The ER was so chaotic, Scott didn’t have time to call Peyton, but he took a moment to text her that he was tied up and asked if she was doing all right. She texted back immediately. At your house, pizza for dinner, all is well. He spoke to a number of parents, frantically en route to Coos County, and tried to allay their fears as well as he could.
“That could’ve been horrible,” he said to one of the RNs he knew well. “There could’ve been dozens of little bodies all over the road and down the hill.”
She shuddered. “I know. Even though it was mostly cuts and bruises, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight,” she said.
“Me, either,” he agreed.
* * *
Throughout the evening, between pizza, games of Candy Land, baths and getting ready for bed, Peyton flipped on the news from time to time just to catch any updates on the accident. They were still showing the original footage, and the reports remained the same. The authorities hadn’t confirmed it, but it seemed that the bus driver, a fifty-seven-year-old woman, had suffered a stroke or heart attack, causing her to lose control of the bus. And the children, some thirty-seven of them, all survived.
But what a terrible, tragic mess.
Here at Scott’s home, doing the one thing she swore she would not be coerced into doing ever again, Peyton was babysitting for the boss. She wasn’t going to tell him she didn’t really mind. In fact, had Ted’s kids been even half as polite and well behaved as these two little ones, she might still be in Portland. There were so many simple chores that went so smoothly with Jenny and Will. Like brushing out Jenny’s long hair. “Use that,” Jenny said, pointing to the anti-tangle spray in Scott’s bathroom. And then she sat still and quiet, even sighing from time to time. This had never happened with Ted’s kids; his girls wouldn’t let her help them with anything. She had so wanted to brush their hair, take them shopping, cook with them, help decorate their bedrooms, watch girl movies with them, but they’d held her at arm’s length. She’d soon learned never to compliment their clothing or hairstyles or she’d never see them look that nice again.
Scott’s kids ate their pizza slices at the table and carried their dishes to the sink. Really? At four and five? Peyton wasn’t sure what came next. “Should I get your bath ready?” she asked.
Jenny nodded, but Will said, “I take a shower in Dad’s shower.” Ah, so manly.
“Try not to make a big mess, please,” Peyton asked nicely. And he didn’t. He even hung up his towel and put his dirty clothes in the hamper.
Oh, I was so arrogant, she thought. She had known Ted’s trio of kids were tough, but she thought she could manage them, whip them into shape. It was not as though she was without experience, both personally and professionally. And she had failed completely. Not only couldn’t she keep her relationship with Ted alive, but to her horror, the kids had seemed to deteriorate, growing ever worse in their behavior. Their scrapes with their teachers increased, their sass to her became worse than ever, even their grades dropped as if she’d done more harm than good. They weren’t going to turn out well. In fact, she feared what kind of people they might become.
“One last game of Candy Land?” she asked the squeaky clean kids.
“Yay! One more!”
And then it was quiet time. They wanted to “camp” with their Kindles and crawled under the table. “Peyton, you can come in, too, if you want.”
“Think I can fit?”
“You have to make yourself small. And be careful about your head,” Jenny said.
“What the heck,” she said. Down on all fours, she crawled into the tent, ducking her head for the wooden braces where the leaf fit. “Just for a little while. I should put the tent away before your daddy gets home.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t make Daddy mad,” Will said.
“He’s a very good daddy,” Peyton said, once inside. Will and Jenny slid apart, putting her in the middle. “Very nice,” she said. “You can live in here.”
“We have a real tent,” Will informed her.
“For camping?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. We camp in the backyard, but pretty soon we’re going to camp on the beach before it gets too cold. You can come, too, if you want to.”
“That is so sweet,” she said, carefully lying down on her back between the two of them, her feet sticking out of the tent. “Sadly, I will be busy that day. So, now what do we do?”
“We watch,” Jenny said.
She held up her small screen to share with Peyton while Will was not so charitable. He rolled on to his side, his back curled against Peyton, watching his screen privately. She snuck a peak to make sure it wasn’t inappropriate; he was into dragons, it appeared. “Well, I guess I’ll watch with you. What’s this?”
“Up,” Jenny said. “It’s about balloons.”
Indeed. A balloon salesman who had a very satisfactory life selling them, married to a happy wife, growing older gracefully if not completely fulfilled since he missed out on some adventures. But he was mostly content. And then his wife died!
“He’s going to cry now,” Jenny pointed out.
“I think I’m going to cry,” Peyton said.
Jenny turned toward her and gently stroked her cheek with her small hand, turning her beautiful big brown eyes up at Peyton. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
Oh, God! Did she really hear right? She’s four!
Stop, Peyton, stop! Do not fall in love with these children! They belong to the boss! Another package deal that didn’t work out, that would hurt way too much. She didn’t even have a whole heart left after what Ted and his children put her through.
“Now he’ll make his house fly and be happy and fun.”
“That Disney,” Peyton said. “They take no prisoners.” And she sniffed.
* * *
Scott felt terrible about imposing on Peyton. It was criminal! She was new in town, had come in to the clinic ahead of schedule just to help out and try to cover for Devon, and what had he done? Not only worked her to a full-time schedule, but gone off on an emergency that sucked up over eight hours. It was after midnight, and there was still confusion and commotion at the hospital, banged-up children sleeping on cots, couches, chairs and gurneys.
Of course, had he not thoroughly checked out her résumé, talked to former employers and observed her with children in the clinic, he might not have dared. He absolutely believed he could trust her with his children.
He crept quietly into the house; the kitchen light was on as well as a living-room light. The TV was off, and there was no one on the couch, but there was a fort in the dining room. And out of the fort stuck two grown-up feet.
He laughed to himself.
He crouched down and shook her foot. “Peyton,” he whispered.
She sat up with a start and bashed her head into the dining room table. She went