“Huh.” Izzy sounded petulant. “Well, I didn’t see.”
“Is she breathing?” This person was young, male, and on the verge of tears.Hunter.
“Yes.” The voice of authority was exasperated now. A hand touched Bex’s shoulder. “Ms. Cane?” It shook her slightly. “Ms. Cane, wake up. We need to get to school.”
Bex tried to speak, but got a face full of pillow. “Hunh.”
“She’s alive!” Izzy cried. “I told you, Hunter.”
She hadn’t, but no one contradicted her.
“Ms. Cane.” The shaking persisted. “We need to go in ten minutes or we’ll be late.”
What?
With a gargantuan effort, she roused herself, rolled onto her back, and blinked, the mural of sunset over the bay coming into focus on the ceiling. After pausing to appreciate the art for a scant second, she flopped her legs over the side of the bed and faced an audience of three. Dylan—her friend Shane’s oldest son—was dressed in his school uniform, watching her impatiently. His brother, Hunter, still wore his Spiderman pajamas, with a yellow stain of God-only-knew-what down the front, and Izzy, her precious little angel, boasted a halo of unbrushed brown-black hair, and a scowl.
Bex collected herself. “What do you mean we only have ten minutes?” She glanced around for her phone, which served double duty as an alarm clock, but it was gone. “What’s the time?”
“It’s eight o’clock,” Dylan told her.
“What? But my alarm…” She trailed off, because clearly something had happened to her alarm, and she had a sneaking suspicion that “something” was named Isobel Cane.
“We took it away,” Hunter declared, then glanced at Izzy, seeking approval. The two were close in age, only eighteen months apart, but Izzy was very much the leader.
Bex begged the universe for patience. A throbbing at her temples had already begun. “You did what?”
“You looked tired, Mummy.” Izzy rocked back and forward on her toes, clutching a plush teddy—her second favorite toy—to her chest. “So we let you sleep.”
Bex sighed. If it wasn’t the sweetest thing she’d ever heard, she’d have grounded Izzy for a week. She had a staff meeting to attend at 8.15 a.m., and she needed to drop Hunter off at kindergarten first. Not to mention that neither of the younger children were dressed to leave the house.
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure if she was speaking to them, or herself. “We’ve got this. Izzy, I need you to put on your school uniform—”
“But Mum—”
“No buts. You can’t wear a onesie to school. Dylan, can you help Hunter change?” The older boy nodded. “Good. I’ll be out in two minutes.”
The children hurried away, and Bex shucked her pajamas, grabbed fresh underwear, and scanned the floor for something work-appropriate. She hadn’t done the laundry in nearly a week—no surprise—and came up empty. She searched the far reaches of her closet and yanked out a black pencil skirt she hadn’t worn since her job interview, and a hideously ugly mustard-colored blouse her mother had given her with the best of intentions. They’d have to do.
As fast as she could, she tugged the skirt on, slipped the blouse over her head, sprayed liberally with perfume to disguise the fact she hadn’t had time to shower, and gathered her hair into a messy bun. She slung her handbag over her shoulder and strode to the kitchen, where she splashed her face with water and wondered what on earth she was going to put in Izzy’s lunch box. A quick glance in the cupboards revealed nothing helpful, and when she tried the fridge, all she got for her troubles was a sinking sense of inadequacy at the sight of Dylan and Hunter’s lunches in neatly labeled paper bags. Shane never let his boys be unprepared. He’d dropped off the lunches and their school uniforms after they’d asked to extend their sleepover to a second night. Hunter and Izzy were close, and while Dylan was much older, he was protective of his brother, and—Bex secretly thought—liked to have space from his dad sometimes.
Aha! There, in the back, was a carton of rice pudding she’d bought and forgotten about. She checked the expiry date. Still good. Pairing the pudding with a banana and an apple, she packed them into Izzy’s backpack.
“Mummy!”
She turned at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “What’s up, Iz?”
Izzy brandished a creased sheet of paper bearing the Haven Bay school logo. “Persian slip.”
She frowned. “A permission slip? What for?”
“Mini golf.”
Bex took the paper and scanned it. The form had been due back last Friday. She groaned. Now she’d have to sweet-talk Janet, the no-nonsense school administrator, into making an exception. She could play the single mum card, but she preferred to save that for dire situations. Besides, she didn’t think Janet would buy it for a moment. She scrawled her signature and stuffed it into her pocket.
“All sorted. Are you ready to go?”
Izzy pouted, her big brown eyes widening. “But what about breakfast?”