“Carly, don’t look at Brad.”

“I’m going to be sick. Mr. McKinnon, I’m going to be sick right now.”

“No, you’re not.”

Though Matthew Finney made gagging noises that had the other kids screeching, Coop gritted his teeth and kept driving. Matt threatened to be sick twice a day unless he rode in the front seat. After five miserable days Coop had his number. But that did very little to soothe his nerves.

Keenan, who had waited all week for his turn in the front, swiveled in his seat to make monster faces at Matt. This incited a small riot of elbow jabs, howls, screaming giggles and shoves.

“Keenan, turn around!” Coop snapped. “You guys straighten up back there. Cut it out! If I have to stop this car . . .” He trailed off, shuddered. He’d sounded like his own mother. Now Coop was afraid he would be sick. “Okay, first stop. Matt, scram.”

Fifteen minutes later, his backseat thankfully empty, Coop pulled into the drive and rested his throbbing head on the steering wheel. “I need a drink.”

“We got lemonade,” Keenan told him.

“Great.” He reached over to unbuckle Keenan’s seat belt. All he needed was a pint of vodka to go with it.

“Can we go swimming again soon?”

The idea of taking a herd of screaming kids back to the community pool anytime within the next century had a stone lodging in Coop’s heart. “Ask your mother.”

Coop started to look in the backseat and realized he couldn’t face it. Earlier in the week he’d made that mistake, and discovered wads of chewing gum on the rug, cookie crumbs everywhere and a mysterious green substance smeared on the seat.

In his weakened state, even a candy wrapper was likely to tip the balance.

“Yoo-hoo!” Mrs. Finkleman stripped off her flowered garden gloves and headed across the lawn in a flowing tent dress and electric-blue sandals. “How was your swim, little man?”

“We had races, and Brad dunked Carly and made her cry even though Coop told him not to, and I can hold my breath under water for twelve seconds.”

“My goodness.” She laughed and ruffled Keenan’s hair. “You’ll be in the Olympics next.” Her shrewd eyes took in Coop’s haggard face. “You look a little frazzled, Coop. Keenan, why don’t you run in and tell Mr. Finkleman you want a piece of that cherry cobbler he baked today?”

“Okay!” He tugged on Coop’s hand. “Do you want some? Do you wanna come?”

“I’ll pass. You go ahead.”

Mrs. Finkleman chuckled as Keenan darted away and scrambled up the steps. “Little angel. We’ll keep him entertained for a couple of hours—or he’ll keep us entertained. You look like you could use a few minutes in a quiet room.”

“Padded room,” Coop muttered. “How does anyone survive kids?”

“It’s easier if you go through the stages with them. Once you’ve walked the floor all night with a colicky baby, nothing much fazes you.” She sighed. “Except science projects. Science projects always took me to the edge. And that first driving lesson.” She shook her head at the memory. “That can bring you to your knees.” She beamed and patted his arm. “But there’s years yet to worry about that. And you’ve been doing a fine job. Why, Harry and I were just saying how nice it is that Zoe and Keenan have a man in their lives. Not that Zoe hasn’t been handling everything herself. Raising that sweet-natured boy all alone and working two jobs and tending the house. But it does my heart good to see you and that little angel playing ball in the yard, and the way Zoe lights up when you’re around. You make a lovely little family. Now, you go and take a nice nap. We’ll keep an eye on your boy.”