Page 22 of Marrying the Nanny

Entering through the carport door, he made his way down the aisle they’d left in front of the washer and dryer after moving cabinetry out of the rumpus room so Trystan and Logan could share it. He tapped on the door where they’d done their homework while watching Hockey Night in Canada, Monty Python reruns, and whatever eighties action or comedy flick they’d been able to rent from the general store.

“Yeah.” Logan snapped the door open from the inside and finished pulling his T-shirt on. He was barefoot in jeans and gave his damp hair a quick skim with his fingers.

There wasn’t room for the new mattress in here so Logan was on the pullout and Trystan, who regularly slept rough on the ground, was on a camp pad on the floor—mostly to shame both of them for preferring a real bed, Reid suspected.

“How are you making out with the marina budget?” Reid asked. “I’m talking to the bank Monday.”

“Tell you over dinner.”

Reid shook his head. “I’ll eat later. I’m going to shower, then I have emails to answer.”

“You wish. Mom’s here.”

Reid opened his mouth. Coherent words got crowded out by an old, familiar conflict. There was something heartening in Glenda being here. Taut cords inside him relaxed a fraction while a reflexive defensiveness pulled other muscles into tense readiness. It was the seesaw action-reaction of liking Glenda, but knowing that his affection toward her invoked a directly proportional level of resentment from his mother. He could already hear her asking, Was Glenda there? Where did she stay?

He couldn’t skip dinner, though. Glenda had rules, the first being that food didn’t arrive on the table until all the butts were in the chairs. Reid had never appreciated how sneaky that was, but he had done his share of chewing out his brothers for not showing up on time when he was hungry and had had to wait to eat.

He took the stairs two at a time.

Trystan was in the dining room, setting the table. If not for the shadow of maturity on his jaw, Reid would have thought he’d gone back in time.

He moved through the archway into the kitchen. “Hi, Glenda.”

“Reid.” She had brought one of the small cabinet boxes up and set a cutting board on it so she had a workstation. She set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

He was wearing one of his good shirts and suit pants, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t take a damp stain from freshly washed celery. He let his arms fold around her. She smelled like chopped onion and bell pepper and the liquid hand soap next to the sink.

“How are you?” he asked. “How is Tan. Everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s good. We have another grandbaby. The rest are growing fast.” She drew back, brow pulling with concern. “How is your mom? I’ve been thinking about her since it happened. Both of you.”

“She’s okay.” He drew back, but she kept her hands on his arms, gaze searching and likely seeing more than he was comfortable revealing.

Yet part of him wanted to be honest. If they’d been alone, perhaps he would have said, She expects me to leave after the service tomorrow and I don’t think I can.

Glenda might have been the reason his mother had left Wilf, but she’d also been instrumental in helping Reid understand that his mother was sick, not bad or crazy and not someone to be ashamed or afraid of.

“She’s still wrapping her head around it, same as the rest of us,” he prevaricated.

“It’s a lot to deal with.” She stepped back and moved to the cutting board, where she skimmed the chopped vegetables onto a bowl of washed lettuce. “Emma’s been telling me about the arrangements for Storm.”

“What arrangements?” He shot a look at Emma. She held Storm and swayed on her feet, hovering near the door to the deck beside the breakfast nook.

He kept reminding himself Emma was an employee. She definitely took an underling attitude most of the time, doing everything she could to accommodate him and his brothers the way anyone did when they feared for their job. He gave seminars on harassment when a company needed to work on their culture, so he knew what it was and how not to do it. He stubbornly tried not to notice the way her jeans hugged her hips or the way her shirt draped across the upper swells of her breasts as she gave a culpable shrug.

“Exactly,” Glenda said.

Wait. What? Shit. He knew that tone. Glenda hadn’t kept three adolescent boys from killing each other by being nice all the time.

“There’s Logan.” She smiled. “Let’s sit and eat. Talk all of this out.”

“What, like a family meeting?” Logan glanced over the various pots like a dog sniffing for steak. “We’re all grown up, Mom. Kind of past that.”

“Call it a meeting about family, then. Everyone washed up? Good. Sit down. You, too, Emma. Is Storm in a high chair?”

“It’s not assembled. I’ve been sitting her in the carrier to feed her.”

“The swing set, then, so she feels part of the group. Reid, can you bring it from the living room?”

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