Page 39 of One Touch

“I don’t want him to dye his hair, but it would be nice if he did things for himself sometimes. He says he’s not important. Just me.”

“Hmm,” I said, furrowing my brow, “of course he’s important. Everyone’s important.”

“Yeah.” Ava kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the sidewalk.

Once we were out of earshot of any other schoolkids, I said, “I spent the afternoon looking up some stuff about dyslexia. I’ve got ideas that we could try out.” I didn’t want to overload her. “Only if you want to. No pressure.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“Some things that could help you. I ordered some colored overlays and a reading ruler. Plus, I thought I’d get a couple of apps for you to try out—”

“Games?” Her eyes lit up.

I laughed. “Not games exactly. Just apps that can help to quieten your mind a little as you read. What do you think?”

“Okay. I’ll try it.”

“Great. I’ve also sent your dad information on how to get you tested.”

“I hate tests,” she groaned.

“It’s more like an evaluation. Nothing scary, they just ask you a few questions and decide if you need extra support. Trust me, if you do have dyslexia, you’ll be glad you did it. Problem is, it can take a few weeks, maybe even a couple of months to get it sorted, so I thought we could try out some stuff in the meantime and see if it helps.”

Ava smiled weakly. “All right. And in return, I can teach you jujitsu.”

My eyes widened. “I’m not sure. I’m very meek. And weak. And scared of being thrown around and throttled to death.”

Ava chuckled. “I won’t kill you.” Then, she fluttered her little black eyelashes at me. “If you buy me an ice cream.”

“Ice cream, huh? Does your dad buy you ice cream?”

“Oh yeah. Every day.” She nodded vigorously. “We always pick one up on the way home from school. Sometimes we get two each. Didn’t he tell you?”

I laughed. “Funnily enough, he didn’t.” I whipped out my phone and texted Ethan that I wanted to buy Ava ice cream as a first-day nannying treat. He thumbs-upped my message. “Lucky for you, the boss says yes.”

The best place in town for ice cream was a beachfront kiosk called Rossi’s Gelato. It had been there for decades and did the kind of ice cream that made you feel like a kid on vacation. Thick, rich, delicious. Mr. Rossi was a second-generation Sicilian, and the gelato was a closely guarded family secret.

Ava chose mint-choc-chip. I chose strawberry-peach. We sat on the beachfront, licking our cones in companionable silence. I kept thinking back to the way Ava had described her day as “fine.”

“Wanna play a game?” I asked, taking a big lick.

“Sure.”

“It’s called ‘good thing, bad thing’. I used to play it with my mom. Before she ran off to the Bahamas.”

“Your mom ran off?”

“She was really sad. My dad left us and my mom couldn’t take it.”

“Why did he leave?”

I hoped it was okay to talk about this stuff with her. I figured honesty was probably the best policy, though. “Well, he decided that he didn’t love my mom anymore. And then, instead of telling her, he . . . kissed a different woman. Mom found out andgot really upset. She tried to work it out with him but he left without even telling us.”

“That’s horrible. Why do people stop loving each other?”

I sighed. “Life is tough, and love is hard.”

“I’m sorry.”

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