The room felt authentically Toby… the space of a boy discovering his interests while still holding on to childhood pleasures.
"I know your dad told you I was here, and you don't need a babysitter," she said softly, not wanting to startle him. "I'll just hang out in the living room until he gets back."
Toby looked up from his book and grinned, the expression so much like his father's that it warmed her chest. "That's cool! You can watch TV or whatever. Dad's got all the streaming channels." He yawned widely, the kind of jaw-cracking yawn that meant he was fighting sleep but determined to finish his chapter.
"Thanks. What are you reading?" Sandra asked, genuinely curious.
"It's about this kid who gets to work with marine biologists for the summer," Toby said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "There's this whole part about tracking migration patterns that's really awesome. Did you know some sharks travel thousands of miles?"
Sandra found herself smiling at his excitement. "I had no idea. That sounds fascinating."
"It is! Dad says maybe next summer we can take a trip to see the research stations they talk about in the book." Toby's expression grew slightly more serious. "He always follows through on stuff like that. Like, if he says we're going to do something, we do it."
The simple statement carried pride in his father, security in Terry's reliability, and maybe a subtle message that Terry could be trusted to keep his promises. Smart kid.
"That sounds like an amazing trip," Sandra said. "Your dad seems like someone who keeps his word."
"Yeah, he does." Toby yawned again, then grinned at her. "I'm going to read for a little while longer, then I'll turn out my light. I'll be asleep in no time. Dad says I can drop off instantly… faster than he can make it to the door sometimes."
She chuckled and gave him a little wave. "Good night, Toby." She was turning to walk away when his voice called out, stopping her in her tracks.
"It was really nice to meet you, Sandra. I hope you come back soon." He paused, then added, "You make Dad smile differently than he usually does. Like, a really happy kind of smile."
The simple honesty in his words sent warmth spreading through her chest and made her throat tight with unexpected emotion.Out of the mouths of babes, she thought, remembering her grandmother's favorite saying.
"Thank you, Toby," she managed, her voice softer than she'd intended. "Good night."
The next door revealed a large bathroom that the kids shared, complete with double sinks and what looked like an ongoing negotiation about whose toiletries belonged where. At the end of the hall was Emma's room, the door cracked open just enough to let light spill into the hallway.
Sandra knocked gently on the doorframe. "Hey, Emma. I'll be in the living room if you need me for anything until your dad gets home." She winced at how formal that sounded and rushed to add, "Not like a babysitter or anything. You're way too old for that."
"You can come in," Emma said in cautious invitation.
Sandra gently pushed the door open and stepped into what could only be described as a perfect reflection of a twelve-year-old girl discovering her own style. The walls were painted a soft lilac that caught the light from the bedside lamp, and the curtains and bedding featured a sophisticated blue-and-purple floral pattern that was both youthful and mature. The white furniture provided a clean backdrop for personal touches that made the space uniquely Emma's.
"Your room is beautiful," Sandra said with genuine admiration, taking in the careful attention to detail that spoke of a father who wanted his daughter to feel special.
Emma's gaze drifted around the room as though she was seeing it through someone else's eyes for the first time. "Thanks.When we first moved here, Dad said I could pick out my paint color. I thought purple was a happy color."
"I completely agree," Sandra replied, thinking of her own childhood bedroom that had been decorated in the neutral beiges and whites her mother had preferred. "Purple is definitely a happy color."
"I used to have a bedspread with rainbows all over it when I was younger." Emma’s voice carried a slightly wistful tone, the one kids get when remembering their younger selves. "When I got older, I kept the walls purple but thought this looked more grown-up."
Sandra moved farther into the room, her attention drawn to the framed artwork hanging on the walls. The swirls of color were clearly the work of a young artist, but there was something special about them.
"I love these pictures," she said, leaning closer to examine what appeared to be a watercolor of the beach at sunset.
"Thanks, I did those," Emma said, and Sandra could hear both pride and bashfulness in her voice.
Sandra's head whipped around, her eyes wide with surprise. "You're kidding! These are incredible!"
Emma beamed under the praise, but Sandra noticed how the girl studied her face carefully, as if gauging whether the compliment was genuine. "Last summer, I took an art class and really loved it. This summer, I'm taking a writing class that I'm really excited about." She scooted to the far side of her bed and inclined her head toward the space beside her. "You can sit down if you want."
Sandra was surprised by the invitation, recognizing it as a sign of tentative acceptance. She settled on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the perfectly arranged throw pillows, and glanced at the framed photographs on Emma's nightstand.
One picture showed a group of kids on the beach, all arms and legs and summer-bright smiles. It was easy to pick out Emma and Toby in the group, their faces glowing with happiness.
The other photograph was a more formal Christmas morning scene with a younger Emma and Toby standing in front of a perfectly decorated tree. Terry stood on one side of his children, and Sandra assumed the woman on the other side was Patricia. The ex-wife was tall, blond, and very pretty.
