garbage day. I need to bring the bin back.
I frown. I can’t recall seeing it when I drove in. But I took it to the curb this morning before I went to the hospital.
What I had passed driving into the garage was Simon’s Mercedes. His car was parked there all night. How many of the neighbors noticed?
Do I have to ask? All of them.
Did he bring the bin in?
I can count on one hand the number of times he’s done that. A small chore, but one he had to be home to do.
I even did the lawn care for the last couple of years until I had to throw in the towel and hire a service. Keeping the girls contained so I could ride around on the John Deere was too big of a challenge. And Simon was always working. Now they’re old enough to play while I mow, but I keep the lawn service because I can. The same goes for snow removal and I even hired a maid service for once a month. Because if I did all of that shit, I’d be reminded that the dream house Simon and I purchased is way too damn big for a single mom.
I walk to the garage door opening and peer out. There it is. The bin. Put back in its place.
Sucking in a breath, I blow it back out. It’s nothing. One two-minute chore doesn’t mean he’s a changed man. And if he has changed, it doesn’t mean he wants me back.
With that thought, I spin on my heel and go inside. The girls’ faint laughter filters through the house. Closing my eyes, I soak it in. After a day spent by Mom’s bed, I need this. I need to come home and just have it all be dealt with.
I see Simon out on the patio through the blinds of the French doors next to the kitchen. The girls are frolicking in the sprinklers. The smell of steaks grilling hits me and my stomach rumbles. The cafeteria sandwich I ate for lunch was hours ago.
I step outside and get my first look at Simon. My mouth drops open. He has athletic shoes on—and it isn’t just for his morning run. Not only that, but he’s wearing navy shorts and a striped button-up linen shirt. Casual Simon hasn’t made an appearance for years.
He looks over his shoulder and lifts his chin. “Hey, how’s your mom?”
“Janie Wagner will live to see another day, if only so I can kill her for not going to the doctor sooner.” I flop into a lawn chair. The girls squeal and wave at me as they take turns on a Slip ’N Slide.
We don’t have a Slip ’N Slide.
“Did you go to the store?” Does he even remember where they are? His personal assistant sees to all his meals.
“Yeah, wow, they really redid Target. So your mom didn’t go to the doctor? But I thought you knew she had pneumonia?”
“She wasn’t getting better despite being on meds and ignored it. They’ve switched her antibiotic and have her on breathing treatments. The head issue wasn’t serious, thank God.”
“She’ll pull through okay?”
“They’re going to keep her another day or two to make sure it’s all working, then they’ll cut her loose. But she’ll be in a regular room so the girls can go see her. I said we’d be by tomorrow. I’ll have to have a serious talk with them. When I go help Mom out after she’s released, she’s going to be so worn out. They can’t expect her to be an active grandma for a few weeks.”
“Leave them with me.” He shrugs. “I took the week off. Helena’s taking charge. I’ll get her to cover the evening calls and meetings too. Our London investors are pretty quiet in the summer.”
“Doesn’t Helena have a life?” And how much does Simon participate in it? I bite back the thought. I hate petty jealousy. Besides, he’s a single man. Eligible. I should concentrate on his declaration that he’s taking a week off, but it’s a case of I’ll believe it when I see it.
“I have no idea, but she doesn’t say anything.”
“Why would she? You’re the boss.” Ironically, I’m not too jealous to advocate for her. I know what working for Simon is like.
His expression darkens. “I’m not a bastard.”
“No, but you’re pretty oblivious to the personal lives of others.”
He waves the metal spatula around like a wand. “If she needs time off, she’ll say so.”
He can go