a bad guy,” Nicole said. “But come on. Kids having to write a paper before they can meet the guy? Couldn’t he just show up at the camp like a regular person? But noooo.”
Cecelia laughed. “You have so much energy about that poor man.”
“Trust me, he’s far from poor.”
“Still, what if he’s not evil?”
“Then I’ll feel really, really bad about trashing him.”
“Think that’s likely?” Cecelia asked.
Nicole grinned. “Not a chance.”
She confirmed the upcoming week’s schedule with Cecelia, then went to collect Tyler. She had to admit, if only to herself, that her loathing of B the D’s creator was a recent thing. That in her heart of hearts, she understood that she just might be projecting her feelings onto a man she’d never met.
Nearly two years ago, her then-husband had quit his job to write a screenplay. Something he hadn’t discussed with her or even mentioned until two days after the fact. There’d been no negotiation, no warning. Eric had simply up and quit, leaving her to support their household while he spent his days surfing to “clear his head” before he began writing.
It was right about that time when Nicole had started to find Brad the Dragon and all his merchandise the tiniest bit annoying. What was it about writers? Did they all have to be self-centered jerks? Or was it just the successful ones? Because Eric had gone on to sell his screenplay for the unbelievable amount of one million dollars. And then he’d left her.
“Ready to go?” she asked Tyler.
He stood with his thin arms wrapped around Hayley’s waist as he leaned against her. Hayley hugged him back. The two of them had always been close. Hayley was a kid person down to her bones.
“See you next time,” he told Hayley.
“I can’t wait,” the other woman said. “Have fun meeting Jairus.”
Tyler grinned so broadly, Nicole knew his face had to hurt. “It’s only five more days.”
“Do you know how long that is in minutes?” Hayley asked, then slapped her hand over her mouth as Tyler turned to Nicole.
“Mommy?”
“I’m sorry,” Hayley whispered. “I just made it worse, huh?”
“We’ll survive.”
Tyler rushed over and danced in front of her. “We can know how many minutes?”
“Sure. We can do the math when we get home. We’ll need a calculator.”
Hayley winced. “Now I’m making you do math.”
Nicole hugged her friend. “I love you, even when you make me do math. But when I regrout my bathroom tile, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“It’s a deal.”
Nicole straightened. For a second she studied Hayley. As always, her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked as if she were in the middle of fighting some awful illness. Nicole knew the truth was slightly less desperate, but still painful. Hayley was recovering from yet another miscarriage.
Nicole took Tyler’s hand and led him out of the store. As she helped him into his booster seat, he chattered on about B the D and the upcoming visit by the prolific author.
Maybe it wasn’t Jairus’s fault, she told herself as she closed the rear passenger door. Maybe he was really a very nice man who loved children. She doubted it, but hoped she was wrong. Because she would hate for Tyler’s heart to be broken by meeting a flawed hero.
On the bright side, she’d volunteered to be there for the visit. So if Jairus turned out to be a complete ass, she would do everything she could to protect Tyler and the other kids. At the very least, she could accidentally trip the man. And call him names. Possibly beat him with a stuffed B the D doll.
That image made her smile. Perspective, she reminded herself. So much of life was all about perspective.
* * *
“‘And we’re learning how to trust. And we’re finally starting to live.’”
Hayley Batchelor tapped her fingers against her steering wheel as she sang along with the radio. The new Destiny Mills song had her swaying in her seat. When the light turned green, she drove through the intersection, and made a right.
At six-thirty on a Thursday night there was plenty of traffic—neighbors pulled into driveways, kids were out playing in front yards. The speed limit was only twenty-five, but no one went faster than that. It wasn’t that kind of neighborhood.
Hayley saw that the house on the corner now had a second story. For months it had been in disarray. It had been interesting to watch the demolition followed by the reconstruction. Once finished, the house would be stunning. Most of the neighborhood was going through a similar process—updating, sprucing. Hayley knew there was a term for it—gentrification, maybe.
She turned at the next corner and drove down her street. Here there were more signs of the revitalization. She liked the fresh paint, the new front doors. But when she pulled into her driveway, she wrinkled her nose. Talk about shabby, she thought as she stared at the overgrown yard and peeling paint around the windows. The pale gray stucco was still in good shape, but the house looked like what it was—a place that had been neglected for a while.
She knew all the reasons why and they made sense, but things had changed. It was time for their house to reflect those changes.
She collected her Supper’s in the Bag totes and made her way to the front door and went inside.
The house was small—just fifteen hundred square feet. When it was first built, the home had been only twelve hundred square feet, but the previous owners had added a master suite, complete with a small bathroom and walk-in closet. That brought them up to three bedrooms and two baths. The lot was a decent size and the location—just four blocks to the ocean—was prime.
The hardwood floors in the living room were original, as was the fireplace. Not that they ever used it much. Los Angeles wasn’t known for cold winters. But it was pretty and every now and then the temperature dipped enough to warrant burning a log or two.
Hayley stepped into the kitchen and put away the dinners. Two went into the refrigerator while the rest were stacked in the freezer. When she was done, she turned on the oven and pulled out what she would need to make a salad. She folded the bags and stored them in the small laundry room, then turned back to look at the kitchen with what she hoped was a critical eye.
The layout was good. The counters—fifties tile done in two-tone green—weren’t exactly contemporary, but they kind of suited the house. There was a lot of natural light and plenty of storage space. The cabinets were solid wood and beautiful, though they could use a good refinishing, along with updated hardware. She ran her hands across one and wondered what it would take to redo them. Was it something she and Rob could handle on their own?
The floor was a sad linoleum, but replacing it would be too expensive. The sink was on the newer side
