Page 29 of The Delivery

As she passes the nursery, a dark form in the corner startles her. It takes a moment for her to realize it is Mr. Man just standing there.

She clutches her chest. “You scared me.”

He says, “That was not my intent.”

“Are you gonna go . . .” To bed sounds too odd to speak.

“ No ,” he says.

She cannot discern his eyes in the darkness, just the perfectly proportioned outline of him. A pulse of unease starts at the base of her brain stem. But she dismisses it. Mr. Man has been wonderful, and besides, as the N0RM LLC slogan states, she is in charge.

“Thank you for cleaning up.”

He is perfectly immobile, no tic, sway, or tremor. Of course, he has no need for tiny human movements. “You are welcome.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Beccs.”

Chapter 22

“I want to call a lawyer,” Rebecca says at breakfast.

Eggs and waffles awaited them at the table this morning, courtesy of Mr. Man. Orange juice poured, vitamins set out, napkins folded. Wearing Mark’s old jeans and a fresh black T-shirt, Mr. Man is cleaning out the refrigerator, checking dates and chucking past-due foods into a paper grocery bag.

Rebecca marvels at how quickly they have adjusted to having a full-time servant. It is lovely and yet also a touch disconcerting for reasons she cannot identify.

Mark shovels forkfuls into his mouth, eyes glued on his phone, thumbing through emails. It’s annoying but she reminds herself to be happy to have him at breakfast. “Lawyers are expensive,” he says. “There’s zero proof of anything. And besides, that’s exactly what Jackson wants.”

“To get sued?”

“To cause more disruption and to substantiate his aggrieved victim status.”

Maddy’s eyes widen with curiosity, that wonderful openness Rebecca hopes the world will never dim. “What’s sued, Mommy?”

“It’s what you do to people who take advantage of you.”

“Can I sue Sydney?”

Mark finally looks up with a laugh. He ruffles Maddy’s hair. “I wish we could sue folks just for being a-holes, kiddo.”

“Why? Who would you want to sue, Daddy?”

“Hmm.” Mark sits back, folds his arms, taps his fingers, villain-like, on his biceps. “I like this game. If there was any one person I could sue for going out of his way to make my life miserable? Derek de Grasse.”

“Your boss?”

“Not just a boss,” Rebecca says. “Founder, CEO, thought leader, and visionary.”

Mark cracks his sideways grin, the one that tugs his mouth to the left. “Yes. I wouldn’t mind suing him to death.”

“I’d like to sue Jackson into the ground,” Rebecca says. “And sue Sydney’s mom right in the face.”

Maddy and Mark laugh.

All of a sudden, Mr. Man stands before them, holding a hunk of Stilton with the cellophane wrap peeled back, exposing a few blue veins. “Is this rotten?”

Mark and Rebecca look at each other, amused. The pungency wafting over the aroma of maple syrup makes it a fair question.