Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Eight
I grin maliciously as I think of Rocky and Jess and their new kid. He’s probably been up for hours already.
Later in the afternoon, I pick Oscar up from school or if I’m doin’ club business, he catches a ride with whoever picks up Max and Brielle and then hangs out at the clubhouse. Sometimes, he takes the bus home, but rarely. He’s safer at the clubhouse.
I think about Selkie and wonder what she does in the morning. She’s probably up early making Henri’s breakfast, packin’ up the kid’s lunch. They probably talk about homework, what they’re doin’ for the day. That sort of shit. Well, talkin’ is a strong word. Probably bickering, teasing.
Maybe I should get up early, spend more time with Oscar before he heads to school. Maybe I should do more shit with him than I do. Maybe—
A loud piercing scream followed by high-pitched laughter jolts me out of my thoughts and my bed.
I shove on my jeans and head to the kitchen, stop dead in the hall and zip them up.
I take a few more steps as something crashes and shatters, stop again and turn back to the bedroom where I pull on a T-shirt.
When I get to the kitchen, the smell of toast and coffee wafts towards me.
The girls are sitting at the kitchen table talking animatedly.
Brielle is wearing a short nightgown and Henri’s wearing pajamas consisting of shorts and a loose top with straps.
I think about what Verity said, realize she’s right.
My instinct is to tell them to go get dressed, but I suppress it.
They’re girls doing girl stuff and I’m not a pervert.
If they belonged to me, this would be completely normal.
Instead, I say, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Henri replies primly. She takes a slurp of something in a cup. “We made coffee.”
Brielle says tremulously. “I accidentally dropped a plate. I’m sorry.”
I run my hand through my hair as I look at her. “It’s not a big deal.”
“See, I told you,” Henri says, then takes another loud slurp.
“What are you drinking?” I ask her.
“I told you. We made coffee.”
Shit. “You’re both drinking coffee?” I say in a dead voice.
“Yeah,” Brielle says. “Is that okay?”
Henri rolls her eyes. “I keep telling her it’s okay. She won’t listen. You tell her.”
By the smirk on her face she knows she’s cornered me. Brielle is worried about how I’m going to react because Verity would go ballistic over something like this. I miss Oscar. He knows intuitively what he should and shouldn’t do. We don’t need to discuss shit like this. “Henri—”
“Seven,” she corrects.
“Seven,” I amend. “I’m not sure your mom wants you drinking coffee. It’s got caffeine in it.”
“So does coke and she lets me drink that and you don’t have any coke so what choice do I have?”
“I doubt she lets you drink coke in the morning.”
“She prefers I don’t.” Henri’s version of conceding.
“My mom doesn’t like it either,” Brielle interjects.
Henri looks from Brielle to me. “We didn’t get to sleep ’til like 3 o’clock, so we need some help waking up.”
I knew they were up late, but it got quiet around midnight so I assumed they’d fallen asleep. “Why’d you stay up ’til three?”
Henri rolls her eyes. “It’s what girls do when they get together. Hasn’t Oscar had a pajama party before?”
He’s had Max over and Sean, Coyote’s kid, but never at the same time. And they don’t call it a pajama party and they don’t stay up until 3 am. And they don’t get up at 7. But I don’t say any of this because I don’t want to give Henri more ammunition to use against Oscar.
Instead, I say, “Oscar’s a boy.”
“Whatever.” Henri replies. “He should start having them. Maybe he’d get some real friends.”
Brielle giggles.
I feel defensive of my son. “Oscar has real friends.”
She smirks. “Sure. If you count Max.”
I rub my eyes as I try to process what I’ve agreed to. I realize I can’t do two more nights of this. I need Selkie here to control her daughter and I need Oscar here because he’s sane. Also, it’s a school day for Brielle and I don’t know what I should do about that.
I call Verity first. “What do you want me to do with Brielle?” I say after our hellos.
“I’ll pick her up,” Verity rasps. “Half-hour. I’ve got her lunch. Make sure she’s dressed and ready to go.” She hangs up without saying goodbye.
I turn to Brielle. “You ate enough breakfast?”
She nods. “Yeah. Three toasts.”
“You need to get some decent jam,” Henri interjects. “Who eats apple jelly anyway?”
I don’t tell her it’s Oscar’s favorite. Instead, I say to Brielle, “Your mom says to get ready for school. She’ll pick you up in a half-hour.”
“She should be able to skip school,” Henri says. “She was up so late she’ll fall asleep in class.”
“That’s on you, Hen…Seven.”
Henri responds with a wide delighted smile. “If you say so, Eight.”
Brielle gets off her chair. “I better get ready. Mom doesn’t like waiting.”
Henri drains her coffee. “I’ll help you.”
I bless the quiet as I pour a cup of coffee then lean against the counter and take a gulp. Then spew it across the room. It’s so fucking strong, it would dissolve the front bumper on Selkie’s car. Those girls are going to be buzzing for the next three days. Another reason I gotta get Oscar back.
I clean up the mess I made, then stack the dishes in the dishwasher, fill the sink with hot water and soap and scrub the counters.
Just as I finish, the girls come bouncing into the kitchen.
