The Best of Forevers

by Hargrove, A. M.

  “Marnie. Her name’s Marnie.”

  “Actually, it’s Marin,” I said.

  “Yes, well, I need to get my students gathered.”

  “Yes. See you after school, short stuff.”

  Kinsley hugged me and I left, taking the walk of shame for the second time. I would make sure I was dressed more appropriately for the pick-up. And with that, I stopped and returned to her classroom. Mrs. Crawford looked up as I opened the door. “Am I supposed to come in and pick her up here or will she come out to the car?”

  “No, she’ll come to the car.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Kinsley finished her story, Dr. West glanced at me and said, “I should’ve explained.” And that was it.

  If I expected the least amount of sympathy from the jerk, I was wrong. His hard-core gaze zeroed in on me until I practically shriveled in my seat. “I survived.” I didn’t mention how rude those women were. It didn’t matter and besides, who wanted to act like that? My parents were well off but never raised me that way. They didn’t spoil me with fancy clothes or fancy cars. I had to work while in school and earn my way. They believed if you wanted those kinds of things, you had to earn them yourself.

  At the restaurant, we ordered pizza and I gave Aaron a bottle while we waited. Dr. West asked Kinsley what else happened that day and she recounted everything from the time I left her until I picked her up. She was extremely detailed for a seven-year-old. Maybe he’d browbeaten her from the time she could talk.

  Then Kinsley threw me a curveball. “Marnie, tell Daddy about the songs we sang.”

  “No, I think you should.”

  “Marnie and me sang songs. Wanna hear us?”

  One corner of Dr. West’s mouth tugged upward. Good Lord, the man may actually have a bit of a sense of humor.

  “Polka dot, you know how much I love to hear you sing.”

  Kinsley clapped her hands. “Marnie, let’s do the spider one.”

  I was feeding Aaron while he sat in his seat, propped up on the table, so I said, “I only have one hand, Kinsley. Why don’t you show him yourself?”

  “No, I want you to do it too. Daddy, take Aaron’s bottle.” Dr. West and I were seated across from each other, so he grabbed the bottle out of my hand. I was so done.

  “You ready, Marnie?”

  Was Dr. West biting his lip? It didn’t seem possible.

  “I think so. Are you?”

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  She put her hands up so her pinky finger touched the thumb of her other hand as I’d taught her and she began to sing, “The itsy bitsy spider …” and I joined in, mimicking her hands. Aaron stopped sucking his bottle, his eyes widening, and he grinned.

  With each word, Kinsley’s tone grew louder until I’m pretty dang sure the entire restaurant was watching … and listening. When the song ended, Dr. West, along with a few other kind people, applauded.

  “That was fantastic,” he said.

  “Did ya like it?” Kinsley asked.

  “I did. It was the best song I’ve ever heard. And Marin taught you that?”

  Her head bobbed as she said, “Yep. I like doing that song.”

  We ate our pizza then, but he kept staring at me. It was strange really. And it made me feel weird.

  Later that night, after we’d gotten home, I bathed the kids and got them ready for bed. Aaron was totally done after his bottle. Not knowing much about babies, all I could say was this kid was easy breezy. All he did was pee, poop, and eat. He cried, but only when he was hungry and his diaper was dirty. And cute! Oh my God, I could cuddle with the little guy all day. But for some weird reason, Dr. West didn’t pay him a whole lot of attention. He was only about his polka dot, and not even that overboard on that, but not Aaron. Maybe he just wasn’t a baby kind of guy.

  When I finished putting Aaron down, I walked toward Kinsley’s room, but as I closed in, I heard Dr. West’s voice. He was reading her a bedtime story. So I went downstairs instead. The dishwasher repair guy had fixed the problem, so I reloaded the thing and set it to run. Then I threw all the towels we used to mop up the mess into the washer. I decided to hang out in the kitchen for a bit and was sitting at the counter, munching on an Oreo when Dr. West walked in.

  “Oreos, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said with my mouth full. I didn’t want to add anything else because nothing was worse than talking with your teeth covered in those chocolate crumb cookies, not that I really cared what I looked like.

  “No milk?” he asked,

  “Huh?” My mouth dropped open. He didn’t look like the cookies and milk kind of guy. Then he broke into a deep chuckle. Hearing him laugh sounded completely odd. His finger circled around as he said, “Your, uh teeth are a bit … chocolatey.”

  My hand flew over my mouth. Shit. I knew I’d make a total ass out of myself.

  “You reminded me of polka dot when she eats those things.”

  Great. Just what I always wanted … to remind someone of their seven-year-old kid. Then again, she was adorable, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

  After I swallowed, I said, “Yeah, they do create a dental catastrophe,” I said.

  “But so worth it.”

  Did he just say that? The guy actually ate them?

  “For real.”

  “Kinsley loves you. She went on and on about you when I put her to bed.”

  Now my hand flew to cover my heart that just did a little flip inside my chest. I never thought I’d feel this way so quickly. “Really?”

