When it was time to go to Taylor’s house, Jackson looked well prepared, but when he started to go, Wendy grabbed her coat and insisted on walking with him. “I want to meet Taylor’s uncle,” she explained as they walked against the wind. She wasn’t even sure that this “Uncle Greg” was really an uncle. For all she knew, he might be Kara’s boyfriend. Sometimes moms called boyfriends “uncles.”
“Oh, Mom.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Call me overprotective, but I’m not letting my only son go off with a complete stranger.” She didn’t admit that she’d been imagining what could’ve been a scene from a Stephen King novel, where some toothless guy with a beer belly and a broken-down pickup carted away her precious son. “And just so you know, if I don’t feel good about him, you can’t go.”
He grumbled even louder now. But to her relief, Greg appeared to be a respectable guy. He politely introduced his wife, Lori, confirming that he was indeed Kara’s brother, and exchanged phone numbers with her. “I’m the reason Kara and the girls moved here.” He opened up the back door to the crew cab pickup, waiting as his nieces scrambled in. “I felt like Taylor and Tess needed some family in their lives.”
Jackson gave her an I-told-you-so look as he and Oliver climbed into the backseat with the girls. Satisfied that her son was safe, Wendy waved goodbye and hurried back home. Her plan was to get the kitchen put back together and a few other things done. Hopefully she’d get everything wrapped up by the end of the week—and call a Realtor.
A couple of hours later, Wendy stepped back to admire her “new” kitchen curtains. She’d up-cycled white pillowcases with hand-crocheted lace trim for in here and in her bedroom. And the recycled vintage linens looked perfectly charming—if she did say so herself. She was just closing them when she noticed Greg’s pickup pull into her driveway. The next thing she knew, Jackson, with Greg’s help, was hauling a large evergreen tree into the living room.
“What have you—”
“Greg let me get a tree too,” Jackson declared. “I cut it down myself.”
“Merry Christmas!” Greg called out. “Enjoy!”
“But we don’t even have a tree stand or ornaments,” Wendy helplessly told Jackson. “And it’s so big, where will we put—”
“Greg told me to wedge it in a big bucket with some stones and just fill it with water.” He pointed to the wall adjacent to the fireplace. “How about right there?”
Wendy was speechless. Of course, Jackson assumed they’d be here for Christmas. Somehow she needed to straighten him out.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get it all set up. Just trust me.”
“But I need to paint that wall first,” she protested. “And I didn’t plan to start on it until tomorrow or the next day.”
“I’ll paint it. Right now, if you want.” He smiled brightly. “I like to paint!”
“Well, you did a great job on your room.” She’d been really impressed. Not only did the paint look good, he’d arranged the furniture nicely too. Almost like he knew it needed to be staged. So she agreed he could paint while she fixed dinner.
By the time Wendy announced bedtime, the pine tree, now wedged in a five-gallon bucket, stood proudly next to the freshly painted wall. “It looks really good.” Wendy hugged Jackson. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” He stifled a yawn and called out to the dog, already snoozing on the rug by the fireplace. “Time for bed, Oliver.”
The next morning, Wendy got up before the sun. She had a lot to get done this week. So much, in fact, that she sat down at the kitchen table to make a long list. Her goal was to get the house thoroughly cleaned, complete the painting, and attractively stage it—by Friday. Then she’d call a Realtor and try to have it listed for the next weekend. All of that sounded easy compared to breaking the news to Jackson. But she was determined to do it this morning. Her plan was to invite him to do some beachcombing ... and then when they were at least twenty minutes from home, she would gently break the news. She knew he’d be upset, but hopefully on the walk back to the cottage, he’d have a chance to cool down and listen to reason.
Although she’d protected him in the past, it was time for him to grasp their financial situation. As delightful as Seaside was, she could not afford to live here without a steady source of income. And without selling the cottage, she would never climb out from beneath her load of debt. Even with their social security pittance, she still needed full-time, year-round employment with benefits, which was practically nonexistent in Seaside. Selling the cottage was the only real option. She had to make him understand.
Hearing him clomping down the stairs, chatting cheerfully with Oliver, she folded her to-do list and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Good morning,” she told Jackson. “You’re up early.”
“Because it’sMonday.” He took Oliver to the laundry room, pouring kibble into his bowl.
“I know it’s Monday.” She frowned. “So?”
“So it’s a school day.” He opened the fridge, taking out the milk.
“A school day?” She blinked.
“Yeah.” He poured a glass of milk. “And the bus will be here in about five minutes. I forgot to set the alarm on my phone.” He downed the milk then reached for an apple. “This is all I have time for this morning.”
“But Jackson—what do you mean? How is it you’re going to school?”
“Mom.” He took a bite of the apple as he pulled on his jacket. “I’m a kid. That’s what we do. Remember?” He grinned as he loudly chewed.
“But how do you—”
“Taylor told me about the bus, which will be here any minute. Can I have some lunch money?”
