Page 103 of Nine Week Nanny

I set my phone face-down on the table and glance at Lennon, who's still working on "hoop," his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. The curve of his cheek reminds me so much of Pope that it hurts.

"How's it coming, bud?"

Lennon lifts his paper, proudly displaying his careful lettering. "Done. I remembered the twoo'ssound likeu.”

"That's right." I slide another flashcard forward. "Want to try one more before we take a break?"

He nods, brushing hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. His quiet diligence steadies me, gives me purpose while everything else is spinning apart.

The footsteps upstairs have stopped. Pope has either slipped downstairs to his office unnoticed, or is deliberately staying put until we're gone. Probably both.

I swallow hard and focus on Lennon's worksheet. The mundane rhythm of homeschooling carries us through the nexthalf hour. My brain operates on autopilot while my heart aches beneath my ribs.

"Sloane, can we have a snack?" Lennon's voice breaks through my thoughts. "All of this hard work is making me hungry."

"Of course." I stand, grateful for the distraction. "Actually, it's time for lunch. How about you play with your Legos while I get it ready?”

"Okay," he yells as he runs into the playroom without a second look.

While cutting fruit, I glance at my phone again. Lunch with Angela is my lifeline. I need to get out of this house.

The knife slips, nearly catching my finger.

"Careful," Lennon says seriously.

"Oh, you snuck on me, you little fox."

He laughs and wipes his nose with the back of his arm.

I manage a smile. "You're right. Need to pay attention."

After lunch, I help Lennon pack his backpack for Seabreeze. We both make sure we go through each item: water bottle, sunscreen, hat, and the journal where he's recording tide patterns.

It's good for me, even if everything weighs on me right now. Just thirty more minutes, and I can bounce some of this off Angela.

The restaurant humswith lunchtime energy as I slide into the booth across from Angela. Tyler sits in a high chair at the end, happily gumming a teething ring.

"He looks bigger every time I see him," I say, reaching out to tickle one chubby foot.

Angela smiles, those dimples, the same ones Tyler inherited, deepening in her cheeks. "Growth spurt. Nothing fits anymore."

The server sets down our order: quinoa bowls topped with roasted vegetables for us, a smoothie for me, iced tea for Angela, and pureed sweet potatoes for Tyler.

I stir my smoothie absently, the straw dragging slow circles through the thick pink liquid. The words don’t come, but Angela’s quiet, her gaze steady while she spoons another bite of puree toward Tyler.

“You look like something’s weighing on you,” she says finally. “Wanna talk about it?”

My laugh comes out brittle. “What makes you think something’s weighing on me?”

“Because earlier this week you had that glow,” she says simply, eyes flicking up to mine. “Today you look like you’d rather crawl under the table.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. I lower my voice. “It felt so real with him. I think I've been played. He’s completely shut down, won’t even come downstairs when we’re in the kitchen.”

"Since when? Last time you were talking about pool you-know-what."

"Yesterday."

Angela’s brows lift just a little, not judgmental, just curious. “So what changed? Did you fight?”