Playing the Player(29)

Clicking on her profile, I wasn’t exactly shocked to see that her relationship status was single. Still, I was surprised at the wave of relief that surged through me. I clicked on her page. Thirty-two friends.

Wow.

Should I feel sorry for her, or was she just picky? And how had I made it onto her selective list of friends? We had two mutual FB buddies: Desi and Alex. I saw that Trina and Desi had checked into the Alamo Theater around 7:30 p.m. “Girl power!” Desi had posted. “Movies and pedis.” Again, I felt strangely relieved to see that Trina was out for a girls’ night, not a date.

I clicked on Alex’s page. “Romantic dinner at the Melting Pot. Six-month anniversary!” And a lovey-dovey pic of him and Tim posing cheek-to-cheek at a candlelit table. I grimaced at his disgustingly romantic photo, but I clicked “like.” He was my best friend, after all, and I was happy for him, even though I didn’t agree with his whole fall-in-love-and-life-becomes-perfect philosophy.

It was still early enough I could find somewhere to go…and someone to go with…but after scrolling through all the drunken photos, I set my phone aside. I flipped over on my bed, and my gaze landed on the binder resting precariously on a stack of junk on the table.

With a resigned sigh, I reached for it and flipped to the first page, which I’d bypassed the other night when I’d only read the schedule.

“Dear Slade,

If you’re reading this, I am totally shocked. Seriously, a tear in the universe probably just opened up a wormhole to another dimension. But anyway, if you are reading this…thank you. I hope you don’t think it’s completely lame. If you’ll just play along, and flip to the next page(s), maybe it will help you understand my plan for the summer.”

My heart rate picked up considerably. No wonder she’d been so pissed I hadn’t read it.

“I’ve known Gillian since she was two, but I don’t know Max very well. He seems kind of serious, from the few times I’ve met him at Gillian’s. I’m hoping he’ll relax around you, since you’re a guy.

“The Moms want the kids to do some educational activities this summer, so I’ve come up with a big list of possible field trips, books to read, even a few documentaries. That probably sounds dorky, but maybe we can make it fun? You always know how to make people laugh. Even in the most boring classes. ”

Guilt covered me like a heavy cape of shame. I’d made the kids laugh all right, after encouraging a full-on mutiny that led to a complete and total Trina meltdown. I ran a hand through my hair.

I glanced at my alarm clock. 11:37 p.m. Too late to text her. Knowing her, she was probably already asleep. Picturing her in bed made me swallow and reach for my water bottle.

What would I text, anyway? Sorry I was such a dick, but hey, that’s how I roll.

Maybe it was good we had a weekend apart before we saw each other again. We could both clear our heads and figure out how to make this nanny thing actually work.

Because we would work this out.

I’d make sure of it.





Chapter Twelve

Trina

Saturday, June 8

I read the date on the can of corn: May 5, 2007. I snorted and chucked the can into the trash barrel. What was wrong with people? Who donated ancient, expired food to a homeless shelter?

“Anything salvageable?”

I spun around, startled by the sound of Sharon’s voice.

“Don’t scare me like that.” I threw a can of expired peas into the trash.

Sharon grinned. All five feet ten inches of her was covered with dust, which was a shame because underneath the dust she wore a gorgeous outfit, as usual. She said she dressed up so she could be a good role model to the moms who stayed in the shelter with their kids.

“So far, nothing at all from this load.” I frowned. “Who dropped it off? I’d like to hunt them down.”

Sharon laughed, brushing dust out of her long, dark hair. “Beggars can’t be choosers, honey, you know that. Most of the time we can use the donations. But once in a while…” Her voice trailed away as she surveyed the nearly empty pantry shelves. “I was hoping we’d hit the mother lode with this donation, but I guess not.” She looked into the nearly full trash barrel and shook her head.

I felt horrible, even though I knew it wasn’t my fault the food I was sorting was unusable. The Redemption Shelter had been running low on food lately. Sharon said it wasn’t just Redemption; every place in town was having trouble keeping up with demand.

“Isn’t there something we can do?”

She shrugged. “I’ve reached out to all our regular donors.” She wiped dust off her forehead. “But I’ve got more urgent problems than food right now.”