Only, I forgot another thing Pop told me, a quote from a book that said, “God made the world round so we couldn’t see too far down the road.”

  CHAPTER 22

  CASS

  “Hi-YAH!” Pinky karate chops the air above her chips and salsa as we sit in the vinyl booth waiting for her dad to return with our drinks.

  El Rio is the only restaurant in Eureka, and our special dinner is a reward for Pinky going a whole day without karate-chopping anyone in town.

  She’s been watching The Muppet Show nonstop since our fishing trip, and she’s obsessed with her new favorite character Miss Piggy, which means she’s been acting just like her.

  Owen immediately declared if she karate chops him one time, he’s pushing her down. Aiden told him boys don’t push girls down, but I’m not convinced he won’t do it. Pinky doesn’t seem to be convinced either.

  So far, she hasn’t tried chopping her cousin or his friends. Yet.

  “Here you go.” Alex places a frozen margarita in front of me. “A lemonade for Miss Piglet, and a Modelo for me.”

  “Miss Piggy, Daddy! Piglet is Mr. Piglet.”

  “Ah, Mr. Stone, you don’t have to serve yourself.” Herve Garcia hustles up to the table, smiling. “Who is your waiter tonight?”

  He looks all around, and when a young woman in an apron appears, he says something to her in Spanish.

  Alex holds up a hand. “No worries, Herve, it’s all good. I’m used to slinging drinks.”

  “Can I get you anything?” The girl’s name tag says Gina, and I don’t recognize her.

  She must be new in town—a situation I still remember in a town where everyone seems to know everyone.

  “I know what I want if you do?” My voice is light, and I meet Alex’s eyes across the table.

  “Steak tacos and street corn all around?” he asks.

  “Street corn!” Pinky sits back on her feet, lifting Piglet’s hoof in a cheering motion. “Hi-YAH!”

  Gina nods, making a note before dashing away. “I’ll get that right out.”

  Herve turns back to us, placing his hand on the booth behind Alex. “I’ve been keeping up with these development plans, and if they bring in a big resort, we want the people of Eureka to know we appreciate your business.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Alex shifts in his seat.

  “We’ll never stop coming to El Rio.” I smile up at him. “We can’t live without your steak and street corn.”

  “Sounds like just the kind of recommendation I’m after.” A confident, female voice comes from behind Herve’s shoulder.

  My brow furrows, but Alex’s expression blanks like he’s just heard a ghost.

  “I’m sorry!” Herve quickly steps to the side. “Are you joining them?”

  A woman about my height with tightly coiled red hair and pale skin steps forward. She has big blue eyes, an even bigger smile, and I don’t need Alex to tell me who she is.

  My stomach jumps to my neck, then plummets to the floor.

  “Jessica?” Alex stands slowly, almost cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Alex.” She steps forward, pulling him into a hug, and a knot tightens in my throat. “I parked at the courthouse, and an older man in a sheriff’s uniform was kind enough to tell me you were here.”

  Doug. Swallowing the knot, I stand as well.

  “You’re Jessica?” My voice sounds weird, so I clear it and try again. “I’ve heard so much about you. Won’t you join us?”

  “Really?” Her voice goes high, and I realize she must be as nervous to be here as I am to see her.

  Alex clears his throat as well. “Of course, sit. We’ll get you something to drink. We just ordered food, but I’m sure it’s not too late—”

  “God, no. I don’t mean to crash your date.”

  “It’s not a date. I’m the nanny. Cass.” Alex’s brow lowers as if he’ll contradict me, but I extend my hand.

  “The nanny!” She grabs it, giving me a generous, friendly shake, and her voice returns to its original, more confident tone.

  She sounds like a news reporter, and she looks like she just came off safari. She’s dressed in khaki cargo pants and Birkenstocks, and her short-sleeved shirt has a tiny floral print and those little loops that hold up the cuffs. I imagine her taking out a 55-mm digital camera and showing us photos of giraffes and zebras in the Serengeti.

  I don’t hate her.

  I don’t.