  “Yeah. She does. We do have a problem. She wants some flower tattoos and is under the impression that when she turns eight, she will be of age. I had to burst her bubble and explain that no, it’s when she turns eighteen, and now she thinks that’s a very old woman. But then I told her you were twenty-five.”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Sorry. Twenty-six. And now she believes you are as ancient as the dinosaurs.” He chuckled.

  “Sometimes I feel that ancient too.” I got up to put the Oreos away.

  “Come on,” he huffed. “I don’t even feel that way.”

  I was about to come back with—well, I’ve had a pretty shitty year—but then I thought about what he’d been through and I stopped myself. I shrugged instead. “You’re lucky. You have two gorgeous kids. What can I say?”

  He squinted. “Wow. Do I hear a little self-pity in your tone?”

  My hands flew to my hips as I assumed the stance. “No.” But there was.

  “Do you work out? Exercise stimulates endorphin production, which can help with your mood.”

  My mood? “Not anymore.”

  “And …?”

  Why was he so curious? I wasn’t exactly comfortable telling this man why things went to shit and I quit working out. It wasn’t like we were best friends.

  “Things sort of happened.”

  He scooted his stool around to face me. “Honestly, I don’t know very much about you. My mom only told me you were her best friend’s daughter, you were trustworthy, and would do a great job with the kids. I think since I’m entrusting you with the livelihood of my children, your secrets are safe with me.”

  What the fuck!

  “My secrets?” He wanted me to divulge my innermost private matters, things I would only tell my best friend.

  “It seems you experienced something that caused you to quit working out.”

  My lips pressed together for a second. It angered me that he assumed so much. “I believe you have this impression of me that I’m not very smart and that I don’t know much about the benefits of exercise. You have this assumption, like those women at Kinsley’s school, that I’m just some uneducated bimbo because I have brightly colored hair and some ink, don’t you?”

  “Whoa, hang on a minute. Did I ever say anything about that?”

  “You didn’t have to and neither did those asshole women at The Oaks.”

  He stretched out his hand, palm facing me. “What happened t
his morning?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose to stem the headache that was sprouting. “Nothing.”

  “I thought I asked you never to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Then you’re withholding the truth.” He was glaring at me again and it was extremely unnerving.

  I blew out a lungful of air. “Apparently, there’s a designer dress code requirement to walk into the place, and of course, I didn’t quite meet the standards.” I motioned with my hand up and down my body, indicating my lack of the appropriate attire.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that all the mothers in there were dressed in their fancy clothes, and my wardrobe was not in compliance.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Yes, hmm. You can probably see where this is going.” Now that I’d picked up steam, I was on a roll. “What pisses me off is people automatically discount the fact that I’m a college educated individual who happened to resign from a job with a highly creditable magazine because I had conflicting views from that of my editor. He didn’t like the fact I refused to concoct a story that didn’t exist. And to top that one off, I cleared out my desk and went home early, only to find my live-in boyfriend screwing my best friend. So now you know my life story.” Why the hell did I tell him all that? I puffed out my cheeks and stared at him like he was an apparition. Then I hopped off the stool and made tracks for the stairs. There was no way in hell I could look him in the eye after that word vomit fest.

  Chapter Ten

  Greydon

  “Marin, wait.”

  She stopped, thank God. After that story, she couldn’t just leave me hanging.

  “What happened?”

  Her head was bent at such an angle that I couldn’t see her expression. “I just told you.”

  “No, I’m talking about your job.”

  A puff of air hissed out of her. “My boss wanted me to write an expose about a daycare center, only he wanted me to embellish the truth. There was no story. I refused to lie and conjure up something that didn’t exist. I wouldn’t compromise my integrity or ethics, so I resigned.”

  “Jesus. Who did you work for?”

  “Newsworthy Magazine.”

  “Seriously?”

  Her blue eyes grew stormy. “No, I just made all that up.”

  I flashed her an exasperated look. “Didn’t you have any legal recourse?”

  “Did you not listen? I resigned.” She waited expectantly for me to say something but there was nothing for me to add. She shook her head a second and continued. “Yep. Marin McLain. Former writer extraordinaire. You can Google me if you’d like. I had larger than life dreams and here I am working as a nanny. Don’t get me wrong. Your kids are awesome. But my goals were aligned much differently from this.”

  I had no idea what to say to her other than, “Have you tried to get another job?” When her expression crashed, I quickly added, “Okay, that was a stupid question. Sorry.”

  “Everywhere I applied wanted to know why I left Newsworthy. No one leaves a publication like that unless you get a better offer. I had zero references and if I’d said I didn’t see eye to eye with my boss, that instantly labeled me. If I didn’t tell the truth, they would want to call him for a reference. Then where would that have put me? It was a Kobayashi Maru scenario.”

  I raised a brow. “And yet you didn’t think like Captain Kirk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gesturing toward the stools, I said, “Take a seat.”

  After we were seated, I began. “Kirk beat Kobayashi Maru. Remember?”

  “Well, yeah, by reprogramming the computer. How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Think outside the box.”

  “I’m not following.”

  My laptop was on the counter, so I pointed to it. “You can write anywhere, correct?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then do it. Freelance. Submit your articles to whichever publications will accept them. Prove your talent to the world that way. You have the skills. All you have to do is find the topics people are dying to read about.”

