by Jamie Beck
Wait . . . what?
The hairs on her arms tingled all at once as she became aware of someone’s presence. She spun slowly to her left, breath held, as if she’d been dropped into a bizarre dream. One that smelled good.
Ian stood in her kitchen—her spotless kitchen—pouring himself a cup of coffee. Rumpled shirt and hair, sleepy eyes. The early-morning moment thrust an unexpected intimacy upon them even as she tried to process the fact that he’d stayed the night.
In a tone that barely rose above a whisper, he said, “Good morning.”
He wouldn’t quite look at her, though. An odd duck, that one. No judgment there. She’d always liked odd ducks, being one herself.
“Where’s my son?” The muscles in her neck tightened with impatience and a touch of panic.
He held his index finger to his lips to remind her to keep quiet. “Sleeping,” he said, pointing toward the playpen.
She tiptoed into the living room and peeked into the Pack ’n Play, where her cherub lay on his back, eyes closed. Although she heard a slight hiss with each breath, he looked so angelic. Her heart swelled from the rush of love filling it like a water balloon.
She leaned over the railing, almost brushing his velvety cheek with her fingers, but caught herself before accidentally waking him.
Her heart rate slowed just enough for her thoughts to settle. The quiet moment in her newly cleaned condo—an unbelievable luxury—prompted the urge to yawn and stretch. Another incredible extravagance.
Her entire body felt nimble, thanks to the much-needed rest. Only after she scratched her side did she realize she’d raced out of her bedroom wearing nothing but a silky tank top and underpants. Super-skimpy ones.
She tried to glance down at her chest without moving her head. It took about half a second to see clear evidence of the morning chill in the air. If the coffee hadn’t yet awakened Ian, her “headlights” and tattoos probably had.
Gentry wasn’t falsely modest. Most of the time she would happily preen half-naked in front of a guy. She admitted, without shame, that she liked turning them on, too. But in this case, she hadn’t meant to shock or seduce Ian. The fact that he might think she had, embarrassed her, which was sort of remarkable in itself. Not that she’d let him know.
She strolled into the kitchen, head held high, gaze direct. “Prince Charming and a fairy godmother. Rarer than a purple unicorn.”
“Huh?” He scratched the back of his neck and then pretended to find something interesting to stare at in his coffee mug.
Most men she’d known would ogle her and then proposition her. Not this one. Ian’s eyes darted all around the kitchen in a chivalrous attempt not to stare at her boobs. How endearing.
“Thank you”—she waved around the kitchen—“for all this. For cleaning and, it seems, taking care of my son all night.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked into her eyes again, but not before his gaze dipped—for an instant—to her chest. Finally, he gave up and gestured up and down with his hand. “Maybe you want to put your robe on?”
“If it makes you more comfortable.” She shrugged and turned away, only releasing a relieved sigh and breaking into a trot once he couldn’t see her. After pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, she returned. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep and stick you with Colt all night.”
“I know.” He set his empty mug in the sink. “It’s fine. It seemed like you could use the help.”
Great. Now he, like everyone else, thought her inept.
She imagined his running internal commentary all night: Didn’t take her kid to the doctor—check. Messy house—check. Abandoned her son for a few hours’ sleep—check. Before she could form a reply, he said, “My mom was sort of a single mom for long stretches, so I know how hard it can be.”
Oh. Better. So much so that, if she were a different kind of woman, she might’ve become teary from that validation, however inflated it might be.
Gentry cleared her throat, teetering like a paddleboarder on rough water. “Well, can I tell Sara she inconvenienced you for nothing?”
He rubbed his jaw before crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t call it an emergency, but you should probably take him to the doctor. There’s still a slight rattle in his chest, and his temperature is still elevated.”
“Shoot.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Is it serious?”
“I wouldn’t ignore it and give it a chance to become a bigger problem.”
“I’d planned to put him in day care starting tomorrow.” She said it aloud, talking to herself more than to him. Hunter and her mom probably anticipated a last-minute excuse for pushing back her start date at work. She’d hate to prove them right.
