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“Did you say angels?”
Her smile stretched across her face. “Yes, most definitely. Angels when they are asleep.”
When she let out a deep chuckle, I slumped against the beach chair and ran one hand down my face. I’d miss this lady, not only because I needed her to help with the girls, but also because she reminded me so much of the mother that I had lost.
“Patty, don’t go.” It was my last desperate plea, but I knew it was all for nothing.
She needed to do what was best for her family. Out of everyone, I understood that the most.
“Don’t worry, Charles,” she urged with empathy. She sat back and sighed, and then she eyed me for a minute, finally saying, “I think I have someone who can fill the spot. Someone I would trust with the girls, someone I would trust with my life.”
My back straightened in the chair because this was the first time Patty had mentioned it—a direct referral.
“Who is it?” I asked with wide eyes, wondering why she’d been holding out on me all this time.
Patty’s smile widened. “I’ll give you more information once I talk to her. If she says yes, then I have no doubt you and the girls will be in good hands.”
That ugly panic finally started to subside. “Can I bribe this person with a new car? Higher pay she can’t refuse? A vacation to Fiji once a year?” I laughed, only half-kidding.
The humor vanished from Patty’s features. “It’s not like that, Charles. Money will not be the determining factor in this person’s decision in taking the job. And if by chance she decides to take the position, there will be a slew of stipulations that is attached with her coming on board.” She patted my leg. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
I frowned at her.Stipulations?I wondered what they could possibly be.
Chapter 3
Becky
I rubbed at my throat, swallowing air because I could. Because I remembered a time when I couldn’t. Where darkness surrounded me and I couldn’t breathe.
My eyes shut, and I gritted my teeth.
I pushed those memories back down, to a place I refused to revisit—my past.
That’s not my life anymore.
A movie on the television had triggered the memory. It was a movie that Eleanor, the ninety-year-old woman I was taking care of, had wanted to watch. Eventually, she had fallen asleep, but I hadn’t turned off the television.
I didn’t like violent movies because it hit too close to home. I couldn’t avoid the memories in my nightmares, but I had a choice to avoid them now.
I inhaled deeply and forced myself to the present. Automatically, I stood and paced the room, back and forth and back and forth again, watching Eleanor sleep. Her bed was situated in the great room by the kitchen, so I’d have everything I needed to watch her. Her lips were slightly ajar, and she seemed peaceful in her slumber, forcing the corner of my mouth to tip upward.
I walked toward her bed and pulled the covers over her arms, my fingertips lightly brushing against her skin. My heart ached as I noted her deterioration. She’d always been independent since I’d met her but not in the past few months.
She could sit up but couldn’t eat by herself anymore. I had to spoon-feed her. But her mind was alert. It was in her nonverbal cues that told me she was okay, her little smiles and the evident frown and the tip of her chin when she was being stubborn—and ninety-year-old Eleanor was more stubborn than a child.
There was no denying her body was ailing. She was unable to get out of bed nowadays, and Patty, her daughter, had made the hardest decision. She’d be transferred to a nursing facility, which had round-the-clock care available for her. Currently I was at their home caring for her.
I had done everything in my ability to keep Eleanor comfortable here. I didn’t mind changing her and giving her the meds. But ultimately, Patty was leaving her nannying job because she wanted to spend whatever time her mother had left on this earth with her.
And I got that because they were close.
Eleanor and Patty were the family I’d never really had. This never felt like a job because from day one, Patty had invited me to eat with her and filled me in on her childhood, on how Eleanor was the best and most patient mom.
She’d told me how her parents had fallen in love—a love made for romance books, a love that was everlasting, a love that I’d never known.
Patty’s stories were what I craved because I’d had an untraditional childhood. I’d never met my father, and my mother had been in and out of jail. I’d been sent to foster care, where I bounced in and out of homes until I was fifteen. Then, I’d run away, and I’d been fending for myself ever since.
So, this—this life I’d built with the people I cared for—was my family.
