trash and head to the shop. I fire off another text to Lena on the way, and when she replies they’re both getting ready for a nap, I can’t help but smile. I want to tell her to just crash in my bed, since it’s right next to the bassinet, but opt against it. It’s bad enough I now smell her everywhere I go in the house, but her scent on my pillow?
I’m not sure my suddenly booming libido can handle it.
Chapter Five
Lena
It’s been just over a week of adjustments, trials, small failures, and celebrations.
We attended Renee’s memorial service last Friday, which from my standpoint, was a bit awkward. Everyone was looking at me, wondering who I was. Honestly, I didn’t even want to go, but Mack insisted he felt better with me being there. Emily, Renee’s mom, introduced me as her grandson’s caretaker, and no one disputed it. It was weird, listening to stories about Renee, from her childhood friends to those she knew as an adult. The one thing most comments had in common was Oliver and how Renee couldn’t wait to be a mother.
After the service, we went to a luncheon sponsored by Emily’s church. I felt a little more comfortable, but still tried to keep to myself, taking Oliver and changing his diaper or feeding him, when needed. Mack was even more stressed than I was. Everyone assumed they had been together, as in a couple, before she passed. He never really disputed it, and I guess I understand why. I mean, who wants to hear the deceased had a few random hookups with her baby daddy and never told him about the child they created.
Oh, and another thing. The test results confirmed Mack as the dad, so he is officially Oliver’s sole parent.
There was no will for Renee. I imagine not many twenty-six-year-olds have them, so when it came down to it, Emily decided to sell everything she could and leave the money to Oliver. There won’t be much, but there is a little something left for him.
I also know Mack met with the funeral director before the service and paid the entire bill. Emily had arranged a payment plan to pay for the expenses, but Mack, being the true good-hearted man he is, couldn’t bear to see Emily pay for it. She has her own struggles with medical bills, and the last thing she needs to worry about is paying for her daughter’s memorial costs.
Before we left Fresno, Mack and Emily also made arrangements regarding Oliver. She’s the only grandparent the baby will have, and the last thing Mack wanted was to cut Emily from his life. She cried, of course, and thanked him for thinking of her. They vowed to get together for a visit during Mack’s next weekend break from racing.
All in all, it had been a good trip, and now, we’re preparing for another.
Race weekend.
It’s a beautiful sunny Friday afternoon as we head to the airport. The teams left yesterday morning to make the thirty-plus hour drive to Ohio. Mack and the other team driver usually fly out with Colton, using his private jet. Mack had a meeting with his team owner earlier in the week and told him about his concerns traveling with such a young baby. Colton invited Oliver and me to fly with them to any of the races, as his own family often goes on trips with him.
“I’ve been thinking,” Mack says, as he steers his truck toward the airport.
“About?” I ask through my yawn. It was another early morning for Mr. Oliver today, and I’m starting to feel it now.
“About the races that are closer. I think I want to lease a motorhome,” he says, as he turns into the lot for private flights. “There’s a handful, including one coming up in Portland and another in Long Beach. This way, we have our own place to stay with Oliver without having to go back to the hotel all the time.”
I feel a deep sadness sweep in, mostly because I’ve already checked the schedule. The Long Beach race is right after I’ve completed my six-week stay in California and will be home in Brenton. Someone else, another woman most likely, will be with them by that point, and that thought causes striking grief.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling into a parking spot.
“Yeah, fine,” I quickly reassure, pasting on a too-bright grin. He doesn’t seem to really buy it, but doesn’t call me out on my lie, either. “It