Page 110 of Nine Week Nanny

"Goodnight, Pope."

She stands and walks back to the kitchen, grabs her bag and water, and heads out of the room.

Her soft steps on the stairs somehow sound like the end of everything.

TWENTY-NINE

Sloane

I spread the laminated map across the table, the corners curling up from use. “Okay, Len. Can you find Florida?”

He leans over, his small finger dragging across the states before landing on the peninsula. “Here.”

“That's right. That's where we live, right?”

He smiles and nods, proud of himself.

My smile is automatic, but it falters as I sit back. Every noise is magnified this morning—the rush of water filling the ice maker, the faint buzz of the under-counter lights, the caw of seagulls outside the window.

Lennon’s gaze flicks up, catching something in my face. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he climbs down from his chair and loops his arms around my waist. His cheek presses to my side.

The hug nearly undoes me. I smooth his hair and whisper, “Thanks, buddy.”

He doesn’t ask why I need it. He just squeezes tighter.

I clear my throat, forcing a brighter tone. “Want to try another? How about Georgia? That’s the state right above us. Can you point to Georgia?”

He sticks his tongue out and thinks for a bit and then points to the one right beside Georgia.

"Close. That is Alabama. This is Georgia, right here."

He crosses his arms and studies the map. We've been at this for thirty minutes, now. I think we could both use some fresh air and to move our bones.

"You know what?" I move the wooden map puzzle away with deliberate cheerfulness. "I think we've earned a break. How about we walk on the beach for a bit?"

His face brightens immediately as he plays with his necklace in his mouth. "Can I collect shells?"

"Absolutely."

Outside, the ocean breeze lifts my hair and some of the heaviness from my chest. Lennon runs ahead, stopping to examine every potential treasure. The waves roll in, steady against the sand, too calm for the storm in my head.

"Look!" Lennon races back, holding up a spiral shell with pink and cream stripes. "It's perfect!"

I bend down to his level. "It's beautiful."

"It's for you." He places it in my palm solemnly. "To make you happy again."

I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. "Lennon, I'm so happy. I love our time together. You make me happy."

For the next twenty minutes, Lennon brings me shell after shell. Some are broken, some are whole, each one handed to me like a treasure. I tuck them into my pockets until they bulge.

"You're going to make me sink into the sand," I laugh, and the sound surprises me. It's nice to be able to laugh, even briefly.

“Can I swim?”

“Of course you can. I’ll sit here and watch. Don’t go too far.”

He takes off his shirt and necklace before running toward the shoreline. I put the necklace in my pocket for safekeeping and fold his shirt, holding it up to my face, drinking in his smell.