She cuts me off before I have a chance to explain, one brow cocked. “Hottest fucking kiss, huh?”
Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, and I don’t think it’s because of the maple syrup.
“Listen. I swear I didn’t?—”
“I’m ready,” Bea declares, skipping out in her pink-and-yellow polka-dot bathing suit, a towel tucked under her arm. Her flip-flops are on the wrong feet, but I don’t have time to fix them. I also don’t have time to fix this little miscommunication.
“Let’s discuss this later, yeah?” I plead with Claire.
“Looking forward to it, Greer.” She shoots a wink and afinger gun at me.
For three hours I’ve been tied up with the contractor. Since about an hour into this meeting, I’ve been stressing about how long I’ve left Bea with Claire. She’s the camp doctor, not my child’s nanny. She didn’t sign on for babysitting duties, and I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of our temporary living situation.
Finally, we wrap things up, and I get Brenner to take over scheduling the next steps. Then I get the hell out of there. Outside, I call Claire to find out where they are so I can relieve her.
There isn’t a scheduled class happening in the art studio, but it’s open, our free-use craft station stocked. Claire and Bea are at a table in the corner by themselves, surrounded by colored pencils, paper, watercolors, brushes, and a cup of water.
My nerves finally settling, I circle the table and sit next to my daughter. “Hi, Dolly.”
“Daddy!” she shouts, wrapping her arms around me. They haven’t gotten into the paint yet, so my shirt is safe, though I doubt it will be for very much longer.
“How’s it going?” I ask, noticing she’s changed out of her bathing suit.
“Did you know Claire is left-handed too?”
“It’s Dr. Connelly,” I correct her. “And I didn’t know that. That’s cool. Just like you and your cousin Joey.”
“My brother too,” Claire adds. “And can you quit making her call me Dr. Connelly? Bea and I are roommates now.” She bumps shoulders with her.
I squint at her from across the table. While I’d prefer if my daughter called Claire by her professional name, it is her name, after all, and I can’t very well argue with that.
“Fine,” I comply, then turn my attention back to Bea. “What are you making?”
“Claire’s teaching me how to draw a daisy.”
I stiffen at the sound of her mother’s name on her lips, even if she’s referring to the flower.
But I force my body to relax and plaster on a smile. “That’s so nice. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Surprisingly, the center of the flower is a fairly solid circle. The petals, though, could use some work.
“Ovals are hard, aren’t they?” Claire says sympathetically. “Wanna try again?”
Bea nods.
Claire extracts a plain piece of paper from the pile. “Here. Why don’t I draw the petals and you trace them? That way you can get the hang of it.” She very lightly draws a circle and adds several ovals fanning out around it, then passes it over to Bea.
With her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, Bea traces the shapes, then turns to me when she’s done.
“Wow. Look at that,” I praise. “You did it. What are you going to draw next?”
Nose scrunched, she tilts her head, giving it some thought.
“How about a bumblebee?” Claire suggests. “A daisy for your mom and a bee for?—”
“Me!” she shouts like she’s solved a mystery.
My breath hitches and my hand automatically goes to my chest, rubbing at the ache behind my ribs.