  Maybe a little.

  But she’s Pinky’s mom… Speaking of Pinky, I look over to find she’s busy feeding Piglet a corn chip and making him talk like Link Hogthrob from “Pigs in Space.”

  “Have you met Penelope?” I ask.

  Jessica’s blue eyes widen almost as if she’s startled. “Not in a long time.”

  Moving away, I motion to Pinky, and Jessica’s eyes glaze. “She’s so beautiful.” It’s a quiet observation.

  Alex cuts in abruptly. “I think we should hold off on any… connections.” His voice has a very pointed tone. “Until I know what’s happening right now.”

  “Of course.” Jessica nods, dropping her chin and blinking rapidly. “I should’ve called first, but to be honest… I don’t have your number anymore. I only found you because of the bourbon. I remembered when I left, you said you’d come back here and start the distillery.”

  My heart is beating so hard, and my emotions are swirling like a tornado in my chest. When she talks about their past, I remember they have one, and it’s complicated.

  While I want to stake some claim, the truth is, Alex and I have been playing a game. I told a lie, and he saved me from being embarrassed.

  From the start, we said the most important thing is Pinky, and what’s best for her.

  I know what it’s like not to have a mother, not to know her, not to feel like you matter to her. When I was a girl, I only prayed for one thing—my dream that one day she’d come back and want to be with me.

  Then I’d be like all the other kids.

  Then I’d be normal.

  Pinky looks up to where we’re standing awkwardly, and she crawls on her little knees across the vinyl, sliding her hand into mine and looking up at this new woman.

  “Who are you?” Her voice is so direct.

  Jessica’s eyes widen with her smile. “Hello, Penelope. I’m Jessica.”

  P’s rosebud lips twist, and she tilts her head to the side. “Do you like Miss Piggy?”

  Jessica exhales a breath I recognize as relief. “Absolutely. I think Miss Piggy is an icon of humor and feminine strength.”

  Pinkie’s little brow furrows, and I know she doesn’t understand a word her mother just said.

  Still, she nods. “Miss Piggy is not like Myrtle. Miss Piggy says, ‘Hi-YAH!’”

  Jessica laughs softly. “Yes, she does.”

  “Jessica’s going to have dinner with us.” I hesitate, glancing at her. “Where would you like to sit?”

  “I don’t want to intrude…”

  “You can sit by Alex.” I lean forward, speaking quietly. “That way, you can see her better.”

  Grateful eyes rise to mine. “You’re very kind.”

  Forcing a smile, I don’t feel kind. I feel jealous. I feel like a possessive intruder, and I want to fight for the family of which I’ve only had a taste.

  My heart aches, and my stomach is tight, because I also feel like a grown woman who was once a little girl left behind, and if I can save Pinky from that insecurity, I will.

  Because I love her.

  She’s not less than or broken. She’s funny and strong.

  We order another margarita for Jessica and steak tacos with street corn. Throughout our meal, her eyes continue to drift to Penelope, who’s happily eating her street corn and bobbing her head side to side to the Spanish-style music playing overhead.

  Alex’s eyes continue to drift to me, but I can’t meet his gaze. My heart might break.

  I’m hot and cold and I’m not hungry and I have no idea what this new dynamic means.

  When the bill finally arrives, I dip my napkin in the glass of water to wipe the sauce off Pinky’s cheeks.

  “We need to talk.” Alex’s voice is flat.

  “Yes…” I quickly answer at the same time as Jessica says, “I agree.”

  My face flames red, and I have no idea who he was addressing just now.

  “Right,” is all he says.

  I help Pinky out of the booth, holding her hand as we head for the door. We’ll go back to the house, and I’ll give her a bath like always. Then when she’s in bed, I’ll retire to my garage apartment so they can talk.

  I’m the nanny, after all. My job is childcare, regardless of what’s been happening after hours.

  Jessica walks with Alex, following us to his car. I pause at the back door, helping Pinky into her booster as they talk quietly on the opposite side of the car.

