“You have to try again.” Emmy was next to me, dusting me off. “If at first you don’t succeed,” she said.
“Try, try and try again,” I said. “My mother used to say that to me.”
“Mine too,” Emmy said with a small smile just as a young kid, without fairy wheels, whizzed past me.
We all turned and looked at him. I sighed.
“Fine, I’ll try again.” I walked my bike back to the start of the track.
CHAPTERSIXTY
Poppy
We walked out of the shopping mall eating ice creams, despite the cold, wintry weather outside. I’d had a great evening; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such fun. Granted, I hadn’t gotten the whole bike riding thing right, and in the end had sat and watched Ryan and Emmy go around the track a few times. I cheered them on from the sidelines, that had been my contribution. We walked to the car and climbed in. I was expecting a comment about how I better not get ice cream all over the car, but Ryan didn’t say a word.
“Ryan,” Emmy spoke as soon as we’d started driving. “Can you drop me off at home first before fetching Doris’s car? I’ve got a little bit of homework to do before bed.”
“Sure.” Ryan looked at her in the rear-view mirror. “Tamlin will be there, I’ll just call her and let her know you’re coming home and ask her to come inside.”
“You know, I’m thirteen, I don’t need a babysitter inside the house with me anymore. She’ll be in the cottage if I need her. I know where she is.”
I gave Ryan a little encouraging nod and he agreed. “Okay, fine. But keep the doors locked and don’t answer them and—”
“I know what to do,” she said, with a smile in her voice.
He smiled back at her in the rear-view mirror. “I know you do. I trust you,” he said.
Her face instantly lit up. She sat back, looking happy. She looked like a different child to the one we’d picked up to take bra shopping a few hours ago.
“Thank you for doing what you did for Emmy tonight,” Ryan said after we’d dropped her off at home.
“Please, don’t mention it. It’s part of my job.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like this with any of my other assistants.”
“Other assistants?” I asked. It sounded strange to hear him speak of hisother assistants. “And just how many other assistants have there been?”
“A lot,” he admitted.
“A lot? How many is a lot?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“More than five, but fewer than ten?” For some reason this conversation made me feel a little strange. What exactly was making my stomach churn?Jealousy?
He looked at me and shrugged sheepishly.
“More!” I exclaimed loudly. “You’ve had more than ten?”
He nodded, still sheepish.
“And were they all . . .” I started, but stopped. “Were they?”
“All what?” he asked.
I looked down at the floor and shuffled my foot across the carpet. “Were they all . . . better than me?” I didn’t dare make eye contact, lest he see the strange look that was now firmly etched into my face.
“Mmm, not necessarily,” he said. “Just different.”
