Blueprints: A Novel (27 page)

“Charlie.”

She blinked, laughed. “Sorry. I have this fixation on Chip—oh God.” She felt her cheeks heat. “That so did not come out right. Chip is habit, okay?”

“Change it,” he said, but she caught the edge of a smile on his cheek as he strode off with his son.

*   *   *

Jamie’s confidence lasted until Tad was in bed and she was in the kitchen filling out daycare papers, at which point she took an objective look at what she was doing. In the panic of June’s leaving and the nonexistence of replacements, she had rushed to the daycare option. Now she wondered whether she had been rash, whether Tad would get the same kind of care outside the home, whether the social experience of daycare would compensate for the lack of one-on-one attention a nanny could give.

She might have called to ask Caroline’s opinion. But Caroline thought she should hire another architect and step back from the everyday grind, and Jamie wasn’t ready to do that. It would take her out of the competition.

She might have called to ask Brad’s opinion. But he had made it clear that he wouldn’t have one. Besides, she wanted to put some distance between them. When she focused on him, she was angry. Their relationship had gone off the rails, and if he didn’t see that—if he didn’t care enough to come to her to discuss it—if he couldn’t finally step up—if he was so
spineless
that he couldn’t act, they were done.

That left Chip. But there was no need to call. She knew where he stood on the daycare issue, and she trusted his judgment. He taught kids. He would know what was best. Besides, she couldn’t keep running to him every time something went wrong. She had to behave like a grown-up.

*   *   *

Her resolve lasted into Tuesday, when she dropped Tad at the center. It remained when one of the teachers called to say that he had begun crying inconsolably when asked to nap without Moose, prompting a truncated client meeting so that she could run home, get the stuffed animal, and drop it off. When she picked him up at the end of the day and smelled a nasty diaper, she reasoned that he might have done it seconds before climbing into the car rather than hours before, and when, the next morning, he didn’t want to leave the house, much less leave the car when they reached the center, she told herself it was the strangeness of it all.

When she went for pickup late that afternoon and read the note that accompanied him, though, she lost it.

Head lice.

Two days into daycare, and Tad had been exposed to
head lice.
All parents were being advised to take precautionary measures, and while the note outlined what those would be, Jamie was too horrified to take them in. Stomach churning, she picked up the phone and punched in a number she now knew by heart.

“Guess who,” she said the instant she heard Chip’s voice. “I swore I wasn’t going to keep calling you, but the idea of lice is freaking me out.” She heard crying in the background. “Are you treating Buddy?”

“Against his wishes.” His voice angled away. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we go back out.” He sounded frustrated. Perversely, that made her feel better. Returning to Jamie, he said, “This isn’t the first time a note’s come home, so I have shampoo enough for ten. I’m at 403 Beech. Feel free to come.” As the crying grew, he angled away again. “Hold still and it
won’t
get in your eyes.” Then he was back. “Gotta go.” He clicked off.

*   *   *

Beech was a rangy street that wove through meadows on the west edge of town. There was none of the dense greenery of Caroline’s neighborhood or the sleekness of Jamie’s condo, just a modest mix of houses, the spread of a tall tree on each acre, and lots of grass. Other than an occasional truck, the driveways held family cars.

Chip’s home was a bungalow in the Craftsman style, shingled in weathered gray with black trim. A single wide dormer broke through the front roof above a generous overhanging eave. Beneath it was a white-slatted front porch braced by columns anchored in stone. The windows were multipaned above, single-paned below. The front door was wood and wide open.

Carrying Tad for the sake of expediency, Jamie climbed the steps and rapped on the jamb. “Hello?” she called and, shading her eyes, peered through the screen.

Buddy came running, wearing only shorts and a headful of damp, spiky hair. When he struggled with the door handle, she helped him out, then had to smile.

“Hey, Buddy. Your hair looks fabulous.” But he was already running in the direction from which he had come, clearly having been sent to do a particular job.

“Back here,” Chip called from what turned out to be the kitchen. She heard the clang of pots and the slap of a cabinet door. When she rounded the corner, he was just straightening. A dish towel draped his shoulder; overly casual hands hooked his hips.

