Page 82 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

If I am nervous, I cannot show it. So what if it is a hundred stairs? Two hundred stairs? They will never notice. So what if the ocean is probably two degrees? They don’t have to go in.

I am doing this for the kids, I remind myself. Because I said that I would.

To my surprise, the staircase is an easy trek. I go first, holding the railing with one hand and Harmony with the other. She is dressed in a little woolen sweater with a hood that keeps falling over her eyes. Her chubby legs are stuffed into knit leggings.

Alexis put on a windbreaker and long pants and long sleeves without even an argument, but Cole seemed confused. In his mind, beaches mean Florida. They mean hot sun and sand castles and possibly sharks.

It was hard to explain to him that it’s cold up at the cottage. It’s going to be cold at the beach.

Imagine my utter shock when we reached the last fifteen stairs and could see the sand, and could see the ten mothers with their children, all in shorts and tank tops, running around and splashing in the water.

At some point, the wind cut out. The rock faces must have combined to create a windshield. In this secluded spot, the rocky beach is warm and sparkling. It’s probably a whole lot closer to Cole’s imagination than mine.

“Rocks!” Cole announces, startling me.

A woman twists when she hears the sound, raising a hand in a friendly way that sort of crumples when she realizes she doesn’t recognize me.

I feel like we’re interrupting a family party or something. All of the women look at us the same way, as though we are unfamiliar and totally unexpected.

“I thought you said it was cold,” Alexis observes.

“I thought it would be cold,” I shrug. “Actually, it’s kind of hot don’t you think? Must be like eighty degrees.”

Alexis scowls at the sea as though it betrayed her or something.

“Honey? Isn’t that a good thing? I am glad I was wrong. Aren’t you?”

She takes several deep breaths, pouting strenuously. Finally she looks up at me with tears in her eyes.

“I’m not dressed for degrees,” she explains sullenly.

“Well, let’s just take your windbreaker off, okay? You can fold up the cuffs on your pants, roll up your sleeves…”

“It’s not the same!”

I’m taken aback by her attitude. I know this is what a normal seven-year-old acts like, but it seems sudden to me.

“Alexis, it’s not so bad, is it?”

“I’m going for a walk!” she announces, and stomps off toward the sea.

Startled, I just stand there with my mouth open. I mean, should I chase her? Has she gone temporarily insane?

“Ah, that age,” one of the women coos knowingly. “She’s headed for my girl Sadie. Perhaps they’ll chat a bit. She will be all right.”

Enormously relieved to have someone understand my situation, I shift Harmony to my other hip and work on getting her out of her woolen shroud.

“Are they all like this? Is it always going to be like this?” I complain plaintively.

Wow, it is kind of a rush to complain about kids! I had no idea! I have been keeping any frustration deep inside myself. I have been so afraid to let it out.

You know what? It feels pretty good.

“Probably get much worse before it gets better,” a second woman opines.

Harmony’s curls stick up all over the place when I finally get the sweater off. Her cheeks are red. She’s totally overheated.

“She’s not usually like this,” I reply absentmindedly. “She just misses her mother, I think.”

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