Page 72 of Nine Week Nanny
"Yep, draw another card."
The sound of water rushing through pipes reaches my ears. Pope's shower is on upstairs. My stomach does a little flip. He must be finished with his calls for the evening.
I catch myself smiling at the thought of him joining us later. Maybe we'll all have dinner together. Maybe after Lennon goes to bed...
Stop it, Sloane.
Lennon reaches for another card but pauses. His hand drifts to the emotion flashcards still stacked nearby from our earliersession. He picks up one showing a sad face and holds it toward me without speaking.
My heart squeezes. "You're feeling sad right now?"
He nods, his eyes downcast. He holds his necklace, he’s go-to comfort when he's down.
"Can you tell me why you're feeling sad?"
He traces the board's rainbow path with his finger. "Me and Mom used to play this game." His voice is so soft I have to lean forward to hear him. "She always picked the red piece."
It suddenly occurs to me why he told me he wanted to play this specific game. He wants to remember the things he did with his mom.
I slide closer, careful not to overwhelm him. "You miss playing with her."
His shoulders rise and fall with a tiny sigh. "Yeah."
"It's okay to miss her when you do things you used to do together." I rest my hand near his, not touching, just there if he wants it. "Those memories are special."
"Do you think she knows I'm playing it now?"
The question catches in my chest. "I like to think people we love always know when we're thinking about them."
Lennon's hand moves to rest on top of mine, so small and trusting. "Yeah. Camila said she's in heaven watching over me. That means she's watching over you, too."
I swallow, fighting back tears for this brave, strong little boy. I don't speak for fear I won't be so strong.
"She would like you. You're nice like her."
He climbs into my lap, and I hold him close to me.
Movement at the doorway draws my attention. Pope stands there, his hair damp from his shower, wearing gray joggers and a long-sleeved navy t-shirt that clings to his shoulders. The casual look suits him, softens him somehow.
Water droplets still cling to the back of his neck.
Our eyes meet over Lennon's head. Pope's gaze shifts to his brother, concern etching his features. He mouths, "Everything okay?"
I nod, offering a small smile. The moment stretches between us, something unnamed passing in that shared look of understanding.
His phone vibrates in his hand. He grimaces, points to it apologetically, and steps back into the hallway.
"Hey, Lennon." I squeeze his hand gently. "Want to help me make pasta for dinner? I heard you're pretty good at stirring sauce."
His expression brightens. "Can I add the cheese?"
"Absolutely. You're the official cheese master."
He jumps up, mood shifting. "Race you to the kitchen!"
As he dashes ahead, I gather up the game pieces, my mind lingering on the weight of his body curled into mine and the intensity in Pope's eyes as he watched us from the doorway.
I reach the kitchen just as Lennon skids to a stop at the refrigerator, his socks sliding on the polished floor.