That said, she hadn’t fully reconciled returning to work when she herself had resented being raised by nannies. At the same time, she wanted to be a good role model of ambition and goal setting for Colt. Although a corporate career required her to subdue herself for eight hours each day, it also regularly involved her with her family—a real first for her, and a “must” for Colt’s sake.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair.” Ian scrubbed his face while yawning.
“Wait!” Gentry exclaimed without thinking. Speaking with an adult in the morning—especially one with kind eyes and a broad chest—had been a pleasurable change of pace. “Can I make you breakfast?”
“No need. I ought to go.” He grinned.
As if he had to be somewhere important by six o’clock in the morning. She supposed he was sick of babysitting. Or likely needed to catch up on some sleep. Her sofa’s sleek style kicked ass, but it wouldn’t make for the most comfortable mattress for someone his height.
“Okay. Can I pay you for everything you did? I hear the going rate for sitters is, like, twenty dollars an hour. And you cleaned!”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
His frowny-faced response made her feel stupid. She hadn’t meant to insult him, but she didn’t want to be a leech, either. “Sorry, I just . . . a full night’s sleep was an amazing gift. I feel so good I might finally get around to framing my photos today. I don’t know how to repay you, but let me try.”
Tit for tat. Give and take.
She didn’t like owing a debt.
A little sparkle lit his eye. “Well, I did see you in your undies. How about we call it even?”
Her cheeks got hot. Flustering people was her job, not the other way around. She wasn’t sure if she liked being taunted, although her tummy fluttered in a not-unpleasant way. That made her more embarrassed. Since when had she become so hard up for attention?
“Wait a sec. Now I think you got the better end of the deal.” Ego salved by a quick comeback. Good. Balance restored.
“It’s possible.” He smiled fully for the first time since they’d met. He had nice lips and exactly the right amount of scruff around his jaw. Maybe even the start of a dimple on his left cheek. His sage-green eyes had an “old soul” quality.
She doubted that the sun at her back caused her intense warmth. Then Colt woke with a start, and the sudden spark between Ian and her fizzled.
“That’s my cue,” Ian sighed. She recognized that tired sigh, because her son, while adorable, wore everyone out. A lot like his mother.
“Chicken.” She smirked, desperately wishing for another option. Ian intrigued her, and that never happened. She wished he’d hang out for longer than ten minutes.
But she’d better get used to life as a single mom, because the number of men who’d line up to date her in her present circumstances would be about zero. She turned to lift Colt out of the playpen and then kissed his head and cheeks.
“Good morning, bugaboo. Are we going to have a nice day today? Mommy wants to go for a walk by the lake. Will be you be a good boy in the stroller? No crying, please? Pretty please?” She rubbed her nose against his belly and reveled in his gurgling coos.
Ian had made his way to the entry but had stopped to watch her.
Taking hold of Colt’s little arm, she wave
d it. “Say ‘bye-bye’ to Ian. Bye-bye!”
Ian nodded and then, without another word, walked out the door.
Bye-bye.
The condo dimmed in his absence.
She could feel sorry for herself, or she could leave a message with the pediatrician to schedule an appointment. Resigned to her fate, she went to the kitchen to fix Colt a bottle, left a message with the doctor, then changed Colt’s diaper and prayed she could get a little morning walk in before he started fussing.
On her way out the door, her mother called. Gentry answered mostly to prevent an uninvited drop-in. “Hi, Mom.”
“Good morning.” The surprise in her mother’s voice was no doubt intended to make Gentry feel bad for not having returned her recent call. In truth, Gentry couldn’t take any more of her mom’s parenting advice.
Her mom, who’d been ghostlike during Gentry’s childhood, suddenly thought herself an expert on mothering. It took every ounce of Gentry’s patience—which, granted, wasn’t much to begin with—to keep sarcasm from her voice.
Nasty barbs had been their preferred mode of communication for most of their relationship. But since becoming a mother herself, Gentry was trying to be more mature, even if it killed her.
