Eight Days a Week

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 Help!

  Chapter 2 I Am the Walrus

  Chapter 3 Drive My Car

  Chapter 4 Day Tripper

  Manny Log

  Chapter 5 Cry Baby Cry

  Chapter 6 A Taste of Honey

  Chapter 7 A Hard Day’s Night

  Chapter 8 Do You Want to Know a Secret

  Chapter 9 Sun King

  Chapter 10 All Together Now

  Chapter 11 This Boy

  Chapter 12 Carry That Weight

  Manny Log

  Chapter 13 I’m Happy Just to Dance with You

  Chapter 14 I Want To Tell You

  Chapter 15 Some Other Guy

  Chapter 16 Fixing a Hole

  Chapter 17 Don’t Let Me Down

  Chapter 18 Little Child

  Chapter 19 I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party

  Chapter 20 Golden Slumbers

  Manny Log

  Chapter 21 Come Together

  Chapter 22 I Wanna Hold Your Hand

  Chapter 23 Act Naturally

  Chapter 24 Can’t Buy Me Love

  Chapter 25 You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away

  Chapter 26 With a Little Help From My Friends

  Manny Log

  Chapter 27 It Won’t Be Long

  Chapter 28 Birthday

  Chapter 29 Two of Us

  Chapter 30 Baby, You’re a Rich Man

  Chapter 31 All You Need is Love

  Final Manny Log Entry

  Epilogue In My Life

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Eight Days a Week

  By

  Amber L. Johnson

  First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2014

  Copyright © Amber L. Johnson, 2014

  The right of Amber L. Johnson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters and events in this Book – even those sharing the same name as (or based upon) real people – are entirely fictional. No person, brand or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.

  This Book is a work of fiction and should be read as such.

  The Writer’s Coffee Shop

  (Australia) PO Box 447 Cherrybrook NSW 2126

  (USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-329-4

  E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-330-0

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover Image and Design: L.J. Anderson

  www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/ajohnson

  Dedication

  To Lori, who loved Dee first.

  Chapter 1

  Help!

  Growing up is not all it’s cracked up to be.

  As a kid, I couldn’t wait to be an adult. Now that I was one, I wished I were eight years old again. Or maybe ten.

  “How am I supposed to find a job when the economy is in the shitter?” I crumpled the newspaper my sister had given me and sighed in her direction.

  “You know what? You should stop complaining and just hit the streets with your resumé.” Cece slid a plate of eggs under my nose and pointed to them. “After you drop me off at work, you can do just that. But I have ten minutes before I have to leave, so eat up.”

  “What resumé?” I jammed my fork into the rubbery mess and made a face. “Remind me to teach you how to make a decent plate of these tomorrow.” I chewed with my mouth open just to piss her off and then spat out the offensive mess and shoved the plate in her direction.

  Her foot came out of nowhere and slammed into my shin, and I cursed.

  Damn those pointy heels.

  She sipped her coffee with an innocent look. “Test me again. I’ll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.”

  “Not if I get to you first.”

  On the drive to her office, I maneuvered around the other cars with ease, but she held on to the BMW-1’s oh-shit handle until her knuckles turned white.

  “Please curb your instinct to kill me. I need to get to work in one piece. And I’d like to have a family one day.”

  “Have I been in a wreck yet? No. You should trust your brother a little more. Plus, this vehicle was made to be driven in the great wide open. Why would you buy a car like this just to go the speed limit?” I switched lanes, narrowly missing the bumper of the SUV in front of me.

  I glanced over at her, and she was holding her breath. Then she exhaled and counted to ten very quietly.

  “How are those yoga classes working, by the way?”

  Cece flipped me off.

  “Ah, Namaste to you, too.”

  Once I’d parked, she finally inhaled and unbuckled her seat belt. “I’m serious about getting a job, Andrew,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “Check Craigslist.”

  I rolled my eyes, but she was already walking away. I’d checked Craigslist. And Indeed. And Monster. There were very few opportunities for a guy who didn’t have a steady job history. And if I was being honest, I spent a lot of my time on Craigslist reading the filthy posts about potential threesomes.

  Instead of going home, I drove to my friend Xander’s house. He’d left the door unlocked, so I walked right in and stopped at his refrigerator since I’d opted out of the shitty food my sister made.

  “Hey,” I said, but he barely acknowledged my existence.

  After making a cheese sandwich, I settled next to him on his red velvet couch. It was old and smelly and there were rips in the fabric, but it was comfortable, so I relaxed into its cushions and bit into the sad excuse for food.

  He didn’t even look away from the television as he pushed his laptop at me.

  “Xander.” I shook my head and logged on. “How are you this involved in every rerun of Fresh Prince? You were four when this show came out.”

