“Would you like me to try?” I ask cautiously.
“It’s not necessary,” he snaps. “She needs to act her age. None of us want to be here, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“Yes, but she’s only seven.” I grab a squirming Jemmy from his arms. “Everyone else here has had years to learn how to deal with grief. She’s still figuring it out.” My throat tightens. “Just…let me talk to her.”
He doesn’t say anything for several long moments, and I expect for him to tell me I have no idea what I’m talking about. Finally, he pushes out a slow exhale, his expression growing weary.
“Why is this so hard?”
“Lifeishard,” I offer. “But that’s why I’m here. For you to lean on when shit gets hard.”
“Shit.” Jemmy giggles, cutting through the tension.
Hayden and I both freeze before our eyes slowly move toward Jemmy.
“Shit!” he repeats.
I shouldn’t react. In my short time as Jemmy’s nanny, I’ve learned he feeds off my energy. If I find something amusing or funny, he’ll keep doing it. Which is why the best thing I can do to get him to stop swearing is pretend it never happened.
But I can’t.
A laugh bursts out of me, completely inappropriateand impossible to stop. Hayden joins in, too, his deep chuckle like music to my ears, especially right now.
“Shit! Shit!” Jemmy keeps exclaiming.
“I am so sorry,” I gasp, my stomach hurting from laughing so much, tears streaking down my cheeks.
“Don’t be. I think we needed this.”
“We definitely did,” I reply, stealing a glance at Presley. Even her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
“Shit!” Jemmy repeats yet again.
“That’s not a nice word, bud,” Hayden attempts to chastise.
“Ro-Ro.”
“I know. Ro-Ro said it. But she’s a grownup. That’s a grownup word.”
Jemmy looks between Hayden and me. Then a conniving grin tugs on his lips. “Shit.”
Hayden sighs. “Great. Now I have to go into a church with a toddler whose new favorite word is a swear.”
“I’m so sorry,” I offer yet again, wiping away the tears of laughter still falling.
“I guess there are worse things.”
“There are.”
He draws in a deep breath, glancing at the church before returning his attention to me. “Do you think you?—”
“I’ll talk to her. Try to get her down from the tree and see if she’ll give it another shot.”
Relief covers his expression. “Thank you, Rowan. I appreciate it.”
“It’s my job,” I respond dismissively as he takes Jemmy from me.
“No. It’s not. So…thank you.”