“I’m literally on my way out the door with Colt.”
“Why don’t you swing by the house? Your father and I would love to see the little button . . . and you, of course.”
Of course.
“We’ll see. I’m waiting to hear from the doctor’s office. Colt’s got a bit of a cold, and I want to take him in to get checked.”
“Is it serious?” Genuine concern colored her tone.
“I can’t tell. That’s why I want to go.”
“If he’s sick, you can’t put him in day care tomorrow.” Her mom clucked. “I wish you’d have gotten a nanny like I suggested.”
Gentry closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. One. Two. Three. Release . . . “Miss Linda’s will be like a home away from home. I want him to be with other kids, not alone most of the day.”
She’d specifically picked Miss Linda’s for its intimate in-home setting.
“He’s an infant, Gentry.” It sounded as if her mother had rolled her eyes when she said that. “A fussy one. He’ll be in a crib all day.”
Gentry shook her head even though no one but Colt would see her. “So-o-o, like I said, I’m on my way out. I’ll call you after the doctor appointment and let you know if I’ll be at work tomorrow.”
“Another reason to hire a nanny. Kids get sick often. You won’t get ahead if you call out all the time. You need someone at home to manage Colt so you can earn everyone’s respect at work.”
At least this time she hadn’t added a quip about Smith. Gorgeous, charming, half-drunk Smith. To be fair, Gentry had been drunk, too.
Thinking of him always made her stop for a second. Who, and where, was he, and would he want to know about his son? Was he a good guy who deserved to know Colt? Should she try to find him to give her son more family? Naturally, she never voiced those thoughts to a soul, let alone her mother.
“I’ll manage my son fine, thanks. Tell Dad hi.” Gentry pressed “End” and tossed her phone in the back of the stroller.
Nothing got under her skin and drove up her spine faster than her mother’s unsolicited advice. The worst part, though? Her mom wasn’t exactly wrong. A nanny who could also help around the house like Ian had would certainly make Gentry’s life a little easier. But she felt sure Colt would be happier in the long run with the other kids at Miss Linda’s.
Whatever brief respite her morning had offered, every cell in her body now buzzed with negative energy. She adjusted her lululemon cropped pants and neon Jogbra, then fastened Colt into the stroller.
He, however, had reached the limit of his ability to be awake without fussing, and began to wriggle and cry when she adjusted the buckles. For what she’d spent on this contraption, it should be able to buckle her son in on its own and solve her other problems, too.
She didn’t know if her anxiety caused Colt’s cycle of tears or if, like her, he naturally rebelled against being told what to do. Either way, she was screwed.
Whenever visiting Portland, which wasn’t often or ever for very long, Ian made a point of meeting his mother at the Clackamas United Church of Christ on Sundays. The building’s funky shape—resembling a sort of towering but warped tepee—reached right up to heaven. Inside, its wood plank and beamed ceilings lent a cozy feel to the lofty space. A narrow, modern stained-glass window that had to be at least twenty-some-feet high filtered pale-blue light onto the altar.
Sitting in those pews reminded him of his youth. Of the hours he’d spent here with his parents, who’d volunteered to help with every function and fund-raiser, always reaching out to assist people in need. His dad might as well have been a king for how well loved and respected he’d been in this congregation. Ian presumed his father now watched over it like a guardian angel. Exactly the way the man had approached life on earth, too.
“Can I crash in the basement for a week or two?” Ian asked his mom, who’d taken him to lunch after the service. He shoved a french fry in his mouth, having craved comfort food while in Haiti. Going months at a time without it excused his current gluttony.
“I wish you could, but the shelter is strictly for women and children. Even if it weren’t a rule, your presence might make some residents uncomfortable.” She patted his jaw like she’d done since he was about six. “Can’t you stay at the motel until you return to Haiti?”
“Guess I don’t have a choice.” Ninety bucks a night added up quickly when one didn’t have an income or savings to speak of. He needed a quick influx of cash so he could return to his project.