  His comeback was to turn up the volume.

  “Cece wants me to check Craigslist again today. As if a new job opportunity will just appear that I’m perfectly qualified for.” I scanned the listings once again. “Look at this. All of these new postings and nothing I’m interested in.” I scrolled halfway down and then pointed at the screen and angled it toward his face. “Although this looks interesting. A basement for rent. Or a nanny position.” I laughed at the audacity.

  Xander raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You know what? That could be cool. You’d get paid to play with kids all day and go to the park. Hang out with lady nannies. Get some ass.” He grabbed the computer and read the listing. “But if you can rent the room without the rugrats? Forget the kids and call this lady now so you can get out of your sister’s apartment. Since it’s mandatory that you get a job and all because you spent every last dime you were given.”

  I snatched the laptop back and gave him a dirty look. “You seem a little too invested in me getting my own place. It’s only been two weeks. She’s not sick of me yet. Also, it’s not mandatory. I don’t have to get one if I don’t want to. Although if I want the rest of that inheritance . . .” I stared at the listing again and sighed. “It would be worth looking into, I guess.” The idea of getting out of my sister’s apartment was tempting, and though the listings were on the same ad, they appeared to be separate. I could look for a job while living under a different roof. At l
east my sister wouldn’t be up in my business all the time.

  “I’d love a job like that,” Xander said, his gaze drifting away from Will Smith’s baby face.

  “Yeah, you’re fantastic with kids. Left alone with your two-month-old nephew for less than fifteen minutes before showing him a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and trying to teach him to say silicone? Pretty sure you’re not qualified.”

  He shrugged, and I decided there was no harm in calling about the ad. I dialed the number from my cell and waited as it rang.

  “Hello?” said a woman. She sounded stressed.

  “Uh, yeah. Hi, I was calling about your Craigslist ad—”

  “Can you be here in an hour?”

  “Sure. What’s the address?” She rattled it off, and I wrote it down. “Great, I’ll see you then.”

  “Fine,” she said and hung up.

  “Oh, wait!” I shouted, but too late. “This listing doesn’t even show the woman’s name. It just says G.S.”

  Xander grunted a laugh. “Well, let’s hope this ad isn’t B.S. You have to move out. And get a job.” He looked me over. “You need to put on something else. I doubt she’ll let you live there you if you show up looking like you’re homeless.”

  I scratched my head and looked down at my jeans and T-shirt. “My clothes are clean. I just washed these jeans last week.”

  “Whatever. Go shave your face. You’ll scare her looking like Wolverine.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, deciding it was clean enough.

  “Are you in your sister’s BMW?”

  “Of course I am.”

  He shook his head in exasperation. “Take my truck so you don’t look like a rich prick trying to get a cheap room.”

  I parked Xander’s truck outside a giant, taupe-colored Cape Cod with a white staircase leading up to a large porch, and a huge addition on the side that I guessed was a bonus room. It was in a cul-de-sac with ample space between the neighbor’s houses and was probably priced at over half a million dollars. I looked at my torn piece of notebook paper and checked the address again.

  “This can’t be right.” I gazed up at the house for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers next to the door still matched, so I walked up the circular driveway and rang the doorbell, listening while the notes chimed through the house.

  The door flew open, and I took a step back in shock.

  “Please don’t use the doorbell. Brady’s home sick from school and taking a nap.” She looked disheveled and tired.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” I felt a little chastised.

  “It’s fine.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder with her ear straining toward the stairway. Satisfied no one had been disturbed by the bell, she turned her attention back on me. “I’m sorry. I’ve lost my mind over the past couple of months. Come in.” She motioned to follow her into the kitchen. “Would you like a drink? I have water or juice. Or milk.”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine,” I said.

  She led me into a large living room and sat on a high-backed chair, her skirt inching up a little bit as she settled in, then gestured toward the love seat. I perched on the edge of it and looked around the room, trying not focus on her chest, noting there were very few pictures on the walls, though there seemed to be nails where some should have been hanging.

  She blew a stray strand of red hair out of her face and then pulled a rubber band from behind her head to let it fall free. I would have been turned on, except she looked exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes and unkempt clothing led me to wonder if she’d slept at all in the past week or so.

  “Okay,” she said and pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose like she was trying to focus. “First things first—I’m Gwen.” She extended her hand, and I leaned forward to shake it gently like my mom had taught me.

  “Andrew.”

  “Andrew, I have two children. One is seven, and one is four.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I know,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I have a full-time job that I need to focus on, and I just got a promotion—”

  “Congratulations.”

