Page 12 of A Temporary Memory

“Guys, I gotta take this call,” the dad broke in, looking once more at his phone. “I’ll just be by the porta potty.” His gaze swept over me, and his jaw tightened before he focused on the kids. “Stay by the swings and give me some space, okay? Should only be a few minutes.”

Instead of maintaining a restroom, the town sprang for a portable bathroom during the summer months, much to Thelma’s consternation.Can’t they make them look better than a powder-blue column in the middle of the park?

“I can entertain them.” I didn’t know what made me offer. Something to do, probably. A way to feel useful, and I missed working with kids.

His dark gaze oscillated back to me. “You don’t have to.”

Was this guy allergic to help? “I promise I’m not billing you.”

His eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, but all he said was “Thank you” and strode away, phone to his ear. His kids were watching me.

“Your dad’s a busy guy,” I said, not being nosy at all. But, you know, kids talked a lot, and my ears were open. Just in case.

“Mommy used to be a lot busier,” Grayson said as he practiced another bow.

“What does she do now?”

“She died,” Ivy said, her smile suddenly gone.

Oh. Sympathy welled inside. I had almost lost my mom, and it’d torn me up, but I’d been an adult. “I’m so sorry.” I crouched to get on her level. Her wide brown eyes were a few shades lighter than her dad’s, and the sadness went deep. “I’m really, really sorry.”

She sniffled. “’S okay. She worked a lot too.”

Questions piled on my tongue, but I’d already stepped in it. “A lot of adults have to work more than they want.”

“She wanted to,” Grayson said. He looked around, his mouth pursing. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

The only choice was the bathroom his dad was standing by with his worried gaze on his kids. A widower. Didn’t I feel like shit for labeling him all sorts of an uptight workaholic? “Can you wait for a few minutes while your dad’s on the phone?”

“No.”

Well, he was honest. “Okay, so maybe we can switch places with your dad.” I waved to catch his attention, which wasn’t hard. I didn’t get the feeling the man missed much.

I pointed from Grayson to the portable outhouse and then made an arc that vaguely suggested we change places. His shoulders slumped, and the quickest defeated expression lit his eyes before it was smothered. Did I imagine it? He gave a curt nod as he spoke into the phone. Wandering toward the slides, he put more space between us, presumably so the person he was talking to wouldn’t know he was at a park with kids.

“Let’s go,” I said, holding my hands out. “Remember to be quiet.”

They clamped on without hesitation. I checked the hygiene situation of the porta potty because no way could that thing be clean sitting out in the middle of nowhere. In LA, the inside would be smeared with feces, and there’d be at least five different types of needles.

The interior was pristine and had a chemical mint smell. Huh. Not bad at all. “All set.”

Ivy waited with me, practicing her curtsies.

“I never got your dad’s name.” I couldn’t deny my nosiness, but I was helping the guy with his kids. I should know what to call him.

“Alcott.”

I cocked my head. I was used to hearing all sorts of first and last names, but this one was new. “Is that your last name?”

She shook her head, her crooked ponytail flying. “Knight.”

“Alcott Knight?” Classy but manly. It fit him.

“People call him Cody.”

He didn’t look like a Cody. When I thought of a Cody, I pictured a relaxed guy from a small town like Crocus Valley. Easygoing with a quick smile. I thought Alcott had forgotten how to smile. My gaze drifted toward him just as he pushed his hair off his forehead and swept it to the side. It stayed, like it was afraid to disappoint him.

“Only Mommy called him Alcott,” Ivy said, twirling her skirt while she was standing in place.

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