Page 13 of The Parent Playbook
Lord, help me.
I start pacing, the letter clutched in my hand like a tickingtime bomb. The barn roof that leaks when it rains too hard, the plumbing in the rec center that’s more of a suggestion than a system—none of it’s a danger to the kids, but to an inspector with a checklist and no sense of humor? Disaster.
And the accounts? I know what I know—that I only ever spend on the most important things. But I have a pile of receipts that rivals the Eiffel Tower, and that won’t pass for a second with the Charities Program.
I’m fiercely proud of what we’ve built here, of the haven we’ve created for kids who need it most. But pride doesn’t patch roofs, fix pipes, or put paperwork in order. And the last thing I want is for everyone to see the frayed edges I’ve been working so hard to hide. They expect me to have it all together, to be a superwoman in a flannel shirt. The thought of letting them—or the kids—down keeps me up at night.
I have to get this right. If there’s something I could do so that a kid out there doesn’t have to suffer the way I did, it’ll be worth it.
I stuff the letter into my pocket, a lead weight against my thigh.
Happy Horizons is my responsibility. Mine. I’ll fix this, shore up the cracks and polish up the rust. Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s proving people wrong. And if there’s one thing I refuse to do, it’s fail the kids who count on this place as a safe space to just be kids.
The next hour flies by, and I’m already making lists. Time to dust off the old toolbox and get a worker’s lamp since I’m going to have to work nights around here to fix everything. Come inspection day, Happy Horizons has to shine.
And meanwhile, Troy’s got me “playing nice” with the hockey dudes.
“Dad!” Lil’s voice fills the air and I’m up faster than if I’d sat on a porcupine, smashing my knee into the picnic table as I go. That’s gonna bruise, but curiosity has me in its grip. I scan thedriveway from my perching place because I’m dying to find out who this mystery father is.
Lil barrels past me, a tornado of energy, straight into the arms of?—
Coat check guy.
Of course. The universe has a sense of humor, and today, I’m the punchline.
“Lilybug!” Scotty sweeps her up and into his arms like she’s a feather and not a solid preteen.
“Scotty, what a surprise.” I’m trying to act natural, which for me, involves standing with one hand buried in my pocket, clutching that blasted letter like it’s a lifejacket while the other massages my knee. Scotty’s smile is the picture of gentleness and ease, the polar opposite of my internal meltdown.
“Hey there, Angel,” he greets, his voice smooth, eyes crinkling in a way that does funny things to my stomach. “Seems our kids have become fast friends.”
“Yeah, who would’ve thunk it?” I manage to say, my tone aiming for casual but probably landing somewhere in the vicinity of dazed.Play nice.“Funny that of all the people, you’d be Lil’s dad.”
“Really?” his eyes sparkle. “Because I was just thinking the same of this famous ‘Andy’ that Lily couldn’t stop talking about. Seems your boy is a man with a mission.”
Lil is tugging at Scotty’s hand, eager to show off some ranch marvel or other, but he’s focused on me. “This place is amazing. It’s a childhood wonderland.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant while my heart’s doing the cha-cha. “Well, it’s nothree-pool mansion, but it has its charms.”
That earns me a chuckle, and for goodness’ sake, why does he have to find my awkward attempts at humor charming?
He looks at me with something that resembles sheepishness. “You weren’t too embarrassed by my comment last night?”
“Embarrassed, no. Feeling guilty for my behavior? Oh, yes,” I admit.
He glances around, then leans in slightly, dropping his voice. “So, is there a Mr. Angel I should be introduced to? You know, to avoid any future foot-in-mouth situations?”
The question throws me off, a little tizzy of something uninvited dancing in my chest. “Nope, there’s no Mr. Angel. Only me, Andy, and a barn full of beasts.”
“Good to know,” he says, and I swear there’s something brewing, but he doesn’t give anything more away.
Meanwhile, my tummy is doing a square dance.
“Come on, Dad!” Lil pulls harder on him, and I remember the letter, the impending review by the Charities Program, and the thousand reasons why I don’t have time for whatever my traitorous heart thinks it wants.
“Well, you’dbettergo have a look before your poor girl explodes with energy,” I say, steering the conversation safely away from dangerous waters. “I’m sorry I can’t join you, but I have, uh, business to attend to.”
That’s not a lie. Sorting my finances, dealing with the contractors from Fix-It-All, and being nice to the hockey team just might kill me. But the most important thing is that Happy Horizons doesn’t suffer just as it’s about to get its biggest break.
