“How in the world did you manage that so quickly?” I ask. “Those games are rigged!”
Henry’s large hands, chafed and calloused from hard work, mimic a tossing motion and he says, “It’s all in the wrist.” I’m pretty sure he paid off the ring-toss guy, but I don’t question it. That unicorn buys me another hour with a happy toddler.
It occurs to me that this man, in the span of a few hours, has spent more time interacting with this child than the child’s biological father. And that right there is why I never questioned my decision to omit Carl’s name on the birth certificate.
Just when I’m trying to decide if I want to ask for Henry’s phone number, and just when I think he’s looking at me like he might ask for mine, drama happens. Because of course, it does. Rocket texts me from backstage with some shocking news. Around the same time, Henry’s friend—who, it turns out, is one of the pageant judges—needs help with a low-key investigation of some contestant shenanigans.
When he has to leave to go question the stage crew, I offer to help by tracking down some contacts. “Perfect,” he says, shooting me his contact info. I love it that he’s leaving the ball in my court.
Before leaving, he looks me right in the eye and, with an intensity he hadn’t shown before, says, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I believe him. I try to stay put. I really do. But Sarah is about to lose it in this heat and then has a massive blowout from all the fair food, rendering me done with this day. Using the public bathroom changing table, I refuse to buckle her in; those straps are not the cleanest, so I hand her my phone to play with while I change her diaper.
I realize too late that I’ve left my phone screen unlocked. After she’s changed, I try to get my phone away from her, but she screams. A toddler screaming in a public place on a hot day is my limit. We’re leaving.
I wrestle her into the stroller, both of us nearly in tears because she’s doing that back-arching move that makes it almost impossible to strap her in. And then, like magic, she sees my tears, softens her posture, and lets me clip her in. She hands me my phone and I dig the unicorn out of the diaper bag for her to snuggle on the way back to the car.
It’s then when I look down at my phone that I realize something terrible has happened. Her sweet, dimpled fingers have erased all my contacts. I can’t be angry at her, but I want to explode. So, I take a deep breath, and simply refuse to process what has happened until later.
I get Sarah into the car and, mercifully, she falls asleep on the drive home, which gives me time to think.
All is not lost. Rocket will understand why I couldn’t stay; I can text her when we get home, as I have her number memorized.
As for Henry? He told me he’s a pumpkin farmer, and his pumpkin patch and corn maze will be opening in a few weeks in a town not far from where we live. A more perfect excuse to bump into him again, I could not have thought up myself.
Between trying to find a job in a new town and caring for the little munchkin, it’s not like I have time to be subtle with a potential gentleman caller.
My phone rings on the way back to the apartment and my spirits rise for a moment. See, Jane? People will call you and they can be added back into your contacts one by one. How many do you actually need?
I recognize the number, and the hopeful feeling darkens. I hit “decline” while keeping my eyes on the road.
Moments later, I receive a text notification. I don’t look at it until we’re home.
“If you bring her back now, I won’t ask any questions. I’ll put in a good word with the CEO to get your job back. As I said, no questions asked.”
Sure, Carl. Sure, I think. But what if I’m the one with questions?
Chapter Two
Henry
“You can’t post that here.”
The clipped voice takes me back. Oh boy, does it take me back. The memory of being forced to take a job bagging groceries at Grossman’s Market the day after I was legally allowed to hold a job.
I turn around casually and pretend I’m talking to an old friend. “Norm. You still captain of this ship?” I hold out my hand to shake his.
His pencil mustache twitches. My old boss doesn’t like it that I used his favorite phrase from back in the day.
“I am,” he replies. I can see I have no chance of getting a smile out of him today.
I give him my twenty-second pitch. “Then, as a pillar of the local business community, Norm, you might have heard that I recently acquired a business permit to open a corn maze and pumpkin patch and it opens for the public in a few days. I thought to myself, now, where would I be able to catch a lot of parents with kids looking for something to do during the autumn season? And I said, of course! The obvious answer to that would be the grocery store.”
Norm scoffs. “That your latest business scheme? Always the way with the Wood clan, isn’t it?”
His comment lumps me in with my late uncle Howie, who was known around town as the guy trying to make a quick buck. Never held down a job, but always asking his friends to invest in
