Page 49 of Just This Once

There was a woman in my bed when I returned home from campus.

Laptop bag slung over my shoulder, I paused in the entrance of my pool house and watched my sixty-five-year-old housekeeper crawl across the mattress to tug the fitted sheet free of the last corner.

When it came loose, she backed off the bed and gathered the covers in a ball to her chest as she went.

Straightening once she was done, she turned my way, only to pull up short with a gasp.

“Parker,” she greeted with a laugh at her own reaction, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “You gave me a fright, dear. I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry about that.” I stepped fully inside and shut the door behind me.

“No worries,” she assured, patting my cheek in a grandmotherly fashion when she passed by, causing the scent of lemon cleaner and fabric softener to whirl around me.

An ache filled my chest as she bustled around the front room, plopping my sheets into a laundry basket half-full of dirtyclothes that she’d already collected. Then she snatched up a tied sack of trash.

It was all just so…motherly.

“Give me a second here, and I’ll be out of your hair in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she promised.

I didn’t answer. It’d seem weird to assure her that I didn’t mind the company. Honestly, I wished I could sit her down at the table and ask her for some good advice, but that would be even worse.

“Hey, did Lawson ever get a grade back on that diorama he made for his book report?” I asked instead.

Gaze softening, Lawson’s grandmother paused to tell me, “Not yet. We probably won’t hear back about it until Friday.”

“Oh. Well, let him know I have my fingers crossed.”

“Will do, hon.” She sent me an appreciative smile and added, “I’ll get these sheets cleaned and back on your bed by four.”

I waved a hand, letting her know it wasn’t a big deal. Then I said, “Take care,” since she was already heading toward the exit.

“Yes, sir.”

I sighed as the door closed behind her, then I sank onto the couch in a funk.

I’d met eleven-year-old Lawson Porter last year at the grief center when I’d popped by to check in with Matt—Matt, who was still as cheesy and lame as ever with the words but had managed to earn my respect over the years, anyway, with his pure and honest devotion to the center and his continued drive to help struggling children.

Lawson had been sitting by himself during free time when everyone usually ran amuck, playing games and helping themselves to the complimentary treats.

When I’d seen him watch the others enviously without trying to join in, I’d snagged a couple of cookies from the snack table and headed his way.

“This seat taken?” I asked, waiting for him to look up and blink at me from under his mop of dark hair.

From there, I sat and offered him one of my cookies, talking to him until I’d gotten his story.

Orphaned at ten, he’d lost both of his parents in a car accident, just like me. The difference was, he’d been with them in the car when it had happened, and his left arm had been severed at the elbow as a result.

Lawson’s and my friendship had grown from there until I learned his grandparents were watching him but struggling with all the medical and funeral bills. So I’d covered their debts before hiring them both as my groundskeeper and housekeeper. Then, because they’d been living in a ramshackle place, I’d gotten them to move in and live on the premises.

Because there were more of them than me, I decided to stay out in the pool house and let them have free rein over the big house.

And to this day, I don’t know what I’d been thinking. That I could be some kind of fill-in for Lawson’s parents because he’d lost his? That was bullshit. His situation was totally different from mine; he still had family left who loved him and were working their asses off to take care of him.

And they sure as hell didn’t think of me as one of the family. I’d never been invited to any of their Christmases, Thanksgivings, or birthday festivities. They were grateful to me; I knew that. They constantly made it clear justhowgrateful they were, but they’d never see me as an equal.

And when I had finally realized that—when I realized I’d brought them into my home becauseIhad wanted to belong tothem—I’d felt like the biggest joke on the planet.

Lawson and I were still tight, though. We hung out quite a bit. I would always make sure he got whatever he needed.

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