Page 14 of Even After This
Her heavily made-up eyes slide in my direction, pause for a second, and return to the road. “Some would consider meeting a celebrity a perk of sorts.”
“Well, those who don’t make a habit of hyperventilating around famous people probablywouldcall it a perk.”
She laughs, and her silver, football-shaped hair shifts back and forth in one unified movement. “Did you also have a moment at the spa with said celebrity?”
“What? No. There was no moment in the spa. Why would you ask if there was a moment in the spa?” Heat crawls up my neck, and I paw around my seat, looking for the temperature controls.
“No reason.” She looks over at the oncoming cars. “Only that Harlan texted me from the spa informing me to take good care of you today during our viewings.”
This time, instead of the heat crawling up my neck, it seeps into my chest. Or maybe it’s just warmth. That was kind of him to text on my behalf. Maybe even sweet. “What did you say?”
“I told him he knows better than to discuss privileged client information and that he needs to mind his own business and go have lunch with his mama.”
We approach the stately circular drive at the hotel, and she delivers a stiff wave to the gate guard. At the doors to the hotel, she shifts the car into park. While we wait for the valet, she turns to me. “I need to do some research about another property. Is your schedule open tomorrow?”
“Does your plan involve any famous people?”
She pauses. “Not at the moment.”
I flash a smile. “Then I’m game.”
3
I walk outof Prissy’s office with a head full of floor plans, and my phone rings. After rummaging through my purse, I’m able to see that my friend Stanley is calling. I hit the screen to send him to voicemail, but it’s like the buttons don’t work and it takes a few tries. Focused on silencing my phone, I almost miss the little boy running at me at Mach 5.
“Toby!” A flustered woman balances a tearful baby on her hip while whispering to her other child at the loudest publicly appropriate volume. I fear little Toby’s life could be shortened today if he doesn’t obey her. She apologizes to me as she tries to take his hand.
“It’s okay. He’s adorable.” I crouch down, disregarding my knees’ protest. “How old are you, buddy?”
Three chubby fingers thrust into my face.
“Wow. Three. That’s awesome. Toby, my name is Meredith. It’s nice to meet you.” I ignore the memory flash of another three-year-old boy I once knew and stand to face his mom. “Can I help you with anything?”
The woman shifts the child squirming in her arms and glancesat me. Moisture gathers in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Meltdowns are always better with privacy, and if the tear that just slid down her face is any indication, she’s about to have one. I decide to guide us in the direction of a bench around the corner. Once seated, I hand Toby a brochure for Jeep tours in Colorado Springs, hoping this occupies him for more than ninety seconds.
“Jeep!” He grabs the glossy pages.
“I’m trying to get to the movie room, and Toby keeps running away, and Layla’s diaper just blew out, and now I need to change clothes but I’m late, and I can tell we’re disturbing the peace, and I keep trying to smile at everyone to make it okay, but we’re getting some rude stares, and I know that all sounds small, but I’m just so overwhelmed.” The woman’s lips quiver, and tears spill onto her cheeks.
In response to her stress, I lock into some kind of automatic-pilot mommy mode. One I haven’t experienced in four years. “I’m Meredith. How can I help?” I point to the diaper bag on her shoulder.
She drops to her knees, and I follow suit and start searching to find what we need. I pull a changing pad out and lay it down for her to place the baby on.
“I’m Sally. This is Toby and Layla.” Even through her blubbering, this woman is stunning. Long brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, displaying a pert nose and wide, long-lashed, indigo eyes.
“How old is Layla?”
“She’s almost one.”
The painful flashback to a different sweet baby shoots right through my gut, and I pause to take in a breath. I push past, though, because this mama needs help.
“Arms up, sweetie.” As she tugs the soiled dress over Layla’s head, I force a smile.
“Well, they’re beautiful children,” I say.
After Sally finagles Layla onto the changing pad and removes her diaper, I’m relieved to see it’s only a wet blowout. Sally draws her head up and catches my eyes. “Aren’t you going to add, ‘and a handful’? People seem to make that comment when my kids act up.”