“Ta dah!” Henri exclaims as she holds her hands out to showcase Brielle.
“Jesus,” I whisper. Brielle’s hair is tied up in a dozen ponytails all over her head, she has a single sock that’s crumpled around her ankle, two different sneakers and big-hooped earrings. She’s also got on a face full of makeup.
“What do you think?” Henri asks. “The only way she’d look cooler is if her hair was blue or something.” She shrugs. “But no dye or time.”
This is not good. Brielle already suffers from low self-esteem so anything but a rave review from me is going to hurt her. I see her shrink in on herself as I take too long to answer.
Henri narrows her eyes. “Not your taste, Mr. Ironmaid T-shirt?”
I feel my face flushing because I don’t usually wear shit with logos on them and Henri’s already figured that out. “That’s irrelevant. You don’t dress like that and Brielle isn’t a doll to play with.” I look at Brielle and try to find the right words. “You’re as cute as a button.”
Fucking Jesus. Not only am I embarrassed at the shit coming out of my mouth, but it also sounds like something only Jess would say. I think of Selkie and wonder how she’d handle this. Probably let the kid go to school looking like that.
“Thank you,” Brielle says as she swings the skirt around.
“There’s a but,” Henri says to Brielle. “There always is.” She returns her attention to me. “So what if I don’t dress like that. Brielle is way cuter than me.”
Henri looks like her mom, but with bigger eyes and a narrower face. And like her mom, it’s a unique beauty. If you can get past the mouth on both of them. “She’s cute, but so are you.”
Henri shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.” But by the tone of her voice, it does matter. And she thinks I’m full of shit.
“I don’t lie, Seven.”
Once again, she grins at the use of her road name, which makes me grin back.
The moment’s broken as I hear the purr of an Audi motor in the driveway. Verity’s arrived and when she sees Brielle, life as the three of us know it will be over.
“Henri, get her cleaned up. Hair down, makeup washed off, both socks on. Matching shoes and get those earrings out of her ears.”
“Why?” Henri demands, crossing her arms stubbornly.
Brielle pouts, but says, “Eight’s right. Mom’ll get mad and then there’ll be no living with her.”
‘No living with her’ sounds like a Henri-ism. She’s been with Brielle less than 24 hours and already she’s rubbing off on the 10-year-old.
“Go,” I say to the two of them. “You got five minutes to get cleaned up. I’ll stall Verity.”
It’s still cold in the mornings and I shiver in my T-shirt and bare feet as I step outside. Verity is leaning against her car, smoking a cigarette. She smirks when she sees me. “So that’s how you look first thing in the morning. No wonder you can’t get a date.”
“I don’t want a date,” I reply. “You talk to Hangman this morning?” Small talk. I don’t do it. Don’t know how to do it.
“Sure. Pillow talk. Me, him, and a couple of the passarounds. One big happy family.”
“Just wondering,” I say feebly.
The silence hangs like a noose around my neck as I try to think of something intelligent to say.
Verity takes a last drag of her smoke, then drops it on the driveway and crushes it under her foot. “Where’s the kid?”
Brielle. Her name’s Brielle. “She’s brushing her teeth. She’ll be out in a minute.”
And then, by the grace of all that’s fuckin’ holy, Brielle and Henri walk out the door. Brielle looks like Brielle again thank god. She’s carrying her pack. “Hi mom,” she says as she approaches.
Verity nods. “Got everything?”
“I made sure she did,” Henri interjects like a mother hen.
Verity ignores her. To Brielle, she says, “Let’s go before you’re late.”
“Bye,” Brielle says to Henri as she makes her way around to the passenger side. “See you tonight.”
Verity raises her eyebrows. “Tonight?”
“It was your idea,” Henri says defensively. “Brielle has to stay with me until I go home. Remember?”
Henri has a way of cornering people so they have no choice but to accede to her will. “I remember,” Verity grunts. “She’ll be at the clubhouse after school.”
“Then so will I,” Henri replies without so much as a glance at me to see if that’s the plan.
“Jesus,” Verity mutters as she gets in the car. “Glad she’s yours, not mine.”
Can’t argue with that.
As Verity backs out of the driveway, Brielle waves enthusiastically.
“I like her,” Henri observes. “Six, not her mom. Verity’s not very nice.”
“She’s okay,” I lie.
“Not like my mom, who’s pretty good.”
That’s a ringing endorsement coming from Henri. I think about telling her that we’re trading back kids but decide to wait until I talk to Selkie in case she’s not on board with it.
“What’re we gonna do now?” Henri says as she follows me inside.
“I’m gonna finish cleaning up the kitchen, then I gotta do some tune-ups on the bike.”
“Then take me for a ride on it,” Henri says as if it’s a forgone conclusion. She steps into the living room and spies the picture of Chloe sitting on the mantel place. She picks it up and studies it.
“She’s pretty,” she says. “Is she Oscar’s mom?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“What happened to her?”
I try to keep my voice from cracking. “She died when Oscar was a baby.”
Her face gets solemn as she stares at Chloe for a few long seconds. “That’s very sad,” she says as she replaces the picture.
Then, like the conversation never happened, she grabs the remote off the coffee table, flings herself on the couch and turns on the TV. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”