Page 16

Willow

P oppy’s quiet time stretches longer than usual. And I’m afraid to jinx it, but it’s peaceful for the first time since I’ve come into her life.

The sunshine and our outdoor adventure worked.

She’s curled up in her blankets, bunny tucked under one arm, hair damp from the sprinklers earlier, and cheeks flushed from the sun. I press a kiss to her temple, ease the door mostly closed, and walk barefoot into the kitchen.

The house is quiet. Still. Rocket must have left again.

If that fear in his eyes earlier is any indication, he’ll probably be gone the rest of the night like he’s been wont to do.

I’ve noticed his pattern over the past few days.

Watch from afar, try to engage, engage, and then get spooked when he realizes he’s curious and wants to know more.

But today she laughed with him. Today Poppy bypassed looking at all the colorful ink she seems so fascinated with and stepped up to him to play with the damn rock.

Baby steps.

I can only hope this is the first of many interactions. Of Poppy starting to look at Rocket as more than just the guy in the background and as Rocket starting to trust himself and who he is. What he can be for her.

And if he doesn’t? Fuck. That would be brutal. Poppy would have no one, and I know CPS would have no other choice than to put her in the system. She’d fall only deeper into her own mind and that little bit of sunshine I’ve gotten to see in her would be erased completely.

No. It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it. I have to do everything in my power to help facilitate Rocket to see that he can do this. That this little cherubic girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

I meander through the great room, taking it in. Everything looks placed professionally. Sure there are photos of Rocket with people, but I doubt he’s the one who put them there. And the few personal touches that are about, seem to all be with his bandmates or revolving around them.

There are no pictures of people who look like family. No older woman or man to whom I can see a resemblance in.

For a man in the public eye, there’s so little about his early life online. A single mother. A youth spent pushing the limits of trouble. A chance meeting at a party with Vince and Hawkin that changed the direction of his life.

I find my way outside to the back patio and curl into the corner of the outside patio furniture. The couch is just outside of the sliding doors so I can hear Poppy if she needs me, but so I can enjoy a different aspect of this incredible house in my downtime.

Plus, the idea of getting my master’s degree has stayed front and center in my mind since Alan suggested it.

That and with the extra cash coming in from Rocket unexpectedly paying me double what I’d agreed to, to begin with, the idea is becoming more of a reality.

So maybe I’ll look into getting into a program.

But for now, I soak in the welcome silence and the moments without being needed. I keep thinking about the pictures inside and how lonely that might be.

Without thinking, I pick up my phone, scroll to the name I’m looking for, and hit call.

She answers almost immediately. “Willow?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, baby. You sound tired.”

“I’m good. Just . . . busy. ”

“Busy because your new boss is running you ragged and an asshole, or busy because you love your new charge and aren’t giving yourself any time because you’re so worried about her?”

“Neither.” I sigh. “More like I’m just plain ol’ tired. Teaching is one type of exhaustion. I think I forgot the whole other type of exhaustion that comes with being a nanny at a kid’s beck and call every second of every day.”

She chuckles, and I picture her settling into her chair in her reading nook and smiling. “Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that.” She pauses. “So things are good?

“Yes. My charge, Poppy, she’s adorable with all these curls and these big green eyes. We’re slowly figuring each other out, but yes, I’m already head over heels in love with her.”

“Like I expected anything less.”

“There was that little boy—Brad. I was not a fan of his. Remember?”

She laughs. “The stories you used to tell. I do remember. And the family you’re working for? They’re treating you well?”

“Just a single dad.”

She makes a noncommittal sound that borders on disapproval and concern. “Don’t let him take advantage of you,” she murmurs.

I open my mouth and then close it as images of Rocket earlier come to mind. Him standing on the porch in low-slung workout shorts and rivulets of sweat running down his chest. His hair in disarray, and those eyes of his guard every emotion his bobbing Adam’s apple and shifting feet hinted at.

“I know, Mom. He’s nice. He’s fine. He’s ... it’s fine.”

“And you? You’re fine too?”

And there it is. The question I should’ve expected, but have been so wrapped up in making sure Poppy was thriving that I kind of lost track of time.

