Page 10 of The Amendment

I did as I was told, returning moments later and handing it over. Ainsley was helping her out of her clothes as Maisy whined.

“Come on now, sweetheart, you’ll feel better once you’ve changed.” She tossed the clothes next to her on the floor and held out a hand for the washcloth. When I handed it to her, I knew I’d done something wrong. Her face contorted, eyes rolling. “Peter, did you wet this?”

“You didn’t say…”

She shoved it back toward me. “Warm water. For her head.” I turned away from her, cloth in hand, and retreated toward the bathroom again. When I came back, Ainsley had Maisy dressed in her pajamas. She took thewashcloth from me and used it to stroke Maisy’s forehead. “Is there anything else we can get you, baby?” she cooed. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to me that way.

Maisy shook her head. “Thanks, Momma.”

“I’ll just be down the hall,” she said.

“Try to get some rest,” I chimed in.

With that, we backed out of the room, watching as Maisy pulled the comforter up around her chin. Once we were safely in the hall, Ainsley nodded at me.

A confirmation that it was all going to be okay.

“I need a drink,” she said simply, turning to walk toward the kitchen. As she did, I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. It had gone off on the drive home, but I’d been too preoccupied to check it at the time.

When I spied the name on my screen, my stomach tightened instinctively.

It had been years since he’d called me on my personal phone, even longer since I’d answered. What could he possibly want now?

We’d long since severed ties personally, choosing only to continue our semblance of a relationship professionally.

Even that was a stretch.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, trying to tamp down the curiosity as I made my way into the kitchen.

I had enough on my plate. Whatever he wanted, it would have to wait.

Always one crisis to the next.

CHAPTER FIVE

AINSLEY

Istayed home with Maisy the next day, periodically refilling her soup and drink. While she was sleeping, I scrubbed and sanitized every inch of our house, washing all the bedding and shampooing all the carpets.

If I didn’t get ahead of it, the sickness would wash through our house like the plague, taking each of us out for a few days. If I managed to catch it, the family would fall apart. Without me at the helm, our ship wouldn’t manage a single night at sea. I’d seen it happen too many times.

My phone rang out from the living room, interrupting my scrubbing of the bathroom countertop, and I dropped the sponge, drying my hands and hurrying toward the sound.

When I reached it and saw the name on the screen, I was tempted to turn back around.

Instead, I found myself lifting the phone to my ear and forcing a cheerful voice. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello,” she said, her tone crisp. “Have you talked to yourfather?” She drew out the word.

Fine, thanks. How are you?

“Um, no. No, I haven’t. Should I have?”

She huffed dramatically as I picked at a piece of lint on top of the sofa. “Well, I’ve been trying to call him to check in about how we’re going to do Dylan’s birthday next month. But I haven’t heard back in a few days.”

“Do you think something’s wrong?”

Another dramatic sigh. “No, I think he’s probably in Cabo with Jessica, or Costa Maya with Eleanor, or L.A. with Naomi, or somewhere else with a floozy whose eyelashes are bigger than her brain—”

---