Page 49 of At First Flight
“Mommy!” she continues to wail until she finally exerts all her energy and falls asleep in my arms like she used to when she was a baby.
My heart breaks all over again, knowing that my sister left these two precious children unable to fight her own demons any longer.
“Fuck, Gen,” I whisper, leaning my head against the pale pink wall.
I’m unsure what else to say. That I need her, that her kids need her, that she left us too soon. But none of it changes the fact that she’s gone, and now I’m left picking up her pieces and comforting her daughter when she screams out in the night for her mom.
And as much as it pains me, it will break my heart even more when Evelyn stops.
Chapter Eleven – Lila
One thing my mom always advocated for in her business is that the clients must give the nanny a day off during the week and an occasional evening, especially if they are live-in. I know taking the traditional day off isn’t in the cards for me, but I’m not sad to be sitting in the old chemistry lab of the high school running some tests with microbes and petri dishes.
I’m still hoping to hear from one of the many universities I reached out to lease some space and equipment from them, or at the minimum, a new team I can work with, but until then, I’m stuck here at the high school using the old lab room that looks like it’s been recently used as storage space.
The overhead light in the room flickers, whether from poor electricity or just lack of use, I can’t tell, but I find myself sighing in frustration for the third time since I arrived an hour ago.
A light knock draws my attention toward the open doorway, where a woman with a school district badge pinned to her chest steps in, clipboard in hand and an easy smile on her face. “Hey there, Ms. Wright, just checking in to see how things are going. We’re excited to have you here. Well, back here.”
I blink at her, straightening a little. “It’s… definitely a work in progress.”
She chuckles. “Well, it already looks better than it did last week. You’ve clearly got a handle on the science side of things. Actually…” Her tone turns speculative, assessing. “There’s a coordinator position opening up—district-wide. It’s part-time, mostly curriculum oversight and teacher support. Flexible hours, pays decently, and honestly? Someone like youcould really make a difference.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but her words land heavy.
I nod, unsure of what to say. That flutter starts in my chest again, part fear, part curiosity. Part that strange new hope that there’s a way to have both. To be grounded and still reach. To stay without giving up who I am.
The woman grants me another warm smile, taps her pen against the clipboard, and says, “Just think about it,” before disappearing down the hallway. She leaves me alone with the hum of old equipment and a dozen swirling thoughts as I return to the cluttered counter and pick up my notes with renewed focus.
Hovering over the ten petri dishes in front of me, I carefully drop the individual chemicals specified for each dish onto the appropriate half of the agar. This allows me to study a treated area against the control. My hope is that this new sample of Clostridium bacteria at different levels will prove an adequate solution to treat potential food allergies within the body before it even begins.
Happy with my progress, I cover the petri dishes, mark them, then place them in the incubator.
“Dammit,” I growl. The lights flicker again just as I remove my gloves, scoot over to my laptop, and begin documenting what I’ve completed so far. With a glance at the clock in the corner of the screen, I notice I worked through lunch as my stomach rumbles.
Rolling my eyes, I realize I have another hour of documentation to write before I can end my day on a high note.
“Here you are,” a rumbling voice says from across the room. My body jerks off the stool, and I nearly fall to the ground before I catch myself on the edge of the lab table.
“My God, Dean. You scared the crap out of me.” My hand settles on my chest as I worked to catch my breath. My pulse races beneath my fingertips, and I wasn’t quite certain if it is because of my sudden fright or because Dean was here in the room with me.
“Sorry,” he says with a slight shrug. “You know, you’re a very difficult person to track down.”
A giggle escapes as I rearrange myself on the stool. “That’s sort of the point. How did you find me exactly?” I inquire, though I already know the answer before he says it.
“Your mom. The kids wanted to see the horses, so I took them over there between my meetings. She offered to keep them for the afternoon.”
“And that brings you here, why?” I ask as I continue pecking away on the keyboard.
The scent of sandalwood invades my senses, and I know without looking that Dean is close.
“I just wanted to see you and what you were working on. Is this the project you’ve been trying to get funding and a location for?”
“That would be the one.”
He’s closer now, leaning over the table, his fists on the charcoal gray top propping himself up. If I move just an inch to the right, I’m certain our thighs would brush. I’m too scared to take that chance.
With each day that passes, my resolve to stay away from Dean shrinks. The reasons having a fling with him would be a bad idea drift away and are replaced with all the reasons I should. The way he treats his niece and nephew as if they are his entire world. The way he turns his whole focus on you ifyou’re speaking. The way he’d drop everything to help someone. He’s the complete opposite of every billionaire I’ve had the displeasure of knowing up to this point. Everything about the man is hypnotic. And if he keeps working his magic, I’m going to succumb with a white flag high in the air.
“Tell me…” he says just as the lights flicker and then go out completely. “Is this what you’ve been working on all day?” The gruffness in his voice pulls my attention away from my computer. I find a ruddiness in his cheeks and his body stiff, the knuckles in his fist growing a blanche shade of white.
