Page 83 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

“Ah, so you’re not the mother?” one of them says, and the way that she saysthe motherinstead ofa motherorher motherseems a little weird to me.

“No. Her mother is still back in the States,” I explain carefully.

The sun is glaring down at us, and I shield my forehead so I can get a closer look at them. I see their eyes dart furtively at each other.

I don’t care what country you are from, that is the look of two women who are onto some hot, juicy gossip.

“And who’s this wee one?” the first lady asks.

“This is Harmony,” I answer sweetly.

She wants to find out if I am the mother. I’ll be damned if I’m giving her that information.

I feel Cole squeeze my legs from behind.

“You want to check out the beach?” I ask him, bending down.

He ducks behind me shyly. Reaching around, I find his little hand and hold it so I can convince him to come forward.

“Well, nice chatting with you!” I call out.

I hear them giggle with their heads together.

I don’t hear exactly what they say.

But I’m a hundred percent certain I hear the wordwhore.

Shock punches me right in the chest, but I don’t think they can see it. It almost doubles me over, but at least I have Harmony and Cole to focus my attention on.

They called me a whore?

Does that word mean the same thing in Ireland that it does in the United States?

“You know what, Cole, let’s go sit over there,” I gesture bravely to a flat space between some rocks.

At least there I can keep an eye on both of them and maybe stop the shaking in my legs. It’s also not too far from Alexis, in case she feels like speaking to me again.

At first I thought it was sand, but it is a flat rock. Even better, it is warmed by the sun. Sitting with folded legs, Harmony fits nicely in my lap. Cole is totally amused by the little waves of water that bubble up around the edges of the rock. I feel safe here. He’s not going to fall into a fifty-foot-deep pit. It’s fine. I can relax.

So why do I feel so sick?

I see a shadow and feel Alexis standing over me. Shading my eyes, I look up at her.

“Can we call my mom?” she asks me in a small, trembling voice.

“Of course we can, baby,” I reply, relieved that she is speaking to me again.

Pulling the cell phone out of my ever-present diaper bag, I initiate the call to Amber and then hold the phone out to Alexis. I expect her to run away for privacy, but instead she sits down next to me, curling her legs underneath her.

Out of respect for her privacy, I try not to listen to every word. Eventually her sweet little voice kind of melds into the background noise, mixing with the waves and the birds crying out overhead.

Again, isn’t this heaven? I mean, isn’t it? Does a thing have to be perfect to be heaven?

Right up close, there are those two bitches on the other side of the beach calling me names. Not great. There is my overheated baby. There is a four-year-old who is always in danger of some kind of mortal injury. There is a seven-year-old who misses her mom intensely.

And there’s me, just holding it together. I mean, barely.

But then again, from a little bit farther away, isn’t it heaven? Maybe heaven is just a question of distance. Maybe if you step back one more step, all the bad stuff fuzzes out of focus.

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