While he drove, I placed a quick call into Mrs. Neal who assured me she had picked up Isla and she was fine. Just a bit tired and miserable.
My shift ended. My back ached. And I was starving.
But I wasn’t important.
Isla was.
Half an hour after I’d clocked off, I was striding through my front door, waving hello to Mrs. Neal who was watching Jeopardy in her slippers, and heading directly toward Isla’s room.
Nudging open the door, I saw my beautiful angel snoring softly all snuggled up with her favorite teddy bear.
“She’s fine, Luke,” Mrs. Neal offered gently from behind me, almost scaring me half to death.
“Did she wake up at all?”
“She did. We had some mac and cheese and then she had a bath and climbed back into bed around seven.”
Thank God. That was about normal for Isla. Maybe a little early, but if she wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, then it was explainable.
Making sure I left the door cracked open, I headed back out to the living area, wondering if there was any mac and cheese left for me. The last thing I wanted to eat tonight was takeout, but I was too bloody tired for anything more strenuous than a grilled cheese.
Mrs. Neal stuffed her knitting back into her bag and collected her things, bringing her teacup and saucer, the only one I actually owned into the kitchen. When she went to wash it up, I stopped her.
“Leave it. You’ve done more than enough today.”
“She’s a sweet kid, Luke. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
Shrugging off her compliment because even though I knew Mrs. Neal never said anything she didn’t mean, right now I didn’t want to hear it. I’d felt like a shitty father ever since I’d spoken to Mrs. Know Everything Rose earlier. For some reason, I’d let her get under my skin and her words were haunting me.
“Thank you for being there for her today when I … when I couldn’t be.”
“Sweetheart, don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m not,” I defended, but when Mrs. Neal shot me a look assuring me that she knew I was full of bullshit, I backed down quickly.
“There are busy, working parents, single moms, single dads, parents who are together who have to ask for help sometimes. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. It doesn’t mean you love your daughter any less because you weren’t the one there. It just means you, like so many others, are working and doing your best.”
“Why does it feel like it’s not enough?”
“Because that’s what being a parent is. Now, do you need anything before I go home?”
“I’m good. Thank you.”
“Well, let me wash this up real quick and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Leave it. I’m starving. I’ll get it after I find something for dinner.”
She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “Try the bowl in the fridge.” With a wink, she left me to see what surprise was waiting for me.
Finding a bowl filled with mac and cheese, the type made from scratch because Mrs. Neal was as stubborn as a mule when it came to eating processed food when she could easily make it herself. She never made me feel bad about taking advantage of the convenience, but when a home-cooked meal was on offer, I wasn’t turning it down.
After a busy weekend, one that started with Isla bouncing out of bed Saturday morning, running in and jumping on me while I was still asleep requesting choc chip pancakes, I was back at work and I’d managed to squeeze in a run before my shift started, something I’d needed for a couple of days.
When Franklin hobbled in, I couldn’t help but laugh. He should’ve known better. Keeping up with Isla wasn’t for the faint-hearted. But when she’d begged him to turn my lounge room into a fort and watch the movie from the floor, he was kicking off his shoes and crawling under the blankets.
Two hours lying on the floor wasn’t good for anyone’s back.
“Come on, old man.”
