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“Mrs. Beal is a lovely woman,” Mom said. “I'm surprised that he took you to meet her already, though. But then again, I suppose I already know him.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning. “Mom, he and I aren't dating,” I said firmly. “I only met Helen because we stopped by to pick up Emma on the way home.”
“You may not be dating, but I can tell you're interested in him,” Mom said, grinning right back at me. “I can't remember the last time you went to dinner with a man. And watching the two of you interact the other night was something, too. You seem happy.”
“I am happy,” I said, knowing that I needed to change the topic of conversation before I said something that I might regret. As soon as she started thinking there might be a possibility that Eric and I would start dating, I would start to get my own hopes up.
I gave her a hug, heedless of the dirt covering both of us after a couple of hours in the garden. “I am happy,” I repeated. “I get to see you all the time, and I'm settling into the new daycare. Things are going well for me right now.”
“Are you really happy, living here in Tamlin?” Mom asked, sounding uncertain, and I wondered if maybe that wasn't part of her refusal to admit that she had cancer. Maybe she didn't want to admit it was serious because she didn't want me to feel like I had to be there.
“Mom, I like it here,” I told her firmly. I frowned, knowing that she would expect more of an answer than that. “I love it in Chicago. You know that,” I admitted. “But it's a good change of pace, to come here for a little while. It's been a while since I was able to relax. The other day, I sat down with a book and did some reading out on my porch. Do you know how long it's been since I did any reading?”
That finally got the conversation changed over to what book I was currently working my way through, and I breathed a mental sigh of relief.
All I could think about, though, was that I was happy here, and Eric was part of the reason I was so happy. I swallowed hard and plucked a few last weeds from the ground, using the manual labor in a futile attempt to distract myself.
Chapter Seven
Eric
Emma stood in front of the popsicle case for nearly five minutes, debating what she wanted. To be honest, she didn't deserve a popsicle that day, but I'd used it as a bribe to ensure her good behavior for the past half hour while I did a little shopping at the general store, and I knew what would happen if I reneged on my promise.
To be really honest, I didn't need anything from the general store, but I'd needed to distract Emma and had hoped that getting her out of the house for a little while might do the trick. That day had been temper tantrum after temper tantrum, as though Emma was making up for the week apart while she'd been at daycare.
Not for the first time, I felt bad that I couldn't devote more of my attention to her. I spent as much time with her as I could, and we were practically inseparable on the weekends, but I knew she needed more attention than what I was giving her. It was hard, being a single dad. Harder than I ever could have expected.
I scooped Emma up into my arms, kissing her on the temple. “All right, kiddo, what's it going to be?” I asked.
“I don't know, Daddy,” Emma whined. I wondered if maybe she was getting sick and that was the cause for all of this crankiness. But she hadn't made any complaints about feeling yucky, and her temperature seemed normal. I'd have to keep an eye on her over the next few days. Maybe I could trick her into coming into the office for some tests if she thought that we were playing a game of pretend.
I had become a little overprotective of Emma since her mother's death, but although I recognized that in myself, I couldn't help it. If anything happened to Emma as well, it would ruin me.
The bells over the door chimed, drawing me away from my thoughts. I glanced over to see who it was and grinned immediately. “Hi Olivia,” I said, waving at her. “Look, Emma, it's Ms. Olivia.”
Emma didn't wave, and her face settled into a pout like she was upset that my attention had turned away from her for two seconds. She started to squirm a little, so I bent down to set her on the floor. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off, running into another aisle.
Olivia looked shocked, and I grimaced, imagining what she must be thinking about my parenting ability at the moment. “Emma's a little cranky,” I apologized. “She's been riled up all day, and she hasn't been down for a nap yet. Don't take it personally.”
“I wonder if it's something in the air,” Olivia said, managing a small, crooked smile. “I've been feeling pretty cranky myself.”
I hummed, guessing I knew the source of Olivia's crankiness. I knew I shouldn't ask about how things were going with her mother, not so soon. I didn't want to harp on how important it was that she start chemo right away; I knew Olivia already understood the severity of the situation. I had no desire to ever see her cry like she had the other night. But the topic was important, and I couldn't just ignore that elephant in the room.
“How is your mother?” I asked gently. “Have you reached any resolution regarding treatment?”
Olivia's smile turned pained and brittle. “She and I had a good talk,” she said. “We're moving toward a decision.” There was something about the way she said it that made me wonder how genuine she was. But then again, she didn't seem like the kind of person to lie to me. She had been up front the last time the conversation hadn't gone well. I had to assume that we were making progress.
I smiled at her. “That's great to hear,” I said.
Olivia looked vaguely uncomfortable, fueling my further suspicions that things might not be going as well as she was trying to tell me they were. But before I could say anything in response, there was a loud crash from the next aisle over, and Emma's unmistakable wailing sounded.
We both hurried toward the noise and found Emma lying on the floor, surrounded by boxes of cereal. She was holding her knee, her face contorted in pain. “Emma, what happened?” I asked frantically. She clung to me, continuing to wail. “Where does it hurt, baby?” I asked. It was kind of a stupid question; I could tell from the way she was holding her knee that that was what hurt. But in my frantic state, it was the first thing that I could think to say.
“Emma, honey, can you tell us what happened?” Olivia asked gently. “Use your big kid words, please.”
“I wanted the chocolate cereals, but when I tried to reach them, I fell,” Emma said tearfully.
“Did you get a boo-boo on your knee?” Olivia asked, still just as calm as before.