  “Where are you staying?” he asks, and I analyze his tone for any indication of interest.

  “I thought I’d get a place in town, but it looks like—”

  “Yeah, there’s nothing here.” I don’t sense affection. “All the hotels and resorts are in Hilton Head or Kiawah.”

  She hesitates, and I linger a bit longer over Pinky’s seat, holding my breath until finally he says, “I have plenty of room. You can stay at my place.”

  “I hate to intrude. I realize now I should’ve planned better.”

  “It’s not a problem. You’re here to see her, right?” He nods in our direction, and I straighten.

  A warm smile lifts Jessica’s cheeks, and she nods. “Thank you, Alex.”

  “I’ll wait so you can follow us to the house.” He opens his door.

  “That’s me.” She gestures to the white Camry with out-of-state plates. “I see you got a Tesla. Funny, I never took you for the religious type.”

  “What?” His brow furrows, and she points to his bumper. “God is my copilot?”

  For a split second he hesitates. Then his eyes flash to mine, and I quickly step into the vehicle. He walks around to the back of the car, and I see him shake his head in the mirror before slowly returning to the driver’s side.

  “Inside joke.”

  She laughs. “I’ll be right behind you and God.”

  He gets in, closing the door and not smiling, and the pressure is seriously getting to me now.

  The door closes with a solid thump, and he doesn’t look up as he presses the start button. “That is seriously messed up.”

  My voice is quiet, and I study my hands clasped in my lap. “I figured it would be less offensive.”

  Is our game no longer funny?

  Is everything we’ve done simply over now?

  “It’s probably more offensive.” He puts the car in reverse, pulling out slowly as Jessica backs out of her space. “Shouldn’t God be the pilot?”

  When I look up, he gives me a ghost of a smile, and I can’t decide if it makes me want to laugh or cry.

  We say nothing more the rest of the drive. The muscle in his jaw moves back and forth as if he’s thinking, and his expression is the same as the first night we got too close.

  He’s weighing every angle, and I know Pinky is his top priority. He’s a father. He can never forget it’s not only about what he wants.

  Pinky’s fingers trace the small bubbles as I drag the sponge down her back. Alex asked me to put her to bed tonight while he and Jessica talked, and I’m kind of dying to know what they’re saying and where it leaves me.

  We skip washing hair, and when I help her out of the tub, I notice her little expression is troubled. My throat tightens, and I wonder if she’s going to hit me with another hard question—this time about Jessica.

  “Everything okay, Miss P?”

  Her small brow furrows, and serious blue eyes meet mine. “Owen said Miss Piggy is a bad role model. He said you can’t karate chop your way through life.”

  Exhaling a quiet sigh of relief, I scrub the towel all over her little body as I contemplate my answer. “He has a point,” I start, and I see her frown deepen. “Not about the role model part, but he’s right about not karate chopping everything. It’s good to stand up for yourself, but hitting is never how you handle problems. That’s just to be funny.”

  “I’m chopping to be funny.”

  “Yes, but you’re not a stuffed animal. When she chops it feels like Piglet. When you chop, it’s like a real hit.”

  Holding hands, we walk to the bed, and she climbs in, cuddling her stuffed animal under her arm. “So I can chop with Piglet’s arm?”

  “No…” I lean forward to touch my nose to hers, before scooting in beside her with a book. “We talked about this. Chopping is only for Miss Piggy. Not you.”

  Piglet is snuggled to her chest as I start reading Madeline, and tonight we have Platy the Platypus in bed with us as well. I’m halfway through the story when I notice her fingernail curling around the side of Platy’s eye and picking.

  I continue reading, but by the time I say “The End,” she’s not asleep, and Platy is almost blind.

  I tap her finger. “What’s going on here?”

  She looks down, and her mouth pulls down at the corners. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you picking at Platy?” Her little shoulders shrug, and I put my arm around her. “Is something else on your mind besides Miss Piggy?”

  She shakes her head no, but it’s pretty obvious she’s not telling me everything. What I don’t know is why. I don’t think Jessica is the cause of her anxiety. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know who she is.

