Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Fuck. Mark was not in a meet and greet mood, not able to handle another set of condolences, still raw from Bacon’s sympathy. Leaving his stuff in the car, he went around back, past the stairs that led to a rooftop deck with beach views, planning to go in the back, same way he had when he was a teenager and had wanted to avoid parental conversations. The renovated house, which dated back to the First World War, was on a sleepy side street, half a block to the beach, and its cedar shake siding with green trim fit in with the neighborhood of older, stately beach homes. A low fence defined the front yard, while a higher fence gave privacy for the large backyard. Mark knew exactly where the hidden latch for the back gate was, though, and he used it to let himself into the backyard. A sprawling brick patio ran the length of the house, with sets of French doors leading to various main rooms on the first floor.
Through an open window, he could see and hear Isaiah talking with two women in the kitchen, thanking them for the food they’d brought.
“Psst. Uncle Mark. Whatcha doing?” A small voice beckoned him from under a bench on the patio. It looked to be the oldest kid, Daphne.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching low.
“Waiting for cake,” she said as if all sensible people waited for cake outside, hiding under things. The backyard was enclosed on all sides, so she was reasonably safe, but still he and Isaiah were going to have some words about supervision.
“There’s cake?”
“Yeah. Mandy’s mama brought it. But then she started crying and then Jose’s mama started crying too, and I sneaked out. Too much crying.” She made a sour face.
Mark was never quite sure how to talk to kids, and this was no different. He wasn’t sure what he should be saying here. “People are sad,” he said lamely. “Are you sad?”
She considered this, turning her head first one way then another, before vigorously nodding. “I miss Tonya.”
“Tonya?” Mark blinked hard, trying to keep up.
“You know.” Her tone was awfully adult. “My nanny. She was nice. She wouldn’t make us wait for cake. Uncle Ikey makes us eat the carrots first. She quit though.” She let out a mournful sigh.
Mark added grief counseling to the list of things he’d need to talk to Isaiah about. He wasn’t sure how you even found one for kids—the military had them for guys who’d been through trauma, but he wasn’t sure he’d send this petite princess to the same person he’d send a grizzled senior chief.
“I don’t like carrots either,” he said, trying to think how exactly to react here. “And I’m sorry about the nanny. I had one too. Her name was Farren. She was your mom’s nanny too. Did you know that your mom was my big sister?”
“Yeah. Duh. You’re Uncle Mark. And you like cake?” She gave him a hopeful smile.
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Are you going to be here a long time, Uncle Mark?” Her tone was more thoughtful now, almost dreamy.
“I’m...” Mark honestly wasn’t sure. Hadn’t gotten that far in his plans yet. But he needed to and fast. Think ahead. One step. Then another. She needs you right now. A muscle twinged, some unused place deep in his chest. He never wanted to be the one to let this little girl down. “I’ll be here for you, princess.”
“Daphne!” Isaiah called coming to the patio door. “Oh, there you are.”
“Yes, there she is.” Mark stood, glaring down at Isaiah. “She was out here probably twenty minutes before you came looking.”
“It’s a fenced backyard. But yeah, I’m still figuring stuff out. Daphne, how about next time you ask before going outside, okay? That’s really important.” Isaiah spoke easily to her, none of the hesitation Mark had had about this word or that one.
And that irritated Mark for reasons he really couldn’t say.
“Do I still get cake?” she asked, lower lip coming out.
“Yeah. I’ll cut you a piece in a moment.” Isaiah shooed her into the kitchen. He still had the baby strapped to him, which should have made him look ridiculous, big baby riding around on his back in a gray pack, asleep now. But on Isaiah, it was strangely appealing. As were the muscles that hadn’t been there six years ago, bulging biceps under his tight gray T-shirt...
No. No, he was not going to find anything about this new Isaiah attractive.
“You done lecturing me?” he asked Mark when she was inside.
“You’ve—we’ve got to do a better job keeping track of them.”
“There were eight kids here a few moments ago. Everyone thinks they’re doing a kind thing, bringing the kids as distractions for Daphne and Zoe, but it’s chaos, man. Cut me some slack.”