Page 12 of Maple Mountain
“How could she shirk her duty like that?”Salem demanded.
“Can’t really blame her, can you?”Mr.Powell asked.“To not even want kids and then all of a sudden be the guardian of an eleven-year-old girl?That would throw anyone for a loop.”
“Yes, I can blame her.You didn’t see that girl run after the car,” I said.“You don’t do that to a kid.You just don’t.”
“It’s shit for Lenni.Losing her mom.And then Nancy.Now she’s stuck with me.Poor kid.”Archer shook his head in defeat.
“You can’t feel sorry for her,” I warned.“I mean, you can.But don’t let her know that.She’ll just think you’re someone else who doesn’t want her.”
Archer looked at me.“And how do you know that?”
“Wyn’s a nanny,” Hadley said.
“And she got her bachelor’s in psychology with an emphasis on childhood development,” Poet informed him.
I rolled my eyes.“I’m also a girl.And I’ve actually been an eleven-year-old girl.”
“Oh yeah.”Poet nodded.“That too.”
“Right, a nanny,” Archer said as he looked at Poet.“You told me.”
“Why would she tell you that?”I asked in confusion.“I mean, how did that even come up in conversation?”
Poet waved her hand.“Just me talking about you over dinner one night.”
“You guys haven’t met before now, have you?”Muddy asked.
I shook my head.“Nope.”
“But I sent Wyn and Poet photos,” Salem announced.“Of the Rudolph Lancaster photoshoot.”
Archer looked at me.“So, you knew who I was?When Nancy showed up needing to see me?”
I nodded.
The photo hadn’t done him justice.His brown eyes were liquid maple syrup, and his smile was boyishly crooked, and his mustache?—
“Funny story,” Salem said.“Wyn’s currently between jobs.She just quit her last gig.”
“Salem,” I warned.
“What?”she demanded.“It’s true.Not your fault your boss was a creeper.”
I closed my eyes and took a breath.
“A creeper?”Archer asked.
I opened my eyes and looked at him.“I handled it.And took Mildred as my severance.”
“This isperfect,” Hadley said.
“What is?”I asked.
“You need a job,” Hadley said.“And Archer needs help.Don’t you, Archer?”
“Yeah, I do.”Archer turned toward me.“Lenni likes you.She likes your dog.And you’ve already braided her hair.”
“Fishtail,” I corrected.
