is not good.
“Alright, I guess.” Hendricks walks into the kitchen with Roxy and Sam looks up, his mood unmistakably brightening. “Hi, Grant.”
“Hey, little man.”
Little man? When did this happen?
Neither Hendricks nor my son pay me any mind. Roxy whines her greeting, turning in circles under the barstool Sam is perched on. He pats her head and she licks his hand.
“Did you take Roxy for a walk?”
I get two words and he’s all chatty with Hendricks? I’m feeling jilted.
“Yup.” Hendricks comes around the island and the two clasp hands. A hand grab? “What have you been up to?”
“I had to spend the day with my deadbeat dad.”
“Sam!” The utensils I was holding clatter down on the marble countertop.
“What?” he asks, frowning, and looking more than a little bit confused.
“Don’t say that about your father.” My eyes dart back to Hendricks whose face is devoid of any reaction. No gloating over the twerking. No judgment about Ronan.
“Why not? That’s what you called him to Aunt Camilla.”
Dang, little ears. “First, you need to stop eavesdropping. It’s not polite and two…two…umm…”
“Yeah?”
“Just don’t.” Nailed it. I totally nailed it. At this rate, I’m going to win parent of the year.
A clearing of throat comes from across the island. I glance up to find Hendricks looking rather uncomfortable. He runs his hand back and forth over his hair. “Is there…I thought that maybe…” He blows out a breath.
“Maybe what?”
He casts his eyes on the food I’m preparing.
“You want to have dinner with us?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. What’s he up to? Trying to atone for sneaking up on me? Some attempt to mend fences?
The unmistakable creep of color works quickly up his neck and blazes across cheekbones worthy of a Nordic god. God almighty, he’s blushing.
“Only if you have enough.”
“I always make extra. You’re welcome to have dinner with us.”
“Yeah, have dinner with us!” my son shouts, the space between his teeth showing. I have officially stepped into the Twilight Zone.
Hendricks’ lips mold into an awkward little smile. This man is a mystery wrapped in a dilemma stuffed into a conundrum freaking sandwich. I don’t know what to make of this. And I’m not going to question it, either. I’m game for anything that puts a smile on Sam’s face.
Chapter Nine
One of the privileges afforded by money is solitude. The poor don’t have that luxury. After I left the double-wide trailer I shared with nine other people, I wound up in a small, two-bedroom apartment with five other girls. I ran away to Paris and ended up in the same situation I started in, living in cramped quarters, my girl dreams of sleeping in a full bed all by my lonesome self crushed to dust.
It’s the first full Sunday that Sam spends with Ronan––we decided to ease him into the sleepovers––and if I don’t keep myself busy, I’ll start to needlessly worry. As soon as I finish cleaning, I grab my trusty Kindle, the beach chair, and race down to revel in the quiet company of the nearly empty, endless stretch of sand.
