“All right then.” I pull at the bucket again, but her grip hasn’t lessened. “We have to put the sunscreen on, Stella.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna.”
“Remember what you told Mr. Owen? It has to go everywhere, right? You don’t want to get a sunburn.” I carefully unwrap her fingers from around the bucket, ignoring the tremble in her lips, the widening of her eyes as they start to fill with tears. They aren’t tears of frustration but tears of anger. “I’ll be quick, baby, but we have to.”
The next twenty minutes are filed away in the ‘making my daughter cry while I’m trying to protect her doesn’t make me a bad mother’ vault inside my head. It joins the ‘brushing our teeth’ battle that happens almost every day, the ‘cutting our own hair’ incident that traumatized us both last year, and the meltdown in the middle of Target when I refused to buy her the purple hair bow since she had the exact same hair bow at home. Logic is totally wasted on children. So is sarcasm. Once the sunscreen is applied, we settle in to start work on the monster-sized sandcastle that is going to take up so much of the beach that there won’t be room for us anymore.
It’s nearly eleven, and my lack of planning in the snack-and-drink department is starting to become painfully obvious. Not only is Stella starting to wilt, but I’m pretty sure I would do several illegal things for a drink of water and some potato chips. I drag my phone out of the bottom of my bag, looking down to see half a dozen missed texts from Nora and Monroe. Most of the conversation is between the two of them, as they’re discussing what each of them is going to bring with them. Thank God, food and drinks are the main topic of discussion. Glancing through the entire string of texts, I determine that the two of them should be arriving any second.
Herding Stella down to the water, I rinse off some of the sand and drag her back to the towels so I can dry her off and we can do the entire sunscreen process all over again. It goes mildly better this time, mostly because I told her that Ms. Nora is bringing cookies and she couldn’t have any unless she stood there and let me reapply the sunscreen. I’m not above bribery.
“We come bearing mimosas!” Nora sings the words as she and Monroe quickly cross the sand to join us. “And straight OJ for anyone underage. Hi there, Ms. Stella. I love that bathing suit!”
Whereas I had just brought one simple bag for the two of us, Nora and Monroe show that they are old pros at this beach thing. They have a cart with thick, heavy wheels, made for rolling across the sand, which is loaded down with chairs, towels, a beach ball, several more sand toys, and a cooler. Monroe even pulls out a small speaker that she connects to her phone and finds some child-appropriate beach music for us to listen to.
Monroe reaches into the cooler, carefully pulling out a small bag of what looks like sugar cookies. She holds them up behind Stella so the little girl can’t see them. “I baked them at home. It’s very hard to find premade that don’t have nuts, aren’t made in a factory with nuts, and I wanted to be sure.”
I nod my head, and then prompt Stella when Monroe hands over a stack of cookies. She even produces a small container of milk to go with them. “Can you say thank you, Stella?”
“Tanks!” Stella plops down in the chair that Nora had just set up for herself and shoves the first cookie, which is now sprinkled with salt and sand, straight into her mouth.
Nora takes having her seat stolen in stride, situating herself down on the sand next to me and reaching into the cooler for a pitcher of what I’m assuming are the aforementioned mimosas. She has red Solo cups that she pulled from the magical beach cart and pours each of us a generous cup.
“Have you guys been here long?” Monroe settles into the chair next to Stella, helping to make sure the jug of milk isn’t spilled.
“Stella wanted to get an early start on the beach activities so we’ve been here for a while. I’m glad you guys showed up though—I’m a novice at the beach thing. I didn’t bring snacks or drinks.”
“We would have been here earlier, but I had to reevaluate the snack-and-drink situation to make sure I brought something Stella could have. I’m not used to packing for minors.” Nora has stretched her longs legs out in front of her. The simple, black bikini she’s wearing looks like it was made for her, and it accents the deep auburn of her hair, which she has once again tied up into a spectacular knot on top of her head.
“What’s a minor?” Stella asks around her third cookie in as many minutes.
“You are, squirt,” Nora answers with a smile. “Finish up your cookies so we can finish up this sandcastle and then I want to go dip my toes in the water.”
“I dip my whole body in.” Stella shoves the last cookie in her mouth, chewing quickly. “All de way up to here.” She points to just under her arms.
“I’ll stick with my toes.” Nora looks out over the water. “I much prefer swimming in a pool, where I’m only swimming with people and not fish.”
“And sharks!”
“Right. Can’t forget the sharks.” Nora makes a face, shaking her head. “Pools are made for swimming. Oceans are made for listening.”
“The ocean doesn’t talk, silly.” Stella giggles, wiping the back of one hand across her mouth to get rid of the milk mustache she’s grown.
“Sure it does. Just close your eyes and listen. The waves talk to you.”
“They say hi! Like dis.” Her little fingers curled again, Stella makes the same waving motion she did with Owen earlier. Her laughter echoes on the wind as both Nora and Monroe join in, curving their fingers in similar fashion.
This is why I moved to Broward. Fuck Gloria Clemmens. I can take care of my daughter just fine. I can provide her exactly the kind of life she deserves.
Chapter Five
Tristan
“Tristan Maddox?”
Doctor Julian Jacobs answers my knock at seven-fifteen Monday morning. I am about fifteen minutes early for my first day on the job, but I wasn’t sure how it would go dropping Stella off at her new daycare this morning. I was more nervous about the situation than she was. Stella bounded into the small building, wrapped the early morning teacher, who greeted us, right around her little finger, and made friends with another little boy as they bonded over a shared love of Paw Patrol.
No tears for my little girl, but the fear and worry that lodged in my belly was in my throat as I finished reviewing her allergy, signing in her epi-pen, and discussing the slight upset stomach she’d had the night before. The fear nearly become a tangible thing as I struggled to keep nausea and tears at bay.
After dropping her off, I stopped at the local bakery and picked up some muffins and coffee to share with the rest of the staff at the medical office where I was going to be working. I learned early on, that supplying carbs and caffeine is a quick way to win friends and influence fellow employees, especially during those dreaded hours between midnight and 6 a.m. when either it’s eerily quiet or overwhelming loud.
I spoke to Dr. Jacobs on the phone for my initial interview, and then through Skype for a second “in person” interview. He’s somewhere between fifty and sixty, with dark hair liberally peppered with gray, and the faintest hint of wrinkles pulling at the skin of his handsome face. He’s tall, though not nearly as tall as any of the Gallahanger brothers, with a lean build. He has the same Southern accent that I’ve heard from everyone I spoke to in Broward, but his borders on difficult to understand at times.