Page 27 of Ice Darling
“Good for him,” I mutter.
“I’m saying that even though you were set up, hestayed.”
My breath hitches.
May gives me a thoughtful look. “I think, despite his best intentions, he’s interested in you too.”
Chapter Ten
Renthrow
I spend the next two days doing my best not to think about Cordelia Davenport.
It helps that things get busy at the office during the day, and at night, Gordie and I spend every hour before bedtime working on a “get well soon” card for Miss Truman.
When it’s time for her to fly out, I offer to drive Miss Truman to the airport. She initially hesitates, but I beg her to consider it for Gordie’s sake.
My daughter’s been with Miss Truman since she was old enough to talk, and I don’t want to rob her of the chance to say goodbye.
At the airport, the older woman accepts our card with thanks and descends on Gordie with lots of tearful kisses. The two share a long, tight hug.
“It’s okay, Miss Truman,” Gordie says, leaking a brave smile as her nanny sobs loudly. “I’ll grow up strong and healthy, and you will too.”
That seems to break the woman, and I helplessly offer her one of the Kleenex packets I keep in Gordie’s activity bag.
“Say bye, pumpkin.” I heft Gordie into my arms, and we both wave as Miss Truman blows us a kiss and disappears through security.
On the way back to town, I glance in the rearview mirror and find Gordie playing with the motorcycle keychain from Cordelia. She’s been messing around with that a lot lately, and every time I glimpse it, it reminds me of the woman who gave it to her.
It’s now been zero days since I’ve managed to forget Cordelia Davenport’s existence.
I seriously regret allowing anything of that woman’s into my house.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Yup,” Gordie chirps.
“You sure? You can always talk to me if you feel sad about Miss Truman leaving. And we can call her as much as you want.”
“Mom said the same thing,” she mumbles.
I stiffen. Gordie hasn’t mentioned her mom—or her mom’s absence—for a few weeks, and I was lulled into a false sense of security.
“Your mom loves you very much. She’s just…busy pursuing her dreams.”
“Yeah,” Gordie says, turning the bike around and around. Her intense focus on the key chain reminds me of how Chance flicks his fidget spinner when he gets nervous.
“Should we get some ice cream?” I ask hopefully.
“Yeah,” Gordie says though not with as much enthusiasm as she usually would when sugar is offered to her.
When we get back to town, I stop at an ice cream shop.
“Dad”—Gordie looks up at me from a cup of chocolate ice cream—“when can we go to the garage? I need to start my booklet.”
“I know, sweetie. I’ll ask Grandma to take you.” I wipe the corner of Gordie’s mouth with my thumb and then lick the ice cream off my finger.
“Grandma has to go back to the cruise ship.”