“Were you seriously cleaning up?” she teased.

With a self-deprecating snort, he lobbed the dish towel onto the counter. “The place can be a sty. I don’t put anything away that I may use again within a week.” He reached for Tad and told Jamie, “There are different kinds of shampoo. I find the wet stuff easier to use. You massage it into the scalp for three minutes and rinse it off. No hair wash for twenty-four hours after that. You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Here goes Treatment Number Two.” He had efficiently removed Tad’s T-shirt and laid him on the counter with his head over the sink before the boy could complain.

Jamie held his ankle to let him know she was there. “I could have picked up the shampoo at CVS myself, but the offer of moral support was too good to pass up.” Still, she felt guilty. “Can I do that washing?”

“Do you seriously want to?”

“Uh, no.”

He laughed. “Relax, then. I’m good. Close the eyes, Taddy.”

When Tad scrunched up his face, Jamie braced for a scream. But he was simply … closing his eyes. He didn’t even start crying when Chip started to scrub, not that he cried when Jamie washed his hair, but this wasn’t your normal rubber-ducky-in-the-bathtub scene. Granted, his little body was stiff, but he clearly recognized authority.

Show. Authority.

It was a lesson for Jamie, but for another time. For now, she was very happy to cede authority to Chip. “I couldn’t get myself to check his scalp,” she confessed, grossed out even now by the thought. “Did you find anything on Buddy?”

“No, but a little shampoo doesn’t hurt.” He was cradling Tad’s head with one large hand while he scrubbed with the other. “Be grateful these guys have short hair. Long hair sucks.”

“Long hair
sucks,
” came an echo from his other side.

Chip drew in an exaggerated breath. “I did not use that word the right way, Buddy. What do we suck?”

“A juice box.”

“But what goes in the juice box?”

“A
straw.
”

“Correct. What else do we suck?” When no answer came, he gave a hint. “What does Nana bring?”

“Lollies.”

“Bingo.”

“Do you see your parents often?” Jamie asked as she watched him work. If he was at all freaked out at possibly touching nits, he didn’t show it. His fingers moved with efficiency and grace.

“They have a place in Vermont for summers, so we’re back and forth. Winters, Buddy and I fly south when we can.”

Jamie thought of Caroline, who lived five minutes away, and suddenly it seemed ludicrous that they weren’t seeing each other all the time, like at least every few days. Caroline would keep lollipops in the house for Tad. She would take him to the garage and help him make something from scraps of wood. She would be a good grandmother, once she accepted the role,
if
she accepted the role. She might have easily done it if a grandchild had come the normal way, but now, especially after the
Gut It!
fiasco?

Yes, now,
Jamie thought with sudden anger. Brad wanted children to come at a more convenient time.
That is not how it works, Brad. Get with the program, for God’s sake!

“You there?” Chip asked quietly.

She blinked, smiled. “Sorry. I was just feeling a wave of envy.” When he shot her a curious look, she explained, “For what you have with your parents.” She wanted to tell him what was going on with Caroline, but he already knew that she was a basket case of a mother and didn’t particularly want him to think she was also a dysfunctional daughter. So she asked, “What’s it like traveling with a child?”

He studied her a minute longer, as if he knew she was holding back and wanted to know why. Then he simply shrugged. “Better now that I can slap on headphones and a video. When he was little, I used to chat it up with flight attendants—you know, single dad, not good at this, desperate for help, hint hint.”

Jamie tried not to laugh. “Did it work?”

“Every time,” he said. “When they had breaks, they’d walk him up and down the aisles. The ones my age thought it might translate into a relationship, and the moms and grandmoms just couldn’t resist a cute child and a helpless dad.”

A
gorgeous
dad, Jamie amended. Between that dark hair and shadowed jaw, and a T-shirt that stretched over an impressive back and pulled up enough to show just a sliver of bare skin when he reached for the sprayer, he was totally sexy.

“You’re shameless,” she decided.

“When necessary,” he admitted. His eyes met hers in a way that gave her a jolt. She could keep telling herself that she was imagining things, that Checker Chip was way too cool to be interested in her, but she had felt it before, and the look in his eyes now revived it. For a minute she couldn’t look away.