  One thing weighs on my mind, and I figure we’d better address it before things get awkward. “Remember how sometimes you call me Mama Cass?”

  Her little chin moves up and down, and I shift in the bed to face her, tracing a red curl behind her ear. “Maybe you shouldn’t call me that right now.”

  Round eyes meet mine, and a knot twists painfully in my throat. “Because I’m a bad girl?”

  “No!” I reach out to smooth her hair. “You’re a very good girl! This has nothing to do with anything like that.”

  She’s quiet a moment, then her voice is small. “Because you don’t want to have a little girl?”

  Scooting further into the bed, I pull her closer, tracing my fingers along her back. I hate her feeling like I always did, like why would anyone want me if my own mother didn’t?

  “I would love to have a little girl, and if I did, I’d want you to be that little girl. I’m only worried… What if your real mom comes back?”

  More silence, and I worry I might’ve let the cat out of the bag. Instead, she says, “I don’t think my mom is ever coming back. She’s in Africa.”

  Chewing my lip, I’m afraid to venture much farther down this road. “Sometimes people surprise you.”

  Her little finger moves, and I glance down to see she’s picking at Platy’s eye again. Guilt is a heavy weight in my stomach as I watch her.

  I reach over and close my hand over hers. “You’re still my favorite home-run hitter, and you can still talk to me when you need to. Nothing has to change.”

  She nods again, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I feel like her heart’s broken now, too, and I hate this whole situation.

  “I love you, P.” My fingers trace along her back.

  “I love you, Mama…” Her breath catches, and she hesitates, finishing with, “MC.”

  “That’s good.” I kiss her head. “Let’s sing our bedtime song.”

  We’re back to the first night, and I hum my favorite lullaby, “Castle on a Cloud” from Les Mis. At first her brow remains furrowed, but as I sing it again slower, she starts to lose her battle with sleep. The little line in her forehead relaxes, and her breathing evens.

  I don’t sing it again, but I continue tracing my fingernails lightly along her back with a pain in my chest until I’m sure she’s asleep. Then I kiss her once more, softly on the forehead, and carefully stand, easing out of the room.

  Pausing at the door, I watch her sleep, chewing on the edge of my thumbnail. I hated correcting her, even if I didn’t really like that nickname. Still, I didn’t want to create any problems for her with Jessica if she’s really here to stay.

  Tiptoeing downstairs, I hesitate on the landing when I hear voices in the kitchen speaking low.

  “Perhaps we should’ve discussed it more.” Jessica’s back is to me.

  “We did nothing but discuss it for nine months.” Alex’s voice is tense, but he sounds more concerned than angry. “The entire time you were pregnant, it wasn’t what you wanted.”

  “It was an accident.” Jessica’s tone is penitent. “I had a plan, and having a baby wasn’t part of it.”

  “And now it is?”

  “That was five years ago. Now I look around, and I see my job going away. I see A.I. coming in and drones and everything changing, and I realize the one thing that’s constant is family.”

  They’re quiet, and I start to take a step. I don’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation, but there’s no way for me to get from here to the door to the garage without bursting in on them.

  “You said you didn’t want domesticity. You never wanted to settle down, and it was fine.” Alex exhales heavily. “It’s still fine. We’re fine.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not fine.” Her voice rises slightly. “Maybe it’s time for me to stop being selfish.”

  “I don’t think it’s selfish to pursue your dream. I think it’s more selfish to come back, then decide it’s not what you really want and leave again.”

  Movement fills the silence, and my throat tightens when I realize she’s gotten closer to him. “I won’t leave you again, Alex. I want to try.”

  It’s like a kick to the stomach. My eyes heat, and I put my hand over my mouth to silence my hiccuped breath. Forcing myself to step into the room, I do my best to smile, to appear calm, neutral, and not devastated.

  “I’m sorry.” I clear my throat hard, not making eye contact. “Pinky’s asleep. I’m just headed out to the garage, to my room.” I point to the door as I cross the space.