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Bastien threw up twice last night. At first, he considered it might be Charlotte’s meal, but no one else got sick. It had to be his nerves mixed with his incompetence. He knew nothing about kids. That was clear when he told Ivy it was time for bed at ten o’clock and she said her bedtime was at eight and had passed two hours ago. Then she told him she needed a bath and her teeth brushed and some kind of detangler put on her hair because it was Wednesday. What did he know about hair products? What did he know about detanglers? What did he know about raising a girl? What he knew was it was six in the morning. His mother was on her way and all there was to eat for breakfast in the house was a box of cereal and a questionable container of milk.
He looked at Ivy and Rachel, who sat at the dining room table. “Do you want to go to the grocery store or the diner?” Chloe wanted Ivy to have choices, so he figured it was better to give her some from the beginning.
“I want Charlotte.”
He sighed. “She’s not an option.”
“But she’s nice and she’s pretty.”
He agreed with both. She was nice, but he based that off of her bringing the meal. He’d heard that Southern hospitality was a thing but hadn’t seen it in action until she showed up with dinner. As for her being pretty … she was an attractive woman. He didn’t know how to describe her, but angelic came to mind when he thought about her blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe ethereal was more on point. Then again, he could be reading into her actions and not her looks because he hadn’t thought about dinner. His gut had twisted and churned all afternoon and he hadn’t considered eating. He should have thought about feeding Rachel and Ivy, but he hadn’t. How in the world his sister thought he was a good fit for parenting was beyond him. One thing was certain: he’d need more help.
“Diner or grocery store?” he asked again.
“Diner,” Rachel piped in. “Then there are no dirty dishes to clean.” She turned to Ivy. “They have those chocolate chip pancakes you like.”
“Diner,” Ivy said as she slid from the chair and started for the door. “I’m starving.”
“Diner it is.” They grabbed Ivy’s booster seat and piled into the rental car. The interior was sleek, with black leather and shiny chrome. The dashboard was lit like the flight deck of a 747. Why did everything have to be so complicated these days? With the push of a button, the car purred to life. “Does anyone know where the diner is?”
Rachel tapped on her phone and showed him the screen and then reached over and pushed a button on the steering wheel, saying, “Navigate to Cricket's Diner.” A voice directed him from the beach to Main Street. He hadn't given the town a good look yet. Each time he arrived to see his sister, he went straight to the cottage, stayed a day or two, and left. But as he drove through the town, he could see why his sister loved it so much. It was warm and inviting, with its decorated windows enticing visitors to come in for a visit. He lucked out with a parking spot right in front of the diner and everyone piled out and headed inside.
The sweet aroma of sugar and warm butter hung in the air. It was almost a visible cloud. As he glanced around the restaurant decorated with chickens and roosters, he found an empty booth to the side.
Ivy slid in first and then Rachel beside her while he sat by himself on the bench across from them. The menus were stuffed into a metal holder against the wall.
“Who's going to pay me now?” Rachel asked.
“I am.” He pulled out three menus and passed them out. There were a lot of things to consider, and he figured Rachel had a lot of questions. Ivy must too, but he didn't have any real answers. He was still living in his make-believe world, where his sister was going to beat cancer. He hadn't fully embraced his real world. The one where he was raising a five-year-old, and for all intents and purposes, Rachel, too. “How old are you?”
Rachel smiled. “I'm nineteen. This was supposed to be a summer gig, but I suppose you'll want to extend my contract?”
He nodded and opened the menu. “Look, Ivy, they do have chocolate chip pancakes.”
Ivy's attention was on the rooster picture above them that read,Do not make the chickens angry, they can be real peckers.
“What’s a pecker?”
The question was a shock. He wanted to laugh as well as crawl under the table. “You read?”
“She reads at a third-grade level,” Rachel said with a sense of pride, like she had something to do with it. Maybe she did.
“How long have you been working for Chloe?”
“Since June. I came down from Dallas to help.”
“How did she find you?”
Rachel smiled. “Nannies R Us.”
“Seriously?”
Rachel nodded. “I’m not kidding.”
“What’s a pecker?” Ivy demanded in a loud voice that turned heads.
The diner’s bright fluorescent lights flickered, buzzed, and hummed overhead like he was under interrogation.
“Sorry for the wait.” The waitress arrived at the table, smiled, and pulled out a pad of paper and a red pen that matched her high-top sneakers. She looked at the picture and then at Ivy. “A pecker is an angry or a hungry chicken.” When she turned to him, she grinned. “What will you have?”
