This isn’t over.
Will he come back?
Do I want him to?
Channing could help Geo through his shifts. But any help from him might do more harm than good. I can only imagine the bad habits he’d teach Geo. Sneaking out of the house, running through the woods at all hours–Channing seemed to think this was all within the realm of normal behavior. Geo needs someone to teach him how to shift responsibly, not get in trouble. Channing wouldn’t be a good influence.
And when it gets too hard, I’m sure he’ll just bail. He’s not the type to handle responsibility. I don’t want Geo to get attached to him and then have his heart broken. Or worse, to see him as a role model and follow him into something reckless or dangerous.
I grip a pen so hard it cracks and spatters ink against my blouse. Luckily, I can adjust my computer, so my camera only shows my face, not my stained clothes. When my meeting ends, I change and brush my hair. Not for any reason. I’m definitely not thinking about having Channing in my house again.
Lord, it’s been way too long since Geoffrey died. I should’ve gotten myself out there and dated. Maybe I’d have met someone by now. Then I wouldn’t be so enervated over my dead husband’s much younger brother showing up. What’s wrong with me?
I stare in the mirror. I don’t recognize the Julia looking back at me. Her cheeks are flushed like she’s been day drinking. She looks half-wild.
More proof that Channing is a bad influence. Fifteen minutes in his presence affected me far more than it should have.
He said he wanted to help. To fulfill his promise to his brother.
How typical and absurd for Channing to show up, half-dressed, and pretend he’s going to be Mr. Responsible. How dare he look so much like Geoffrey and Geo, the two people I love the most. How dare he look so damn hot?
Or maybe I’m just mad at myself for being attracted to him. I mean, that’s just… crazy. I must be missing Geoffrey, and Channing is the closest thing I’ve seen to him.
But he’s ten years younger than I am!
When my morning meetings end, I take my aggression out on a badly-written contract, ripping it to shreds with comments, clacking at my computer with enough force to break the keys. Not even my mid-morning yoga break calms my nerves.
Geo comes home in the middle of one of my afternoon meetings. By the time I can check on him, he’s ensconced in his room, headphones on, doing his homework.
I’ve been so distracted, I forgot to plan dinner or call Geo’s current school to get his transcript sent to the new private school he’ll be attending, thanks to my boss. I blame Channing for this, too. A glance out the front windows shows an empty cul-de-sac.
My last meeting of the day is with my boss, Mr. van den Berg. A year ago, his main law firm hired me for some contract work. He was so pleased with my work, he created a full-time position for me. It pays well and works around my single mom schedule. It's mostly boring business and real estate contracts. Rich people tend to have all sorts of businesses and moving parts to hide their assets. And Mr. van den Berg is very, very rich.
At sixty-five, my boss is fit and tanned from his golf addiction, with a kindly grandfather face and a beard that’s more white than gray. He joins the video conference a few minutes late, and the screen gives me a view of his grand mahogany desk and crystal decanter filled with the world’s most expensive scotch. He raises his half-filled glass in a toast, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Hello, Mr. van den Berg. I hope I’m not interrupting something important,” I joke because we had this meeting scheduled. It’s no secret he has a standing four o’clock date with a glass of whisky.
“Not at all, not at all. You’ll forgive me for my little indulgence.” He sips his drink.
“Of course. Honestly, I need one of those.” As soon as my work day is over, I’ll pour myself a glass of wine.
My boss looks concerned. “Long day, Ms. Armstrong?”
“No, work is going well. I wish the rest of my life were as manageable.”
“Ah.” Mr. van den Berg sets down his glass with a clink. “I hope Geoffrey Jr. isn’t giving you trouble. He is of that age.”
“Yes, he is.” I smile weakly.
“He’s a good kid. Growing into a fine young man. I hope I don’t overstep when I say I have a soft spot for you two.”
“You’ve been more than generous.” With my boss’s help, I’m getting Geo into an exclusive private school, Woodman Prep. Tuition’s expensive, but my new generous salary will cover it. More importantly, Mr. van den Berg’s referral ensures Geo has a place. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
He waves a hand. “It was my pleasure. You’ve done a fine job as a mother, but a growing boy needs a good example. A challenge, more responsibility. A robust environment. He’ll get all that at Woodman.”
“You went there as a boy, correct?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, the facilities are modernized. All new computers, tablets, and sports facilities.”
It actually wasn’t the STEM technology stuff that attracted me to Woodman. He gets plenty of that at his current school. It was the wide open campus and outdoor learning activities. “Geo is excited about the mountain biking class.”
“Ah yes, that’s what he needs, lots of exercise. Did the school receive my referral?”
“Yes, and we’re so grateful–”
He waves off my gratitude. “Then everything’s settled.”
I nod, even though everything’s not settled. I still have to organize the first payment and the transfer of Geo’s transcript. It’s all on my to do list.
“He’s a fine boy,” Mr. van den Berg says. “His father would be proud.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
The growl of an engine outside makes my head turn. My home office is in the unused third bedroom, facing the cul-de-sac. There’s a bright red pickup truck rolling up to the house, towing an open trailer with a familiar-looking motorcycle.
I can't stop my frown.
“Everything all right?”
“Excuse me, Mr. van den Berg. Someone just pulled up to the house.” The red truck pulls into my driveway, blocking my car.
“Uninvited company?”
“Something like that.” I crane my neck. I can’t see who jumped out of the red truck and slammed the door, but I can guess. “Geo’s uncle is back in town.”
“Uncle?” Mr. van den Berg's bushy brows knit together. “I didn’t know he had an uncle.”
“On his father’s side. We haven't seen him in a few years.”
“I see. Well, best not keep him waiting too long. Shall we?”
I get to work, focusing on running down the list of things my boss needs to review and making notes of his critiques and preferences. We end a few minutes early.
“I’ll compile this and send over the documents for you to sign,” I say.
“No rush. I won’t check my email until tomorrow. Go see your guest.”
“Thank you, sir.” I log off, feeling guilty. Mr. van den Berg is so nice. I type up a quick draft of my notes anyway and schedule it to leave my inbox first thing in the morning. Then I stand and square my shoulders.