Chapter 17 Blaze
I didn’t get another moment alone with Daisy that day.
She stuck by her Dad like glue, watching the readings from the machines.
I sat beside her and tried to hold her hand, but she’d move to the other side of Matchstick when I did.
Or she’d have at least one of the club’s kids on her lap or beside her at any moment.
Eric seemed to be her favorite. She chatted to him freely, listening to his stories with a smile on her face.
She also helped him manage his plate of food with his broken arm, and let him sit on her lap when the seats were full.
I gritted my teeth at the attention he was getting.
I was pleased to see Dylan approach her as well, talking to her every now and then.
She had smiled sweetly at him when he did.
My hopes that she’d accept him were raised.
I tried to encourage him to spend more time with her, but each time I said Daisy, he would rush off with the black girl.
It was fucking annoying, but I couldn’t say anything.
I needed the babysitters, so I had to stay on the good side of everyone.
Still, it would be worth checking in with him.
I got a chance to talk on the drive home. “Hey Dylan!” I yelled towards the back seat where he sat.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“How do you like Daisy?” I asked.
“I really like her. Her and me were digging a really deep hole today. An’ she said I was the bestest digger today.” His eyes lit up.
“I don’t mean D2,” I groaned. “Big Daisy, the girl who was sitting with your Poppy.”
“Poppy, the man we usually see in the hopstital?” Dylan asked.
“Hospital. Yep that one,” I corrected him.
“She nice.”
“That’s good.” I settled in the seat. It sounded like a good start. He’d learn one day that she’s more than nice. “Do you think she’ll be a good Mom?”
“Mmm maybe,” he answered in a serious tone. “Dad?”
“Yes Dylan.”
“Why did everyone make funny faces when big Daisy and me talked?” His face screwed up in confusion.
My stomach clenched.
“What do you mean?” I asked. We were nearly home, but I still pulled over so I could look at him fully. This was a serious conversation for me.
Dylan hummed and then told me, “They went…” and he pulled some impressions of worried faces, and sad faces. “And D2’s Dad’s face was…” and he scowled like only Bull could do.
I laughed. It was the only thing I could think to do to deflect the conversation.
“Those are some good faces, Buddy,” I said weakly.
“Really?” Dylan looked pleased.
“Yeah,” I backed myself. He grinned and started pulling more faces. I grimaced and pulled out into traffic again. I knew exactly why people were acting the way they did. Dylan was conceived on the night that Junior died, when we ran out of condoms. Everyone knew.