I’m secretly hoping the answer is no. We can’t be late again this quarter. The front office lady already gives me a judgmental look every time she sees me. It’s like she knows about my Netflix addiction. Thankfully, Liam shakes his head. Part of me wonders if he’s faking to try and get out of school. He hasn’t loved the transition to third grade. He misses some of his old classmates and he hasn’t gotten used to his new teacher yet. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to dodge school.
“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?” I ask softly.
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, looking down. “It just hurts.”
Now I’m faced with the ultimate dilemma. Do I send Liam to school and hope he feels better as the day goes on? These things usually resolve themselves. He doesn’t have a fever and he hasn’t thrown up. Maybe it’s just gas. He did eat his breakfast faster than usual.
“Do you feel okay to go to school?” I ask, pasting a bright smile on my face.
Liam hesitates before nodding. “Today is my day to be line leader,” he says, giving me a small smile that melts my heart.
I stroke a hand over his hair and kiss his forehead before standing.
“Come on,” I say. “We don’t want to be late.”
He grins. “Yeah, ‘cause Miss Stokes will give you a tardy.”
My mouth drops open in mock outrage. “Give me a tardy? I don’t go to school.”
“Yeah,” he says, putting on his jacket. “But I can’t drive.” It’s clear who he thinks is to blame for this situation.
The kid has a point. It’s not his fault when we’re running late. I feel a pang of guilt as I look down at him.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” I say. “I’m going to do better. Promise.”
Liam only smiles up at me, his face trusting. “It’s okay, Momma. You’re doing your best.”
It’s what I always tell him when he makes a mistake. It’s okay as long as he’s doing his best. A little voice whispers in my mind. Am I doing my best? Am I putting him first? The ever-present guilt and worry threaten to overwhelm me, but I push it aside and shoot him another smile as we hurry to the car.
“Buckle up.”
We make it to school before Liam is late. Barely. I swear that mean-looking teacher who watches the car line gave me a look when Liam scrambled out of the car. She’s silently judging me. I’m certain of it. I let out a sigh as I turn out of the school parking lot toward work.
It’s a short drive from the school to the bed and breakfast where I’ve worked for the past 7 years. Officially, I’m the manager for The Queen’s Jester Bed and Breakfast. Unofficially, I’m the manager, concierge, desk clerk, event coordinator, occasional housekeeper, room service attendant and valet. When the owner, Finnegan King gave me a job shortly after Liam was born, he hadn’t had an official position for me. He’d just wanted to help a struggling single mom who had no real skills or education and a crying baby on her hip. He’d offered me a job and a place to stay in the little garden cottage on the Jester’s property. My pride had demanded I turn down what I saw as Finn’s charity. My empty wallet and Liam’s last 3 clean diapers insisted I take the help and work like hell to make sure he never regretted hiring me. That meant that over the years I’ve done any job that needed doing at the Jester and without complaint. Not that I’ve ever had reason to complain. Finn is a good boss and he trusts me to do a great job, no matter what task I’m given. He’s kind and fair and I enjoy working for him.
I first met Finn when I moved to town with my ex-husband Paul nearly a decade ago. We moved here after Paul finished medical school. Some friend of a friend had a father who had pull with the local hospital’s board and Paul had easily gotten hired. I’d left college early to follow him, convinced all my dreams were coming true. I was married to a doctor, someone who saved lives every day. I felt important and respected. Right up until the day Paul left me.
Paul’s parents had never really approved of me or of the small-town life we’d chosen. They’d always expected him to marry well and follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been groomed since birth to join the family practice and work alongside his father until the time came for him to take over. He’d also been expected to marry his high school sweetheart, a woman far more fitting to his social standing than a college dropout who’d never set foot in a country club. Paul had assured me that he didn’t want any of that. He didn’t care about their opinions, their status or their money. I’d believed him. Hell, maybe Paul had believed it too. I don’t know. Looking back, we were both so young and naïve, it was easy to believe in the fairy tale. I can forgive him for changing his mind. I can forgive him for the divorce. What I will never forgive him for is refusing to have any part of Liam’s life. He’d divorced me and relinquished all parental rights soon after Liam was born. At least he’d had the decency to look ashamed when he’d handed over the papers.
Apparently, Paul’s new bride-to-be didn’t want anything hanging over them from his ‘sordid past’. That was fine with me. It made things easier in so many ways. I was on my own with my son, yes. But it also meant that I’d never have to argue over custody, visitation or child support. It was a clean break
