“Go—move while you do it,” Nina said, scooping up the pile of dirty laundry and throwing it into a laundry basket.
“Why are you so white?”
“Fletcher!” Harry scolded, his flushed cheeks turning a darker shade of red.
Nina held up a finger. “’S alright, Harry. I got this. You go handle . . . the other stuff.”
Concern lined Harry’s face. Clearly, he was still quite unsure whether he should allow Nina to handle it. So he did what any good surrogate parent would do. He began to protest. “But—”
Nina snapped her fingers together to shush him. “Got this, Harry.” Then she turned to Fletcher, smiling as she waved a finger in the direction of a roll of unwound paper towels sitting on the kitchen counter. “Because I’m allergic to the sun. So I stay inside a lot. Why are you so nosy, Nosy McNose?”
Fletcher laughed, a hearty, sweet giggle, leaving Mara’s insides clenching and her ears full of his happy tone. “My mom always used to say that . . .”
Their voices drifted off as he and Nina made their way down a long hall, chatting as though they’d always known each other.
“Amazing,” Harry muttered, driving a hand through his hair, moving toward the kitchen connected to the family room. He began to move from countertop to countertop, removing soiled napkins and crushed juice boxes as he went, his big body filling up the small space with his scent.
Mara nodded her head in wonder, right behind him, retrieving a bottle of spray cleaner, and saturating the gob of red sauce stuck to the surface. “I guess, since Nina was the person who answered your call, your surprise that she’s so incredible with children doesn’t shock me. She mostly only tolerates us adults. But she loves children and animals.”
Harry stopped dead in the middle of a sticky puddle of what looked like grape juice. “She’s like night and day. On the phone she was rude, belligerent, and threatening. She behaved as though it were my fault I was in this predicament.”
Mara ventured a glance up at him, catching his distracted wonder. “Nina can be the most difficult, obnoxious, mouthy, opinionated, angry woman I’ve ever known. But there’s one thing you absolutely need to know about her—she’s a marshmallow on the inside. Once you’re in with her, you don’t ever get back out. She’d take a hit for you like you’re her own blood. That’s just who she is. Kids and animals are drawn to her like moths to a flame. Nina’s always the one in the thick of a throng of kids at any social event we’ve ever attended together. I promise, Fletcher’s safe with her.”
Harry almost smiled then he frowned when he seemed to lose track of what he was doing and the fact that he was angry with her. “He’s definitely better behaved. She got Fletch to listen to her, and she didn’t have to raise her voice even half an octave. Fletch doesn’t listen to anyone, and he hasn’t laughed-laughed like that in forever.”
“So this has been a hard transition? I mean, guardianship of the kids?”
Now his focus was back on her. Harry’s eyes pierced hers, sending a shiver along Mara’s spine. “Hard? It’s been almost unbearable for them. Everything happened so quickly. One minute there were soccer games and ballet classes three times a week, fresh cookies and brownies for snacks every day after school, balanced, healthy meals they loved, bedtime stories, and the Ice Capades. And then it all ended in a matter of seconds. They lost their home, their rooms, their nice, neat schedules, and both of their parents. As consolation, they got me—single, bumbling Uncle Harry who doesn’t know a spatula from a SpongeBob.”
Her heart wrenched. She knew what it was to lose both parents. If she hadn’t had Keegan and Sloan, she’d never have survived. “So no other siblings to help ease the load?”
“It was just Donna and me. My dad died when we were younger. Mom was a single mother until she died. We lost her eight years ago, just before Fletcher was born.”
Mara’s throat tightened. “Did you spend a lot of time with them before . . . before your sister died?”
Harry picked up a wet rag and halfheartedly wiped the speckled granite countertop. “I did. I was the cool, if unexciting, Uncle Harry. We used to be friends. We did all sorts of science projects together. Sort of like a Mythbusters for elementary-aged kids. Now I’m their authority figure and what they call a total jerk when they think I can’t hear. I know nothing about giving them rules and structure. But I’ve been up until my eyes want to fall out of my head, reading books and researching online to help them—me—adjust to this.”