Page 64 of Heartless
She nods. “Of course. You?”
“Yeah. I told Cade I’d take care of Luke that day. We’ll go watch him.”
“Working the weekends, huh?”
I shrug. “Spending time with Luke doesn’t really feel like work.”
In fact, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
I should have known when Luke asked, “What does it feel like when you get carsick?” that something was wrong.
Instead, I kept bobbing my head to my favorite Broken Bells song and said, “Just like nauseous, buddy.”
We had a fun day at the spray park in town—our new go-to spot on hot days. He gets to see a bunch of friends from school, and I get to mean mug the psychopath birthday boy and his mom who will forever live on in my head as Bunny.
They stay away, looking at me like I’m an escaped convict, which works just fine for me.
I even spend time together with a couple of moms that I actually like. Ones with nice kids and good senses of humor. I feel relieved that not all the moms in this town are Bunnies.
But I’m not feeling relieved anymore.
Because Luke just sprayed vomit all over the back of my passenger’s side seat.
I pull over on the country road. We’re only five minutes from the ranch. So close, and yet so far away. After running around the front of the Jeep, I whip the back passenger’s side door open and take in the barf-covered boy before me.
“You okay, little man?”
His eyes are wide and watery. “I’m so sorry, Willa.”
“Oh, sweet boy. Don’t be sorry.”
“I barfed in your car.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I reach forward and run a hand through his wet hair.
“It’s a mess!” He’s crying now and I want to hug him, but we all have our limits. I’ve handled my fair share of vomit as a bartender, but hugging a barf-covered child is where I draw the line.
Instead, I unbuckle him, whip his shirt off, andthensqueeze him to me. Sobs rack his little body.
“I-I’m s-s-so sorry!” He’s wailing now.
“Shh. Luke. Luke. It’s just a car. It doesn’t matter. You’re what matters. I don’t care about the car, babe. I’m more worried about you.” I pull away, looking at him, trying hard not to glance down. Because Iknowthere is barf on me. The last thing I need to do is start heaving too.
He nods tearfully at me. “Willa?”
“Yeah?”
“You have throw up on you. I can still see a strawberry.”
I pop my lips open and opt to mouth breathe so I stop smelling it, focusing on his wide blue eyes.I’m an adult, I’m an adult, I’m an adult.“That’s okay. Everything can be washed. I’m going to buckle you in and drive the rest of the way. If you feel like you need to barf again, just tell me and I’ll pull over for you. Got it?”
He nods, looking determined.
And God bless his determination because we stop twice more on the way back to the ranch.
The first thing we do is strip down outside. At least all pieces of barfy clothes. Which for him is everything, and for me is just my tank top over my bikini.
