he’d asked her to move in with him. “I don’t know, Ted,” she had said. “Your kids haven’t really warmed up to me. I don’t know why—I always thought I got along well with kids.”
“They’re just moody,” he’d said. “Kids that age are.”
“It might be best just to stay as we are. I’ll be happy to have dinner with you and your kids, but then I’ll go home to my place. Until they’re done being ‘moody.’”
“You practically live with me now,” he’d said. “Almost every day the kids aren’t with me, you spend the night. And I love it.”
She remembered fighting the idea. They didn’t like her and she knew it. As it was, the minute Olivia, the ex-wife, learned that Ted had a girlfriend, the scheduling problems began. Olivia was a geologist who researched fault lines and tsunamis. She was tired of her career taking the backseat to Ted’s, so she took full advantage of Peyton being available to tend them, chauffer them, even sit in on meetings at school if necessary. If Ted was to have the kids from Friday afternoon until Sunday night, Olivia found reasons to add a couple of days or just change the days altogether. She had business trips, pleasure trips she’d been deprived of for too long, extended work days.
Ted had no one to ask for help but Peyton—he had patients having heart attacks! And of course, the kids had activities and events, ranging from concerts to meets and games. Too often Ted had been tied up with patients and needed Peyton to pick up the kids, take them home, try to get them started on homework, get something together for dinner. And had they been grateful? Oh, God, no! They’d been miserable.
“I’ll make it perfectly clear to the kids that this is the arrangement and they’ll welcome you, treat you with respect, or they’ll be in serious trouble.”
Uh, right. He’d given that a little lip service and they were more careful—to be sure their father wasn’t around when they hurled insults or ignored her requests. She was never quite sure if he had a lot of divorce guilt or if he was just passive-aggressive. He certainly didn’t have that affliction at work; he had no problem taking an employee to task or making sure a patient had the difficult but necessary message. At the end of the day she decided, sadly, he just didn’t give a shit. He had delegated. To her.
That was when she also realized, early in their live-in relationship, that Olivia wasn’t willing to make any sacrifices to parent her children, either.
Peyton told herself those kids had no one. Neither of their parents really seemed to care about them. They had very good reasons for having little time—they were both successful. But the kids... Those bad kids. No role models, no loving parents, just caretakers like Peyton. It was beyond sad. No wonder they were so ill behaved.
When she’d moved in, Nicholas had been eight, Pamela had been ten, Krissy had been thirteen. She had asked herself so often how she had lasted over two years under the same roof with them. Her first year with Ted, she’d helped with the kids but hadn’t moved in. The third year, the last year, had been miserable because she was at the end of her rope with the kids and Ted. But that second year? There had been respites every week when Olivia took the kids and Peyton’s work life and home life was calm and serene. On those days she’d reexamined her love for Ted and believed without a doubt that if not for the kids and their lack of discipline and respect, she could be very happy with the man. He was strong and affectionate and generous. And he loved her so much—he said so all the time. It took almost a whole year for her to figure out that his schedule was much better when it was only Peyton and not his children cluttering up his life.
At first her parents had doubted the situation was as severe as she described it. “Oh, honey,” her mother had said, “it can’t be that bad. What are they but kids! They’re not very old. You have your boundaries, make sure they know your limits, reinforce. We had eight, and our household was sometimes loud and messy, but we managed just fine.”
Then she’d taken Ted and the kids to the farm. Pam hadn’t wanted to tour the farm or orchard, so she’d gone upstairs to the bedroom she was sharing with Krissy and closed herself in the room with her iPad. Krissy wasn’t about to eat the dinner she was served. Pam didn’t enjoy gathering eggs with Peyton so she threw them on the ground and laughed like a hyena at the splatter. Nicholas switched the channel on the TV, and when he was told it was Gramp’s choice now because he’d put in a long day, he pitched a fit. When told there weren’t televisions in every bedroom, he threw himself on the floor and screamed until he was blue, and Ted had had to carry him outside. Krissy kicked the dog, Pam threw a cat out of her way. Nicholas deliberately tipped his milk over on the table because he didn’t like milk with meals—he wanted Coke. There was no Coke at the farm. No Coke, no TVs, no private bathrooms, no entertainment and Ted felt trapped. Ted, who didn’t own a pair of blue jeans. He lowered his voice to say to Peyton, “We’ll have to leave early. My kids are not farm kids.”
“I don’t think this is going to work with your man, Peyton,” her mother had said later.
“Because of his kids?” she’d stupidly asked.
“No, darling little Babette. Because of his disability. The poor man appears to be blind and deaf. That’s going to present problems.”
So for almost three years they’d fought a lot, made love on days off from the monsters, fought some more, and the weeks—so busy Peyton could barely think—ran together until she’d realized she’d been with him for almost three years, was almost thirty-five, and nothing had improved. In fact, it had been getting worse by the day.
Then she’d found pot in Krissy’s backpack. The bag was sitting on a kitchen chair, the zipper open, the drugs clearly visible. Peyton went ballistic; she confiscated it and called Ted home from work. The fireworks were nuclear. Krissy accused Peyton of searching her personal property, insisted she was holding it for a friend she wouldn’t name. Ted was furious to be called away from his practice for a “minor” problem like that. “Come on, Peyton, like you didn’t come into contact with a little weed when you were a teenager!”
Oh. My. God! Peyton knew her father would have killed her! But Ted wouldn’t even agree to ground Krissy. “You’re going to be sorry,” she had told him. “That girl is on a bad journey, and it’s going to get worse. She’s not even remorseful. She blames me!”
Peyton had lasted about two more months.
No wonder she was determined not to work for a single father again. She knew not all kids were terrible, but she was not up to working her ass off as a PA and taking on parenting duties after work. Scott Grant, devoted family man, was obviously happily married and wouldn’t be imposing in that way.
A couple, holding hands, came cautiously down the stairs from Cooper’s house to the beach. Wedding guests. The woman was a pretty blonde, carrying her heeled slippers, and he was a tall man with dark red hair and kept his arm around her waist. They walked about twenty feet and stopped. He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply.
That was hard to see, Peyton thought. Fresh from her breakup, it wasn’t easy. She wanted to be loved; she was willing to give a lot to a relationship. She had tried so hard.
* * *
On Sunday, before she was completely settled in Thunder Point, Peyton called a friend from Ted’s office—their triage nurse, Amy. She hadn’t talked to her since her abrupt departure three weeks before, and Amy had been her closest work friend.
“I’m taking a position in a very small clinic in a very small town. It will give me time to think about my next job. I made a three month commitment, and during the next three months,
