That reminded me of what Wren had said the other night about mindfulness.
“When did you become so zen, Shannon?”
“I’ve got fifteen years on you. Wisdom comes with age.” Shannon smirked. “Speaking of zen, how did your massage go the other day?”
Here we go. I’d been waiting for her to ask me about that. I’d noticed the expression on her face when she got a look at Wren, and she’d probably wondered if there was something more to the appointment. But I’d had no clue the girl was going to be so goddamn attractive. With the way Shannon left the house soon after Wren arrived, I got the sense she was trying to give me privacy in case I’d ordered more than a massage. She had it all wrong.
“It didn’t work out,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“The massage. It never happened. It’s a long story.”
“You sent her home?”
“I changed my mind.”
I didn’t have the energy to tell her the story about the shell or deal with her reaction. And she didn’t even know about Wren’s second visit. But I was too damn spent tonight.
“It surprised me that you’d even arranged for a massage,” she said. “I thought it was a great idea, though. I was proud of you for finally recognizing the importance of self-care. You work too hard, in my opinion. Like I always say, you should take more time for yourself. You can’t be there for Rafe if you’re burned out.”
I rubbed my temples. “Noted.”
I didn’t know what I’d do without Shannon. Rafe’s previous nanny had moved away shortly after Maren died. I went through a nanny agency and got really lucky the day Shannon showed up on my doorstep. She’d offered to handle most of the household stuff as well, so we really got a package deal. I paid her well, but I still counted my blessings to have found her.
She got up from her seat and fished through her purse for her keys.
“Hey, Shannon?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever leave us, okay?”
She smiled. “You guys are stuck with me.”
“Thank God.” I smiled back.
“Well, until I retire to New Orleans.”
She was obsessed with all things New Orleans and had vowed to settle there eventually. Last year for Christmas, I’d paid for her and her husband, Bob, to take a trip there in the spring. They’d renewed their wedding vows under a tree. The week she was away had been the longest of my life. But she’d deserved the respite.
“I’d better start looking at real estate in New Orleans for Rafe and me, if you’re planning on moving. You don’t think you can get rid of us, do you?” I teased.
“NOLA, here we come!” She laughed.
After Shannon left for the night, I stayed at the table for a while, contemplating. Rafe was lucky to have Shannon, too, but he needed so much more to fill the gap left by Maren’s death. He needed an actual father, not an imposter like me, raising him. He needed a sense of family. Most of all he needed his mother back, and that was the one thing I couldn’t give him.
• • •
In bed later that night, I Googled Wren McCallister. What popped up first was the last thing I expected—a link to an online audition posted by the City Symphony.
It’s her. Wren was seated, and after a brief introduction, she began playing a cello, which was almost bigger than she was. She hugged the instrument as her fingers moved over the neck, the bow in her other hand gliding across the strings. The music was somber, her expression even more so. She was…really good. Wow. I listened for a while as I stared at her beautiful face. Wren’s short hair suited her. She certainly had the bone structure to pull it off. In the clip, she had her hair tucked behind one of her ears and wore a crisp, collared white shirt, buttoned all the way up. That was a more formal look than the ripped jeans and T-shirt she’d worn to my house the last time I saw her. Even more prominent than her beauty, though, was her talent. It blew me away.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I watched the video, each time drowning myself in the hypnotic sadness of her music, an expression of the trapped emotions inside of me.
When I finally shut it off, I went to the Elite Massage website and scheduled another appointment for Friday.
Wren
My skin tingled as I waited for someone to answer the door. Dax Moody had booked a third massage. Well, technically it would be his first massage, if it actually happened. This time it was early on a Friday evening. Having zero clue what to expect, I was both nervous and excited to see him.
When the door opened, Dax stood behind it.
“Hello, Wren. Good to see you.” He gestured for me to come in.