  “But most publications only accept articles from their employees.”

  “You’re not thinking outside the box.” I tapped my temple. “Start your own publication. Blog. Whatever. More people rely on electronic media anyway. Just do it. Change the rules. What’s your passion? Write when Aaron is napping or on your days off. When the money starts rolling in, to the point you don’t need to be a nanny anymore, give me some notice so I can find your replacement. But whatever you do, don’t stop writing.” I used my finger and pounded the counter for emphasis. She was entirely too young to give up on a career she loved.

  Her eyes flicked between the computer and me. “You may have something there.”

  “No. I definitely have something here. You’re only twenty-six. That’s entirely too young to give up on something because some jackass wanted you to do something that was unethical. Write about that. Don’t use names or places. Just tell about a hypothetical situation that exists. People love that shit.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. I’d read the hell out of something like that. It has mass appeal because it’s happening today and it’s ageless. Find topics like that. Or write about what happened to you today when you dropped Kinsley off. People automatically assumed you were uneducated because you didn’t dress like they did.”

  A soft smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s something I could do.”

  “Marin, even if you don’t post it anywhere, just write it. If you stop writing, you become stale. If you become stale, you lose your talent. It’s as if I were to stop practicing medicine. I would lose my skills. You can’t quit.”

  Maybe it was the urgency in my tone, but I had her agreeing with me.

  “You’re right. I’ll start writing again. Even if it’s just to scratch that itch.”

  “Exactly. And now, I need to scratch the itch to get some sleep.”

  “Me too. I promise to set my alarm tonight. Sorry you had to wake me this morning.”

  I clicked my fingers. “Oh, a couple of things. I like to say goodbye to Kinsley before she leaves, so if I’m not down from my shower, send her up to my room. And can you make sure the gate in the driveway is kept closed? Even though this is a gated community, I like that extra safety measure for the kids.”

  I turned to leave when I heard, “Dr. West?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood there smiling and it was the first time I paid close attention to her. She was pretty in a disarrayed fashion. Her crazy messed up hair and the rest of her was completely unconventional, but it somehow worked.

  * * *

  A couple of weeks later, I was in the process of shoving some lunch down my throat when Josh came into the break room.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Not too bad today. You?”

  “Same. Hey, my sister wants to know if you’re dating anyone.”

  I almost choked on my salad. “Um, what?”

  “Yeah, sorry. She needs a date for this wedding she was invited to. She doesn’t know anyone to ask and thought about you.”

  “Oh.” I relaxed. “For a minute there I thought she was hitting on me.”

  An awkward laugh chuffed out of him. “Uh, no. That would be rude.”

  “No, I’m not dating anyone. And I’d be happy to be her fake date as long as I’m not on call and my nanny can sit that night.”

  “I’ll have her call you.”

  Later that day, my phone vibrated while I was with a patient. When I had a chance to check it, I saw a voicemail and call from a number I wasn’t familiar with. The message was from Deanna, Josh’s sister. I called back when I was done for the day.

  The wedding was on Saturday and I explained that I needed to check with Marin first.

  When I walked into the house, Marin and Kinsley were singing “Do your ear
s hang low, do they wobble to and fro?” I chuckled. Kinsley was practically screaming the words at the top of her lungs. I peeked into the living area and they were both doing a performance for Aaron. He sat in his swing with a goofy grin spread across his face as their animated gestures entertained him. The song was over in a flash, and he kicked his legs out whereby Kinsley proclaimed, “I think he wants to dance.”

  “He can’t dance. He can’t even walk properly. Look at him.” Marin had taken Aaron out of his swing and he was running around, teetering this way and that, like a sailboat with a broken rudder.

  “How do you know, Marnie? You haven’t let him try to dance.”

  “I know. How can he dance when he can barely stand up straight? How do you suppose he’ll be able to tap out a tune?”

  “Maybe he’s got magic dancing legs. Look at how they kick out when he runs. Maybe they’re special.”

  “They’re special all right. He’s going to be a punter for a football team.”

  “What’s a punner?”

  “A punter, not a punner.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s someone who can kick a football really well.”

  “Nope. He’s gonna be a dancer. See? Look at how his legs cross.” Right about then, Aaron crash landed on his ass.

  “Uh huh. I don’t think that’ll work too well in a dance,” Marin said.

  I swallowed a laugh so they didn’t hear me. The two of them always had these comical interchanges between them.

  “What kind of dancer anyway?” Marin asked.

  “An Irish dancer. Like those kind that wear those clicky shoes.” Then Kinsley took off and did her best imitation of an Irish step dancer. She looked like she was having some sort of seizure, the way her arms were so stiff and her legs kicked out at awkward angles until she caught sight of me. “Daddy!” She flew into my arms, Irish step dancing forgotten.

  “How’s my polka dot today?” I kissed her as I hugged her to me before setting her back down.

  “Good. Aaron says he wants to be a dancer.”

  “He does?”

  “Yeah. One that wears those clicky shoes.”

  “And he told you that?”