Page 4 of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door

“Sig,” I repeat, wondering if it’s short for Sigmund. Before I can ask, he turns to the kids.

“So, what’s going on, you guys? I heard a lot of shouting.”

I answer the question before they can accuse me of nana-napping again. “The kids are refusing to shower, but they’ve got school tomorrow. They can’t go looking like this.”

“Shower?” He frowns. “Well, that’s your first mistake.”

Maybe their smell doesn’t reach the fence. “They really need one.”

“Showers are for chumps. What they need is a bath.”

Did I take baths instead of showers at their age? Could it be that easy? I turn to the kids and pray that he’s right. “How about a bath, then?”

“No,” Lisa says.

I glance at Anna and Noah hopefully. They shake their heads.

I hold in a frustrated sigh. “Look, I get that I’m not Nana. And that you miss her. And that I have no clue what I’m doing here. But can we please just make the best of it? We can order pizza with pineapple tonight.” We did that on Monday, back when the kids still thought of me as their fun godmother who sends them expensive gifts on birthdays and holidays to assuage her guilt for not being there.

“I love pizza with pineapple,” Noah says wistfully.

Lisa shakes her head. “You can’t bribe us with pizza. Nana will get us all the pizza we want when she’s back.”

That doesn’t sound like Ada—who’s responsibility personified—but Noah nods. “Nana loves pineapple. She has good taste.”

“I like pineapple, too,” I lie. Pineapple does not belong on pizza!

All three kids glare at me, and I shoot Sig a ‘help me’ look.

He mouths something, and since my eyes are already glued to his lips, I’m pretty sure he’s saying “I’ve got this.” Or maybe it’s “stop, please.” Hell, for all I know, he just mouthed “I love bees.”

I raise an eyebrow, hoping to hell it’s door number one. Bees wouldn’t be much help in this situation… unless he’s trying to tell me “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Which won’t help. Trust me. I tried sucking up to the kids, and it does not work. At all.

“I have an idea.” Sig shoots me a slow smile that makes my toes curl. “Who wants to go swimming?”

“I do,” Noah shouts.

Anna seems to instantly perk up, but Lisa hesitates. “Are you coming, Sig?”

He nods and turns to me. “Rachel, why don’t you pack some swimsuits and clean clothes and meet me out front in ten?”

I hesitate. Wouldn’t it be irresponsible to go somewhere with a complete stranger? But the kids obviously know him. And if I don’t, there’s no way in hell I’m getting these kids to school tomorrow. Ada will have definitive proof I’m irresponsible, and the school might even call CPS, and… and…

Sig knows Ada and the kids, I remind myself. And it’s not like I have a better solution.

“Sounds like a plan.”

I head into the house and run around like a madwoman, getting us packed in record time. No way am I giving the kids a chance to change their minds.

When I come back outside, the kids are playing a game of catch, and there’s no sign of Sig. And unlike him, I’m too short to peek over the shared fence, so I’m forced to walk around to the other side.

When I enter his back yard, I find him sitting on his porch, his back to me, his phone glued to his ear.

“Sig!” I call out.

He jumps. And disappears. As in, vanishes into thin air. Bam!

His phone tumbles down the porch steps and lands face-down on the grass.