CHAPTER SIX: Jackson
I put my hand on the doorknob and paused to take a deep breath. Be nice, I heard Gail say in my head. Make a good first impression. Don’t scare her off. You know how obnoxious you can be sometimes. Amy Lynne is a nice girl. Be nice to her. Don’t be your usual jerky self.
Jerky self?
Seriously?
Only Gail could call me that and get away with it.
It was amazing how well perfect strangers got to know one another when they spent time together in a hospital room every day for six months. Gail helped save my daughter’s life, and now she was trying to save mine.
I opened the door and mustered a smile to greet Gail’s friend, Amy Lynne something or other. Standing before me was a pretty girl with long black curls and a frightened look in her eyes.
She was tall for a girl, and curvy in all the right places.
She was wearing too many clothes for me to take better stock of her body, but she was round at the hips and full at the breasts, and she made the wolf in me stand up and take notice.
Shit, listen to me.
I even thought like a freakin’ writer.
Let me back up and try again.
The girl standing in my doorway was young and very attractive, and if I had been meeting her under different circumstances, I probably would have turned on what was left of my charm and tried to get her into my bed.
But this wasn’t a singles bar and I wasn’t Ryan Gosling.
This wasn’t a romance novel and I sure as hell wasn’t Nicholas Sparks.
And she wasn’t some girl looking to be taken in and fucked up and fucked over by the likes of me.
This was my house and she was here to interview for a job taking care of my daughter. I mentally screwed the lid down tight on my testosterone jar and invited her to come inside.
“You must be Amy Lynne. Jackson Ritter,” I said, stepping aside to let her enter the foyer. I held out my hand and smiled. “Call me Jackson.”
“Amy Lynne Beck,” she said, giving my hand a limp shake. “Call me Amy or Amy Lynne or whatever.”
She was smiling, but I could tell by her eyes that she was a bundle of nerves. Gail hadn’t told me much about her background other than that she was young, divorced, and struggling to get by.
“Lizzie is asleep in my office, but we can talk in the den.”
I led her into the den and invited her to sit on the sofa while I took the chair across from her. I gave her a moment to get settled and then cleared my throat and tried to remember how to have an adult conversation.
“So, Amy Lynne, tell me a little bit about yourself,” I said, doing my best to be a pleasant host.
“Well, um, I’m twenty-three, divorced. I work at Bud’s Convenience Store on 12th. I’m taking online classes to become a bookkeeper…”
“Ah, so you’re good with numbers?”
She gave me a blank look. “Good with numbers?”
“You’re studying to become a bookkeeper,” I said. “I assume that means you’re good with numbers.”
“Oh, no, not really. I suck at math.” Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away. I could tell she was mentally kicking herself. I resisted the urge to smile.
“So, exactly why are you taking bookkeeping if you suck at math?”
“Because the online classes are offered by the state and they say they will help me get a job once I complete the curriculum,” she said, her pretty forehead furrowing. “And they don’t offer physical therapy classes, so, yeah.”
“Ah, so you don’t want to be a bookkeeper. You want to be a physical therapist.” I gave her a silly look. “Now it all makes sense.”
She blinked at me a couple of times, and then her lips curled into a smile. She seemed to relax a bit. Her neck came out of her shoulders and the edge left her eyes.
She said, “I went to school for two years to become a physical therapist. Then I met my ex-husband and my plans just sort of fell to the wayside.”
I noticed her mood darken at the mention of her ex. I wanted to dig for more dirt, perhaps compare shitty spouse stories, but I thought I’d better let it go for now. I switched gears.
“Well, I appreciate you coming over to interview for the position,” I said, turning to business and away from personal issues. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve already talked to a number of candidates a service sent over and none of them were very impressive. I’m probably overprotective when it comes to Lizzie, but I have to make sure the person I choose to look after her will treat her with the same level of love and care that I do.”
“You can never be too protective of your kids,” she said quietly. “Especially little girls. There are so many heartless people in the world.”
I took that as a reference to the fact that the world was full of little boys who would someday grow up to be big men who could either make a woman’s dreams come true or be the stuff of their nightmares. Again, I didn’t dig. Her issues were hers, my issues were mine. So long as her issues didn’t affect my daughter, I had no right to pry. Besides, everybody has issues. The difference between us is how we deal with them. When it comes to women, men can be aggressors or protectors, or sometimes both. Either way we don’t want to hear about a woman’s problems. We just want to solve them and get laid for our efforts. Fuck, I was writing stories in my mind again. I cleared my throat and moved on.
I said, “You should know that the only reason I’m talking to you is because Gail says you hung the moon.” That made her smile modestly. “She said she would trust you with her own kids, and Gail is as protective of Lizzie as I am, so I take that as the ultimate recommendation.”
“Oh, I love kids,” she said, trying to hold the smile. I could tell she was nervous. Her hands were in her lap and she kept wringing her fingers together. I’d intimidated her enough.
“That’s good to know,” I said. “Do you have any experience as a nanny at all?”
“Well, not formally,” she said. “But I was kind of the neighborhood babysitter growing up. And sometimes I watch the kids for the single moms who live in my building. I love kids. I really do. I’ve always wanted kids of my own, so…”
I’d sweated her enough. If Gail believed she could do the job, that was good enough for me. I rubbed my hands together and said, “So, let me tell you about my daughter.” Just the thought of Lizzie always brought a smile to my face. Maybe soon, it would do the same for her.
“She just turned two. She’s very smart, very inquisitive, very chatty in her own little language. She loves Barney and baby dolls and dancing while standing on daddy’s toes.”
I had to pause to brush a tear from my eye.
“She sounds wonderful,” she said with a comforting look.
“She is,” I said. “She is the most wonderful child on earth. She is also wonderfully-active, and I have a deadline approaching for my next book, which is why you’re here.”
“I see,” she said. I noticed her looking around the room. Her eyes quickly went over the rustic wood paneling and expensive artwork by artists with names I couldn’t pronounce. Bethany bought them because she thought they were cool. If push came to shove, they would be the first things I put up for auction to raise money. I hated the damn things.
“I don’t see any pictures of your daughter,” she said, letting her eyes settle on me with a frown.
I looked around the room. She was right. There was not a single framed picture of my daughter. In fact, there were no personal photos at all. None in the den, none in my office, and none in my bedroom.
There had once been lots of pictures of Bethany and me at various stages of our relationship. I had thrown them in the trash long ago, expensive frames and all.
“Um, that’s odd,” I said, pretending not to have noticed before. “I guess the cleaning lady took them out to be dusted.”
I realized how stupid that sounded the minute I said it.
So did Amy Lynne, but she didn’t say anything.
What kind of shitty father didn’t have photos of his baby daughter all over the house?
A shitty father like me, that was who.
She said, “So, Gail mentioned that this would be full time, with room and board?”
I cleared my throat and gave her a nod. “Yes. It would be best if you moved in here. You’d have your own bedroom suite with a walk-in closet and private bath. And you’d have full run of the house. You would just help yourself to anything you wanted to eat or drink. Think of it as your home. The only rule I have is no alcohol in the house of any kind. Ever.”
“Oh, I don’t drink,” she said with a smile. “And I don’t eat much. Unless it’s chocolate. I could eat my weight in chocolate.”
She smiled, and it made me feel all warm inside.
What a wonderfully odd feeling.
“Chocolate is my and Lizzie’s weakness, too,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to make sure we keep the candy drawer well-stocked, if you take the job.”