“We do. We have to go make Gabe a sandwich.” He rests his hands on her shoulders and steers her out of the room. “Coming, Gabe?”
Without giving me a second glance, Gabe follows the lunch wagon.
“Gracelyn, can I bring you something to eat?” Nathaniel asks just before descending the stairs after the kids.
“No, thank you. I might take this opportunity to go get groceries. Or … wait …” I limp toward him. “That’s not right, is it?”
His forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Leaving Gabe with strangers. I mean not total strangers, but we just met you a few days ago. I guess I’m not sure what the vetting process is for this situation. First-time mom … guardian or whatever.” I wrinkle my nose.
“You can never be too protective,” he says.
I’m not sure I’d go that far. I think not taking a ten-year-old girl to Disney, if you have the means to do it, is a little overprotective.
“I can make him a sandwich to go, or you can vet me right now.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
I don’t know how to vet a babysitter.
“What kind of professor are you?”
“Anatomy.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
He hesitates. Holy shit he hesitates for a split second before shaking his head.
“Maybe we get the sandwich to go.” My lips curl into a tight smile.
I bet an anatomy professor would know all the ways to kill someone. And what better front for a serial killer than the widower with a young daughter. I watched a documentary on serial killers. They’re alarmingly charming and charismatic.
“I didn’t pass the vetting process?” He chuckles.
“No. Yes. I’m not sure. I mean … would you leave Morgan with me?”
He eyes me for a few seconds before a slight smirk quirks his full lips. “Of course not.”
I hobble down the stairs after him. “Seriously?”
Mr. Hans gives us a slight nod as he waters the ferns by the window. I chase—chase might be an exaggeration—I limp behind Nathaniel to the other house.
“You have to elaborate.”
He glances over his shoulder when he reaches the top step to his deck, opening his mailbox to find it empty. “Elaborate on what?” He pivots to face me.
“Why you wouldn’t leave Morgan with me.”
“I don’t know enough about you. It’s that simple.”
My head jerks backward as I stand idle at the bottom of the stairs while Mr. Abhors Electronics looks down on me—literally and figuratively as I imagine Morgan might say. “I’m just a woman with my life tipped upside down because my brother and his wife died and left me with their son. I don’t have children of my own. I have no clue how to be a good parent. I’m just trying to keep my head above water and not screw anything up beyond repair.”
Nathaniel doesn’t react with more than perfectly timed blinks.
When the words I just spewed at his feet catch up to the five-second delay in my head, I close my eyes. “Okay. I just gave you all the reasons why you should feel uncomfortable leaving your daughter with me.” Peeking open one eye, I squint up at him. “I might suck at this … but I’ll get better.”
After a few seconds he turns, takes two steps toward the door, and stops with his back to me. “After my wife died, I had no clue what to do with this newborn baby. I didn’t know how to hold her properly, change her diapers, or feed her. I was a mess. A guy with a PhD but completely clueless how to take care of a baby. You’ll figure it out.” He opens the screen door and disappears.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nathaniel
“Uh … Dad?” Morgan calls from my bedroom window while I finger through my wet hair.
We spent the first half of the day biking and building sandcastles on the beach. She wanted to get showered and changed into nice clothes before Gabe arrived home.
It’s been two weeks of spying on Gabe. Obsessing over why he’s not home “on time.” Wondering what he’s doing. Begging me for an iPad so they can play some game together. He tells her over and over that he goes to a friend’s house while Gracelyn is at work. That does little to tame her anxiousness.
“What’s up?” I shut off the light in the bathroom and meet her at the window that faces Gracelyn’s room. “Oh. Whoa!” I cover Morgan’s eyes.
“Dad …” She shoves my hand away. “I’m a girl.”
There’s no sign of Gabe, but Gracelyn’s under her bedroom balcony, partially hidden behind ornamental grass, stripping out of her clothes—right down to her bra and panties. She shoves them into a plastic bag, pokes her head out of the grass to sweep her gaze left and right, emerges from the grass cover, and dashes up to her balcony—clearly moving better on her ankle. After she closes the French door, she yanks the shades shut behind her.