little uncertain on this part, but I was actually about to get a burp from him during his last feeding without my friend’s assistance. Oliver squawks but calms down a bit as I gently start to pat his back.
When I glance over, I see Lena watching my every move.
“Fish had to give me a crash course in fatherhood,” I tell her, as I rest my nose against his soft baby head.
“I thought he didn’t have any kids,” she says.
“He doesn’t, but he’s the oldest of eight kids,” I tell her. “When he was a teenager, he was helping his parents with all his younger siblings, including the newborns. There are like twelve years between him and the youngest Fisher kid. For the last few years, he was always talking about them, so when Mrs. Reynolds showed up yesterday with my son, I called him for help.”
“He’s a good friend.”
I glance her way before replying, “He is. The best. But don’t tell him I told you that. It’ll go to his head, and that’ll be all he talks about for weeks.” I offer her a small grin just as Oliver lets a small belch fly. With a kiss to the crown of his head, I shift him back into the crook of my arm to finish his bottle.
After a few minutes of quiet, Lena finally asks, “So why am I here, Mack? What do you need help with?”
Just the sound of her saying my name, my first name—not my last name as everyone has become accustomed to calling me—takes me right back to a time I’ve tried to forget. A time where it was just us against the world, usually me covered in grease and her sitting on a stool, camera in hand as she snapped photo after photo of whatever sparked her interest.
Knowing I just need to get this out, I angle my body toward her, maintain eye contact, and tell her exactly why she’s here. “I need your help raising Oliver. At least for a little while.”
She seems stunned. So stunned, in fact, she doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Seconds that feel like long minutes, actually, but in reality, aren’t that long. “I can’t,Mack. I can’t stay here and raise your son. I have a life and a job in Kansas,” she replies, flabbergasted by my request.
I expected this, really. I mean, as much as I’d love for Lena to jump at the opportunity to practically move here and help me raise my son, I knew it wasn’t likely. So I have an offer prepared. “What about for a short term? Like two months?”
She just gapes at me, as if I’ve lost my mind. “You’re serious?” she asks, as she gets up from the couch and starts to pace the room. “What about Fish?”
“He’s getting ready to head home for a week. His grandpa passed away, so he’s off to Oklahoma to bury him.”
She walks back and forth, from the front door to the hallway and then back again. “What about…someone else?”
“There is no one else, Lean.” My voice drops as I glance down at my son. “No one I trust anyway. Not with something this big.” When I glance back up, she’s standing directly in front of me, her eyes as wide as hubcaps. “You know this business. No one understands this commitment like you do. I need someone I trust to help me with Oliver. At least for a little while.”
“Two months?” Her question is barely above a whisper.
“That’s negotiable, but I’d love your help as long as I can get it. We’re off this weekend from racing, but I have to go to Fresno on Friday for Renee’s memorial service. There are four more races in the upcoming weeks, and I’m not sure how it’s going to work with having Oliver at the racetrack with me. There’s so much to figure out, and I just don’t know what to do.”
Just then, Oliver spits out the bottle and curls up in my arm. He fits so snuggly there, as if my arms were always meant to hold him. Recalling what Fish said about burping, even when he falls asleep, I move him back to my shoulder and tap his back.
Lena returns to the couch, this time sitting a lot closer to me than before. She watches as I burp Oliver, her brain spinning a million miles a second. It amazes me how easy it is to read her, the way I was able to years ago.