Page 39 of Stick Move

“I’ll…” I swallow. “I’ll be making a salad if anyone needs me.”

“I can help once we finish coloring,” Brighton tells me.

“No, I have everything under control.”

It’s a lie. I have nothing under control. Least of all my life, Camryn’s life, my future, and the things I’m feeling for Brighton. The only thing I have control over is my career, and soon enough, I need to concentrate all my focus on that.

Back in the kitchen, I put the cheesecake into the fridge and as I get to work on making a salad and putting potatoes into foil, I listen to Camryn chat non-stop to Brighton. I head out onto the big, covered deck off the kitchen, which is at least five times the size of the cracker jack box-sized deck we had in the city, I check the sky to see that the clouds have passed.

Once I get the barbecue lit, I stare out over the water in the distance, and listen to the families laugh and play in the surf. For the briefest of moments, with Brighton and Camryn coloring and my folks on their way, I get a sense of what it would be like to expand my small family.

I head back in and Camryn squeals as the doorbell rings. “Daddy, they’re here.”

“I’ll be right there.” I hurry to the living room, and find Brighton pushing to her feet, nervous anticipation dancing on her face. Camryn runs out the door and starts down the stairs.

“Hurry,” she screeches.

“Coming?” I ask Brighton.

She shrugs and I’m not sure if she’s asking a question or not when she responds with, “I can wait here.”

Sensing her apprehension, I take her hand in mine, removing the choice she doesn’t seem to want to make. “Come on.” We head into the hall and down the long stretch of stairs as Camryn swings the door open and squeals when she finds her grandparents on the stoop.

“Grandma, Grandpa! You have to see my new room.” She holds her arms out. “It’s huge and Ms. Brighton gave me Charlie and she reads to me and she made me lumpy pancakes and I made a wish.”

I rub Camryn’s hair when I reach her. “Whoa, slow down, Bean. Let Grandma and Grandpa inside first.”

Ignoring me, she continues to speak. “That’s Ms. Brighton,” she says as Brighton hovers near the bottom of the stairs. “She’s my nanny.” She giggles and lowers her voice, which brings it down to normal volume. “But I made a wish.” My heart jumps, worry taking up residence in my gut. Dammit, the last thing I want to do is disappoint my daughter. I’ve really made a mess of things, and I’m going to have to talk to her again. I can’t let her get her hopes up like this.

“Well, hello, Brighton,” Dad says as I pick Camryn up, and hold her in my arms. Mom gives Brighton a big smile. I study Mom for a second. Alzheimer’s is a vicious disease and I never know from one day, or even one minute, to the next if she’s going to be lucid or not. Fortunately, today her eyes are bright and shiny, and she seems very well aware of what’s happening.

“Hey Mom.” I lean in and give her a hug and kiss on the cheek and she hands me a bottle of white wine. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Noah,” she greets and smooths her hand over her short brown hair as she ignores my protest. “Why don’t you introduce us to your new friend.”

“She’s Camryn’s nanny,” I clarify, and Mom gives me a look that suggests she wasn’t born yesterday, and she might know me better than I know myself, and I can’t argue with either of those things. I am, however, happy to see that she’s very aware today. Maybe just a little too aware. Although the heat between Brighton and me can probably be felt all the way to Canada.

Mom practically pushes me to the side. “Brighton, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too, Mrs. Jones.”

She makes a huffing sound. “Please, it’s Sandra.”

Brighton crosses the room. “Sandra.” Brighton holds her hand out. Mom takes her hand in both of hers and her gaze moves over Brighton’s face with sheer appreciation. “You’ll be taking care of my lot here.”

Brighton laughs. “I’ll be taking care of Camryn while Noah works, yes.” Her statement quickly reminds me that she’s been taking care of others for far too long. Who took care of her? For that matter, who’s taking care of her now?

You are, dude. You are.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m taking care of her.

Mom smirks and pulls her in for a hug like they’re going to be the best of friends, and wouldn’t that be nice for Brighton and Mom. Brighton would be the daughter Mom never had and Mom would be the mother Brighton loved and lost.

“Peachy, just peachy,” Mom responds with a smirk. She cups Brighton’s cheeks. “I think you’re perfect for this little family.”

“Perfect for Camryn,” I correct gently, and catch Brighton’s eyes. I don’t want her thinking I’m looking for more. She made it clear how things stand between us.

Dad clears his throat as Camryn squirms in my arms. I reassure my wiggly daughter that we’ll head upstairs shortly as Dad greets Brighton. “It’s nice to meet you, Brighton.”

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