Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
CJ shrugs. “Who knows? I doubt these people would buy prints.”
“Did they let you decorate yourself?”
She bursts out laughing. “Oh God no. Are you kidding? This place has all been professionally decorated. And believe it or not, this is the smallest room in the house. But I have my own bathroom, and it’s closer to the kids’ rooms than the master is, of course, because if the kids get up in the night with a problem, guess who’s supposed to come to their aid?”
“Well…you are their nanny.”
“I am, and they pay me very well for what I do. I like the kids a lot, and I don’t mind. But it’s just…” She shakes her head. “These people are the most hands-off parents I’ve ever seen, and you know how I grew up.”
CJ’s dad was in the military and was gone a lot, and her mother worked full time, so she barely had one parent for most of her childhood. She spent a lot of time at my house, hanging with Robin and me.
She leads me into her bathroom, which is decadent. It almost looks like a master bathroom, with a jetted tub, separate shower, and a double vanity.
“I guess you’re pretty comfortable here,” I say.
“Yeah.” She sits on the side of the tub. “I was really lucky to land this gig. I get to keep most of my salary because my room and board are paid for. They even gave me use of a car, you know, to drive the kids around.”
“Do they let you use it for private purposes?”
She beams. “They sure do. On my day off, I can use it to go wherever I want. That’s how I’ll get to your place on Sunday.”
“Sounds like a dream job,” I say.
“It is, except I only get one day off a week. Every other day, I’m on call twenty-four-seven. But it’s not that bad, really, because the kids are at school for eight hours. I don’t have to clean or cook—the housekeeper does that. My job is just the kids.”
“That’s awesome, Ceej. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” She grabs me and hugs me. “It’s just so good to see you, Ray. How did we lose touch?”
“I don’t know. You were in Germany, for one.”
“I know.” Her face falls. “My bad.”
“It’s not all your fault.” I lay a hand on her arm. “I could’ve reached out and I didn’t. Although the last couple of years I’ve been kind of busy.”
“I totally understand.” She grabs my hands. “So it’s for sure that you’re cured?”
“Well, nothing’s ever a hundred percent sure,” I tell her, “but they’re very optimistic. My body has reacted really well to Falcon’s bone marrow, so well that they let me go home a few days after the transplant. I’ve been recovering at home. At my parents’ home actually. They didn’t want me staying alone. But I’ve got to tell you, I can’t wait to get back to my place full-time.”
“So you can have sex?” CJ giggles.
I roll my eyes at her. “You have not changed one bit, Ceej. It gives a little sense of constancy in my universe. I might not be able to trust my own blood cells, but I can trust that you’ll be the same goblin I grew up with. It’s so great to see you.”
She gives me a hug. “You too, Ray.”
CJ takes me through the rest of the house, and we end up in the large gourmet kitchen. I grew up with a large gourmet kitchen. My mom is a great cook, and oftentimes we had housekeepers to help with the cooking as well. But make no mistake about it. The kitchen was my mother’s domain, and she made sure every housekeeper understood that. I bet Mrs. Whatever-Her-Name-Is never set foot in this kitchen.
Plus, our kitchen is nearly a century old. It’s been updated, of course, but it has a lot of old country charm. This one? Totally different. It’s monochromatic, sterile-looking, with a huge Viking stove and polished stainless-steel appliances. The counters look like marble, and there are not one, not two, but five sinks in this kitchen.
“What on earth do they need five sinks for?”
“Oh, I have this one memorized,” CJ says. “One is for food prep, one is for baking prep, to avoid cross contamination, of course.” She rolls her eyes. “The one in the butler’s pantry is for prepping dishes and glassware for formal dinners.” She walks over to the wet bar. “This one of course is for rinsing drinkware for the bar, and that big one in the back”—she points—“is for cleanup. Pots and pans and the like.”
“Wow,” is all I can say.
“Right?” CJ sighs. “If I enjoyed cooking more, I could have a field day in here.”
“You can use the whole house then?”
“Yeah. Except the master bedroom. They keep it locked when they’re home.”