Page 39 of You Fall First

Dex’s sister, Kendal, knows how to take care of children, but she’s got three of her own, including a baby. I can’t ask her to chase down Dutton too. Not for weeks. She’s a stay-at-home-mom, not a daycare provider.

Plus, I suspect Dutton could use a little more one-on-one attention under the circumstances. So an actual daycare center doesn’t sound optimal, either. And I’m not even sure how I’d go about arranging that anyway.

Maggie and Lewis Michaels are both kind people who’ve raised four great kids themselves. But they still have full-time jobs. So do Landry and Brock. Besides, Dutton barely said two words to any of them.

Which leaves Jo.

Why am I resisting this most logical of options?

She’s met Dutton multiple times. Her new job’s training doesn’t start until next month. She’s even offered to help me out, more than once. The woman is bright and kind and generous.

And therein lies the rub.

The moments we’ve already spent together stirred something in me—a spark of connection I’m not used to feeling, and I don’t have the bandwidth to explore.

If she were here helping with Dutton for the next couple of weeks, I’m afraid I might end up liking the proximity too much. Liking her too much. And my nephew needs all of me right now. Not half my attention diverted by Jo.

As for her, I don’t know what exactly went down with that Oliver guy, but the subject seemed … tender to her. And just because she’s strong doesn’t mean she’s not hurting.

I don’t want to mess with that.

Still, as I weigh my dwindling options, Dutton lets out a soft groan, shifting his head on the pillow. The stuffed bunny is still clutched to his chest. Bugs. Jo’s rabbit.

The truth is, the poor kid probably needs her.

You probably need her, too, Noah.

So I guess I have my answer.

Cavalry it is.

Chapter Ten

Noah

And yet.

Let the record show that delaying the inevitable must be my toxic trait, because I don’t get in touch with Jo immediately. Instead, I spend the rest of Sunday trying to white-knuckle life, juggling everything on my own for as long as I can stand it. Which, as it turns out, is eleven o’clock, Monday morning.

By this point, I’ve become intimately acquainted with every single one of my pseudo-parenting shortcomings. Take, for example, my decision to torture Dutton by forcing him to wear clean pajamas. He had only one set left, since Paige had brought only a fraction of his regular clothes, plus his Woody and Buzz Halloween costumes. According to Dutton, the single pair of not-dirty pajamas was a big “No,” and I didn’t have time to do laundry.

When he proposed sleeping as Buzz Lightyear, I persisted in my goal long enough to cause quite the temper tantrum.

For both of us.

Also, if an uncle tries to serve plain pancakes for three breakfasts in a row, he will quickly learn that plain pancakes have a two-breakfast expiration date. And when his nephew wants banana pancakes, the bunch in the uncle’s bowl will have morphed from unripe green to rotten brown overnight.

Trying to grab a shower without an audience is yet another interesting endeavor. Prior to Dutton finding out his mom’s in the hospital, he’d happily sit in front of a screen while I got myself presentable to the world. Now? Not so much. The kid’s reluctant to let me out of his sight, and I have new appreciation for mothers everywhere just trying to snag a moment of privacy to go to the bathroom.

Props, ladies.

Things don’t reach crisis level until Maureen calls me from Havenwood. She’s the head of our recruitment and marketing department, and she’s clearly desperate for me to be onsite. After her first message, she sent a follow-up to clarify that my presence was most urgently required. Some new PR company she’d hired showed up unexpectedly to record footage. Apparently, part of their authenticity plan is to not give their clients a warning beforehand. In this case, Havenwood is the client, and guess who the PR team wants to include in any pictures or videos taken? Our director of PT and OT.

Me.

Who they don’t want to include in footage about senior care is a four-year-old.

For those keeping track at home, I’m officially out of options for Dutton. I tell Maureen I’ll be there after lunch. Now I’ve got to bite the bullet and reach out to Jo. Oh, and pray I didn’t wait too long and miss my window of opportunity.