He’d blown the very last of his savings on the ticket home to collect his things from Farrah’s place. He didn’t own much, but he couldn’t risk her tossing the baseball he’d caught with his dad at the inaugural Mariners game at Safeco Field, or the handwoven wool mochila he’d been given by a young girl in Colombia after he’d assisted her family following that massive mudslide.
“If you need a little extra cash, I can help.” His mom narrowed her gaze like she did whenever she thought she’d read his mind. Years of practice made her pretty damn good at it.
“Nah.” Ian dragged another fry through the glob of ketchup on his plate, wishing that had been easier to say. Being broke sucked, but he wouldn’t tax his mom, either. He’d figure it out on his own. While here in the States, he’d seek some new donors for his project, too.
On a personal level, he’d never much cared about money, preferring the freedom to fly off to the next natural disaster whenever possible. To make ends meet, he’d routinely taken short-term home-care gigs and done volunteer EMT shifts for a small stipend—enough to cover rent on a tiny studio in a lousy part of town.
Then Farrah had invited him to live with her, which had been a nice upgrade. He’d contributed what he could when he could. Her initial attitude toward his priorities had lasted long enough for him to get comfortable and believe she was a woman like his mom, who could handle a relationship with a man much like his dad. But once Farrah had realized she’d never change him—never persuade him to take a full-time job stateside—she’d handed him walking papers. Via text, no less.
“You sure?” His mom tilted her head to the left, gentle smile in place.
“You know me. I’ll scrounge up some cash to get by till I leave.”
She nodded, her gaze growing distant. “I think Farrah will regret her decision.”
“Doubtful. I let her down. I missed a lot of things that she asked me to attend, like her cousin’s wedding and her family’s Easter brunch.” He carried some shame about that because Farrah had been good to him and deserved better.
“It’s not like she was alone, Ian. She would’ve been surrounded by family at those events.” His mother reached out and squeezed his hand. Although only sixty, she looked older. She’d never had an easy life. The y
ears of honest but hard work had crisscrossed her face and neck with fine wrinkles and turned her brown hair a pretty shade of silver.
“I shouldn’t have made promises I couldn’t keep.” Flying back and forth every six weeks had been expensive and exhausting. Farrah couldn’t join him because of her teaching job, which included summer school programs. “If I’d only been doing regular relief work, we might’ve made it work. But once I hooked up with Archer and Stanley and got serious about founding the Crawford Volunteer Ambulance Corps, the writing was on the wall.” Of course, he had no intention of giving up those plans now. C-VAC would be a reality soon, south of Port-au-Prince, in Jacmel.
Looking back, his biggest mistake had been trying to make her happy by sinking the bulk of his meager savings into a ring this past winter. A ring she’d kept even after she’d kicked him out. The fact that the wasted money distressed him more than the breakup said a lot about that relationship. About him, too, if he was being honest.
The whole experience taught him that long distances and love don’t mix.
As if reading his thoughts, his mom said, “When you feel lonely or have doubts, remember, with the right partner, you can have a home and a family, just like your father did.” She shot him a mother-knows-best look before taking her first bite of apple pie.
The warm pie’s cinnamon aroma made his mouth water.
“There aren’t many women like you, Mom.” He grabbed a fork and snatched a bite of her pie for himself. Oh man, that was good.
She reached across the table to pat his hand. “I’m no paragon. I had my moments, especially when you were very young. But when you love someone, you make sacrifices.”
The tone of her voice struck him sideways. Both of his parents had preached about sacrifice since Ian could walk. He enjoyed helping others, but sometimes a selfish side of him dreamed of indulgence. Of freedom from “the Crawford way.” In fact, those thoughts had spurred the argument he’d had with his dad just before his father had died. That he’d died being bitterly disappointed in Ian haunted him.
“Your dad would be so proud of what you’re doing in Haiti. I know I am. After everything he gave to the world, it’s wonderful to think that his name and mission will go on.” Her eyes misted with memories, but Ian didn’t deserve her praise. Not when he’d kept the argument between his father and him those final forty-eight hours a secret all these years.