“Yeah, of course,” I said, injecting some enthusiasm into my voice. “You know I’m always there.”
She chuckled. “Everyone regrets it when they get these phone calls, if it makes you feel better.”
“Past me thought I’d have more energy at this point of the year.”
“May really is the worst. No one warns you about May before you have kids in school.”
“They don’t. I wonder why,” I mused.
She laughed quietly. “Is that a yes for Field Day?”
“Of course.”
“You are the best, thank you. I told our PE teacher we can always count on you to help.”
See, that was why I did it. Being needed, being someone people could count on, was such a good feeling. No doubt about it, I had a praise kink left untapped somewhere.
“I try.”
“Besides, even if you’d said no, I know how to wear you down.” It was said with a teasing lilt, but we both laughed because we knew the underlying threat was so frickin’ real.
For about thirty minutes, my phone was blissfully silent, and I finished cleaning in the guest room, then moved on to getting dinner into the Crock-Pot. There was no soccer practice that night, so Gavin would be home with the neighbor while I went to the shelter.
Paying a babysitter usually made any post-school hours I worked a fairly moot point.
After securing the lid so the roast and vegetables could cook—it would be done by the time I got home for a late dinner, and heat up well for the rest of the week—I pulled out my phone and sent Pops a text.
Me:You are in so much trouble.
Pops:I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me:Did you think the doctor’s office wouldn’t call me?
Pops:That’s a breach of confidentiality.
Me:If I wasn’t your medical power of attorney, yes, it would be. Don’t deflect.
Pops:Those doctors never tell me anything important. I saved myself some money.
Me:You are a stubborn old goat and I love you. Want to come over tomorrow for dinner?
Pops:Not tonight?
Me:I’m covering for Stuart tonight. G will be home with Mrs. Patterson.
Pops:Okay. See you tomorrow, bug.
I set my phone down and glanced at the clock. I had about two hours before I needed to head to the shelter.
The top of my to-do list was in Ness’s handwriting.
For the love of God, take a shower, dry shampoo can only do so much.
I smiled and decided to listen to my best friend.
An everything shower was a luxury I often skipped. Two rounds of shampoo. Hair mask. Face wash. Armpits and legs shaved. After thirty minutes, I hopped out of the shower feeling like a new woman, my skin pink and pruny from the hot water.
The mirror was steamed over, and I ran a hand through the condensation so I could see my reflection. I dropped the towel and turned to the side to study my profile.