  She looked in my eyes for a moment, surprised. “Thanks. Uh, let’s see. This new promotion will mean even longer hours, which is why I need someone. Bree is seven and in second grade. She’s gone most of the day and has ballet practice at night twice a week. Brady is four, goes to Pre-K for half a day, and has T-ball once a week and games on Saturdays.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to tell her I was only there about renting the spare room, but she was blinking at me, looking for some confirmation I understood. So I nodded.

  “What I’m looking for is someone who can get them out the door in the mornings and to their after-school activities on time, give them dinner, and get them ready for bed.” Her eyes moistened, and she cleared her throat. “I hate that I’ll be gone so much, but I need the extra money now.” Gwen’s lips pulled tight. “I have a cleaning service, so that’s not part of the job. I’m offering full room and board. If you can buy groceries during the day, then I’ll pay for those, too. I just need you to . . . be here.” Her eyes opened wide, and she pressed a hand to her chest.

  I couldn’t let her go on thinking I was going to be her nanny. “I think there’s been a—”

  “As soon as I get this situation worked out, things will be fine,” she said. “I promise it won’t always be this crazy.” She straightened her shoulders and slid off the chair. “Would you like to see the apartment?”

  I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Sure.”

  She led me to the basement door and motioned for me to follow. At the bottom of the stairs was a whole separate house. The basement was renovated and furnished, with its own kitchen and full bathroom. There was a living room with a flat-screen television, a dining room, an office, and what looked like an open area where I could put some exercise equipment.

  “It’s a mother-in-law suite.” She shrugged and pointed to her chest. “Me? No mother-in-law. So this would be yours. You have a separate entrance as well as a separate driveway and parking space, so you can come and go as you please once I get home.”

  That didn’t matter. I didn’t own a car.

  She paused as her mouth worked, trying to form words as her eyes darted around the room. “I would request that you not have parties down here or anything obnoxious like that. And it would be best not to have . . . people sleep over. I’d prefer that the kids not see that kind of stuff yet.”

  I was annoyed by that last comment but decided to let it slide. A room was a room.

  “What else?” She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.

  “Can I see the bedroom?”

  She nodded and led the way. Everything was better than I’d imagined. The black iron bed looked insanely comfortable, and I was pleased to see a big, white down comforter pulled down on one side.

  “So are you interested in the position?”

  “What’s the compensation?” It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?

  She snapped her fingers and smiled. “I knew I was forgetting something. It’s a weekly rate of four hundred.” She bit her lip. “Is that enough?”

  I smiled and leaned against the wall. “You’re offering a complete apartment, food, and utilities, and you’re wondering if the extra four hundred is enough?”

  She sighed, and her shoulders relaxed. “Okay, now let’s talk specifics. I’m not saying you’ve got the job—I just need to know a few things.”

  “Shoot.” At this point she could ask me just about anything and I’d tell her what she wanted to hear. I wanted to live there.

  “Okay. Are you good with kids?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. Why not? They were little tiny people. I was okay with people. Plus I had some experience. “I was a camp counselor for a few years. Camp Tekawitha.”

  “Do you have a degree in, um, childhood development or anyt
hing?” She was fidgeting with her hands, and I wondered if she’d ever interviewed for a childcare provider before. From the way she was biting her nails, I would guess that the answer was no.

  I cleared my throat and shook my head. “Not in childhood development but . . . I have a degree in piano—three years of school for that. Plus I have a two-year culinary degree. Neither of those are kid-oriented, unfortunately.” This didn’t feel like playing along anymore.

  “You never know, they could be. We have a piano upstairs—maybe you could teach Brady. And I think Bree would like cooking . . .” She cocked her head to the side and looked me over. “Wait. How old are you? You don’t look much older than nineteen.”

  I snorted and ran my hands through my hair. “I’m twenty-five, but thanks.”

  She pressed her hands to her face and sighed. “Okay. That’s a little younger than I was hoping for.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Didn’t your mom teach you it’s impolite to ask a woman her age?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  I leaned back as I did the math. She would have had to have been pregnant at nineteen. “And you have this house?”

  She glanced away and sighed. “Another part of the long story, but yes. I graduated high school a year early and took a fast track in college. I interned at my job while I took my classes. That’s how I got promoted so fast.” She wrinkled her forehead and pursed her lips. “So, if you have five years of school, and it’s been, what, seven years since you graduated from high school, what did you do with the other two?”

  This was the part where I looked like an entitled asshole. “I backpacked across Europe, and then I stayed for a year in Rome.”

  “Fancy.” She squinted. “You know, I have a coworker whose brother did that exact same thing. What did you say your last name is?”

  “I didn’t.” She couldn’t possibly be Cece’s coworker.

  She waited.

  “Lyons. My name is Andrew Lyons.”

  “Are you Cecelia Lyons’ brother?”

  I nodded, trying not to visibly cringe.

  “Does she know you’re here?”