I shrugged too. “The therapist thought it did, and Sofia seems okay, but MJ hasn’t said a word.”
“Hmmm,” Tim replied. “Maybe he just needs time to process. It’s been what, three months since he last saw his mother?”
“Six,” I answered.
“That’s a lot to deal with, especially at fifteen.” Then Tim smiled, as if the mere act of smiling could push the bad thoughts away. Maybe for him it could. “We’re taking the kids to the beach tomorrow. It’s Isaiah’s birthday. You want to come?”
“Ummm.” Six kids at the beach did not sound like a relaxing way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
“I’m baking chocolate cake.”
He knew I couldn’t say no. Tim was a terrific baker.
I arrived at the beach at noon, just as they were breaking out the sandwiches.
“Thank god,” Tim said when he spotted the potato chips peeking out of the top of the grocery bag. “I thought they were going to mutiny because the only snacks I brought were cucumber slices and carrot sticks.”
“You deserve a mutiny for that,” I said as I passed the family-sized bags of Doritos and Lays to MJ and Jayden. At seventeen, Jayden was the oldest of Tim and Richard’s foster children. MJ was second oldest and the two had become friends.
I wished Isaiah a happy birthday and handed him the gift card I’d purchased this morning. I’d tried to buy him a real present. I’d spent fifteen minutes walking up and down the aisles of Target trying to guess what an eleven-year-old boy might like before I finally gave up and purchased the gift card instead.
Then I waved to Ethan and the girls, accepted a kiss on the cheek from Tim, a moist hug from Richard, whose body was wet with sweat or sea water or both, and popped open my sand chair under their shade canopy.
Tim searched inside the giant cooler. “We’ve got chicken pesto, vegetarian, or peanut butter and jelly. What’s your pleasure?”
“Homemade pesto?” I asked. Tim’s pesto was the best I’d ever eaten.
“Is there any other kind?” Tim replied.
There was at my house. Now that I was living alone again, cooking meant heating up food from a jar, a box, or a takeout container.
Tim passed a foil-wrapped sandwich to MJ. “Give this to your Lawyer Mom.”
“Lawyer Mom?” I’d never heard that expression before.
MJ walked the sandwich over to me. “Janelle’s my lawyer and you’re my lawyer-mom.”
“I thought I was your boss?”
He shrugged and returned to his beach towel.
The kids ate their sandwiches and most of the chips, then we all sang happy birthday to Isaiah and devoured Tim’s cake. When all that was left was a pile of chocolate crumbs, the kids headed out into the sun again. Sofia, Makeyla, and Ethan returned to their sandcastle, and MJ, Isaiah, and Jayden ran into the surf.
Richard reached into a smaller cooler behind his beach chair and pulled out a hard seltzer.
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed on the beach.”
“You going to turn me in?” Richard asked.
“Not if you give me one.”
Richard smiled. “Black cherry, mango, or lime?”
“Mango,” I replied, and he tossed me a can. I swallowed a mouthful of the sweet, fizzy soda, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes. My belly was full, the ocean breeze cooled my warm skin, and the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves mixed with the din of screaming children lulled me to the edge of sleep.
Then Richard said, “Who’s that chatting up MJ?” and I startled awake.
Chapter 3
I opened my eyes and spotted Tim craning his neck for a better view. “I don’t know who MJ’s talking to. I’ve never seen him before.”
I stood up so I, too, could get an unobstructed view then quickly sat down again. “That’s Mr. Guardia. He was MJ’s math teacher last year.”
Richard turned his attention back to his phone, but Tim’s gaze remained fixed on MJ and Mr. Guardia, who were standing shoulder to shoulder in waist-deep surf. “If my math teacher looked like that, I might not have dropped calculus.”
“Down boy,” Richard said without looking up.
“You think he’s single?” Tim asked.
“What does it matter?” Richard replied. “You’re not.” Then he waggled his silver banded finger at Tim, who was sporting an identical ring on his left hand.
“Not for me, you dolt, for Grace.”
I choked on my seltzer. “Me?” I croaked.
“Yes, you,” Tim said. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“Need I remind you until recently I was a happily married woman?”