Finally, he hitched his chin toward a clean towel lying on the counter. Refocusing, she passed it over. “Are you also washing the bedding and stuff?” The instructions from the center were extensive, and as disgusting as the thought of lice remained, it was safer than dwelling on an attraction she didn’t know how to handle.

“I probably should, but Buddy wasn’t itching, so I’m not too worried.” He sat Tad up and began drying his hair. “Almost done, bud,” he said, then, in answer to Jamie, “I’ll wash what he brings to the center and do pillowcases, but that’s it. You can go nuts with some of this stuff. I have to obey certain rules at school, but here I follow only one.”

“Which is?”

“Common sense. And moderation.”

“That’s two.”

“They’re actually the same. Think about it.” He reached for a small metal tool and held it up, like evidence at a trial. “Lice comb. For removing nits that are stuck on the hair shaft. Their shafts look pretty clean—” He paused for a split second, smirked into a wry little headshake, and went on. “It’s probably overkill with our guys, but since they both have short hair, it’s easy enough to do.” He arched her a questioning brow.

She waved a hand. “Do it. Please.” But he was right about common sense and moderation. For a minute she was silent, watching him start with the comb at Tad’s nape. The child’s body seemed frozen, only his eyes moving sideways toward Buddy, who stood in the middle of the kitchen holding a very wrinkled booklet and looking at Jamie.

“Whatcha got?” she asked and, crouching down, took the booklet. It was worn but intact. She didn’t have to look far to see that it held instructions. “Whoa. Do you have wood blocks?
Real
wood blocks? I mean, authentic,
old-fashioned
wood blocks?”

“They’re my daddy’s,” Buddy confirmed. “He said you could make me a building.”

“Buddy—” Chip scolded, but Jamie spoke over his protest.

“So cool! I would
love
to make you a building. I’m a good builder.” She ignored a snicker from Chip, but couldn’t quite ignore Tad whimpering her name. “I’m right here, sweetie.”

“Why does he call you that?” Buddy asked.

“Mamie? Because it’s close to Jamie, which is my name.” She considered. “Halfway between Mommy and Jamie, maybe?” But the whimper was a warning. “Can we do blocks when your dad finishes Tad’s hair?”

“How many minutes?” The boy held up three fingers. “This many?”

“That’s a good guess. You know your time. Like your dad knows his rules.”

“Speaking of which,” Chip said when she returned to the sink, “I’ll contradict myself. What is
not
common sense is that if your child gets lice it has nothing to do with hygiene. Lice prefer clean heads.”

She chuffed. “Not reassuring, but good to know.” Leaning back against the counter, she looked around. “I like your house.”

He shot her a skeptical glance. “It isn’t your usual style. I’ve seen the homes you build. This one’s old.”

“So’s my mom’s house, but I love going there.” She actually missed it—tight spaces, vintage fixtures, and all. Her condo was starting to look different to her. Sleek and clean was just fine until you couldn’t keep it sleek and clean, at which point it just didn’t feel right. “When was this built?”

“Thirty-eight years ago. My parents built it when my oldest sister was born. It was a stretch. Dad didn’t earn a hell of a lot—”

“Bad word!” shouted Buddy.

“You are right,” Chip said quickly. “Daddy forgot. Thank you, Bud.” Under his breath, he murmured, “My mouth is a problem.”

Jamie didn’t think it was. His lips were lean, strong, masculine.

“He managed the hardware store in town and went out on a limb for this, but it served us well. They raised three kids here. They’d have made a bundle on it if they’d sold it on the open market instead of giving it to me.”

“But they must have done okay if they have two homes now.” When he was quiet, looking oddly guilty, a light went off. “Ah. You bought them those.”

“It was the least I could do. Rink time at six in the morning, then a full day of work? My mom was a nurse. She did the night shift three days a week so she could be home while Dad was at the store. They’d be juggling my practices while one was coming and the other going.” He set down the comb. “Done.” He put Tad on the floor. “Want to take Tad to the backyard, Buddy?”

“Mamie promised me blocks.”

“She may not—”

“Absolutely,” Jamie cut him off “Where’s the best place?”

“Are you sure?”