Page 5 of Trial Run

“I didn’t say you were.” A frown creased his brow.

Another thought occurred to her, even worse than the idea he was judging her parenting.

“Are you really going to call my boss? To try to pay for the flowers?”

“Of course.”

“If you do …” She ground the toe of her shoe against his porch in a half circle. “If you do call her, please don’t tell her I had him with me today. It’s against the rules. I kind of … snuck him into the van this morning.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Understood. Nell …” He paused, as if trying out the name. “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough morning.”

With the words, his voice changed, along with his face. She’d thought him cold and aloof. But now his brown eyes softened with compassion, and that was almost worse, because him being nice made her feel everything with twice the intensity.

“It’s all right. I guess that makes two of us.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Anyway. I hope you feel better. And I’m sorry for interrupting your morning.” She turned on her heel to go.

“Is anything else the matter?” He cleared his throat, interrupting her departure. “I don’t mean to pry. But you’ve almost cried twice in the last few minutes.”

She rounded on him, still clutching the remnants of the bouquet. “I’m not crying.”

“Okay.” The word was soft, patient.

And then more words came tumbling out. “But if I were crying, it would be because I’m being evicted in two days if I don’t come up with the rent plus a late fee. If I were crying, it would be because my kid was up all night, and neither of us slept, and he is the world’s absolute worst napper, so he won’t sleep in the car. And I just dropped a seventy-dollar flower arrangement, and even if it’s not coming out of my next paycheck—which I doubt—I have to go back to the shop and get a replacement. And explain all of this to my boss, a woman who has apparently never had a bad day. Or a child.”

Nell’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, as if she could pull the words back inside. Who was this man, and why did she feel like telling him all her problems?

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually say those things out loud.” She glanced down at her smartwatch and panic threaded through her veins. “And I’m late. I have to go.”

Ben stood still on the threshold of his front porch, perma-frown still creasing his forehead.

Nell did what she did best of all, which was erase every trace of tension from her face and smile one last time. It wasn’t her most brilliant one, but it would have to do.

“Have a wonderful day, Ben,” she said. She shoved the ragged, wet flowers into his hands, turned, and fled down the steps.

She wrenched open the driver’s side door, slid into the front seat, and took a couple of steadying breaths, hands at ten and two on the wheel.

“Wh-what was wrong with that man?” Marco’s face, with his smooth brown skin and halo of dark curls, appeared between the two bucket seats at the front of the van.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to smooth out the edges in her voice.

“Why was he crying? Were you making him feel better?” he asked, his voice scratchy from coughing last night. Her son was far too observant.

“He wasn’t crying.” Thank God she’d dried her own eyes completely before getting into the van. “He was nervous, I think. Or anxious is a better word. I sat with him for a few minutes until he calmed down.”

“Y-you dropped the flowers. Maybe he didn’t like the mess.”

“Maybe so. But I cleaned it up and we’ll go back to the shop and get some new ones. Everything will be fine.”

“That’s okay.” He flopped back into his seat. “I’m hot. You need to f-feel my forehead again.”

Nell squeezed between the bucket seats of the van into the back, aware she was still parked in front of Ben’s house, where he could see her. A hand to Marco’s forehead confirmed the fever was back.

“You need more medicine.” Keeping her voice light, she fished out the cough medicine and pain reliever from herbag, and gave him tablets of each. He chewed both without complaining, which was even more worrying.

He pulled the blanket she’d brought in the van up against his chin. Nell frowned. Her seven year-old was never cold.

“You should probably keep me home from school tomorrow, too,” he rasped.

“We’ll see how you are tomorrow.” She absolutely could not afford an unpaid day off work at this point. “Do you have enough to drink back there?”

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