That’s a lie. I didn’t. But maybe this year it’ll hurt a little less.

“Yes. I know. It’s coming up,” I say, beating her to the punch.

A quiet stretch passes between us. No static. Just that comfortable silence that exists when the other person knows exactly what you mean without needing the words.

“Five years,” she murmurs.

“Forever and yesterday all at the same time,” I say.

“He’d be happy for you. I think of that often. James would be so happy for you and where you are in life. He was always your biggest cheerleader.”

She’s right. I know she is, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. He was my best friend, the man I had pictured sharing tomorrows with, and then he was just ... gone. You can’t prepare for that sort of loss. You can only grieve, one day at a time, until the hole his loss created lessens. Dulls.

“I called his mom last week just to check in on her. They’re doing fine. Obsessed with their new grandchild. His sister named him James after her brother. Thank God for that for them.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Didn’t mean to bring the conversation down. I was just ... wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I let her words sink in. “It’s been three years, Mom.

I loved him, but I don’t think about him every day like I used to, and for the longest time the guilt of that would weigh me down.

But I can’t help that he went to bed in his dorm that night and didn’t wake up the next morning.

” The emotions I felt that morning come back on the drop of a dime.

Aren’t they supposed to fade with time? “Just like I can’t feel guilty for still being alive and wanting to make the most of it. ”

“Oh, honey. I never meant to make you feel that way.” Her voice wobbles with regret.

“You didn’t.” I sigh and lean my head back on the chair and close my eyes for a beat.

The scars James’s death left run deep. My ever-running and unfounded guilt that I should’ve seen something or known.

How I’ve not dated or allowed myself to get attached to someone since.

How it feels like our close friend—basically family—dynamic has changed.

“That was nice of you to call his parents. I’m sure they were happy to hear from you.”

“It was good to catch up. Now ... tell me about what you’ve been up to otherwise, or else Dad will pepper me with questions when he gets home from the driving range, and I won’t have any info to give him.”

“Like I said, I’m just getting settled here. I’m thinking about starting back at getting my master’s again. I’ll have time on my hands for an online course or two—”

“Says the woman who just said she’s exhausted.”

“I know, but you know how important education is to me. How I set goals and need to accomplish them, and because of cost and time, this fell to the wayside. Now it seems I have a bit more of both than I’m used to, so I figured maybe I’ll look into it.”

“Honey, you know we wish we could help more. ”

“You’re still paying off loans from my undergrad. You are not helping me with this.”

“It’s still hard as a parent to not be able to give you more.”

I smile. “You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever asked for. I’m fine. I just need to do this for myself.”

“I understand.” She tsks like she tends to do when she’s going to change subjects. “So the Napa trip with Lily is off, I take it?”

“More postponed than off. We’ll get there. It’s on my list of places to see.”

“Sometimes I marvel at how you came from me.” She laughs. “So driven and self-sufficient. So focused on making things better for everyone else. I’m forever proud of you, Willow.”

Her words warm me.

We talk about nothing for a few minutes. My dad’s retirement project—refinishing the shed. My sister’s new boyfriend who apparently thinks quinoa is a type of pasta. And then her voice softens again.

“I’m glad you called,” she says.

“Me too.”

“I was worried after the layoffs. I know how much you loved your job and your kids and their families.”

“I still do. I miss them. I feel like I let them down, but in the same token, I’m needed here.”

“You sound . . . different. Content.”

Maybe because I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Making a difference for someone who needs it most. For now, at least.

“I am. Things are good for me.”

“No mother will ever complain about hearing that.” I can hear her smile in her voice. “I’ll call you later this week, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

I end the call, set the phone on the cushion beside me, and let the silence wrap around me.

My thoughts dizzy about the past and swirl regarding the future, but I keep coming back to the simple fact of how damn lucky I am.

Poppy will never get to have that type of phone call with her mom.

She’ll never hear the pride and the praise in her voice—or rather, see it on her face being directed at her.

But I can and have and do so regularly. And I’ll never take that for granted.

“Enjoying the sun? ”