Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Raya
Ifeel a little like a toddler, stomping my foot and throwing a tantrum.
“I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”
After breakfast—where Finn was, dare I say, pretty amazing for jumping in the way he did—we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of my house. He insisted that he needs to be the one to drive.
“I bet you’ve never just gone along with someone else’s plan, have you?” he asks.
I don’t answer, because I’m pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question.
He holds up a finger in a knowing point.
“I bet that if I did tell you where we’re going, you’d map out the quickest, most practical route to get there, and if I went a different way, you’d think we’re wasting time.
” He pauses, but he’s not finished. “And! I bet you never, ever take the back roads.” He cocks his head and looks at me.
“Did you shake your Christmas presents too?”
When my eyes dart away, he lets out an “Ah-ha! You did! You’re a shaker!” He says it like it’s criminal.
“I told you. I don’t like surprises.”
“Even good ones?”
I fold my arms. “How am I supposed to know if it’s a good one if I don’t know what it is ahead of time?”
He looks at me like I’ve got an arm growing out of my forehead.
“I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He walks around to the driver’s side of his Jeep.
I stand there, arms still crossed, really not wanting to admit that after all my protestations, I actually want to go wherever it is we’re going. My curiosity is piqued.
Maybe I don’t hate surprises as much as I let on.
I hear a whirrr as the sunroof opens on his SUV. He kneels on his seat, sticking his head out of the roof.
“Last chance.”
I fidget. Most people give in by this point.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he says, “Okay, well, I’ll see you later then.” He plops down and starts to slowly pull away.
“No! Wait!” Before I can talk myself out of it, I quick run to the passenger side door and bang on the window. He slows to a stop, and I get in.
I don’t have to look to know he’s smirking at me.
“Just drive,” I say, eyes focused on the dashboard.
A few minutes later, we’re on a highway, behind a car driving five miles under the speed limit. It’s making my skin crawl.
Finn doesn’t seem to be bothered at all. He’s not even looking for a way to pass it.
“This is why I don’t take back roads,” I say.
He chuckles to himself, but still makes no move to pass the car.
I let my head rest on the seat and close my eyes, feeling suddenly tired again. If Finn notices, he doesn’t say anything, but mercifully stays quiet, allowing me to rest my eyes and, more importantly, my mind.
Maybe I’m just worn out, but I notice that even though I don’t know where we’re going—and Finn is the one in control—I don’t feel tense right now.
The seats are big and comfortable, and the ride is smooth.
It smells woodsy, like him, and for the moment, I’m not thinking about what I need to do or where else I need to be.
He finds an eighties station, but keeps the volume low enough that I can still hear the rhythmic sound of the tires on the road.
And soon, I’m drifting—not asleep, but not awake either.
It’s not until he pulls into the parking lot of a nondescript brick building and stops the car that I open my eyes.
He turns off the engine and looks at me. I spot the hint of concern in his eyes, but he must think better of saying anything because his face shifts and he brightens. “Ready?”
“How can I be ready? I have no idea where we are.”
“Right. Good point.” He opens the door and walks to the back of the car.
I get out as he opens the hatch, and inside, I see six neatly stacked bins.
He pulls one down and hands it to me, then grabs two more.
He presses a button to close the back of the car, locks it, and motions for me to follow him into the building.
“Since it’s you, I thought it would be smart to start with productive fun before we move on to mindless fun,” he says.
“Since this is a one-time thing, I don’t see that happening,” I say, walking alongside him.
“Oh, ye of little faith.” He holds the door open for me, and inside, we’re met by the sound of voices—overlapping chatter from a group of people. I’m not sure I have the energy for strangers, but I follow Finn down a flight of stairs.
The noise picks up as we get closer to the bottom, and he peers over his shoulder. “Get ready.”
I respond with wide eyes. “For what?”
At that, he smiles and opens the door to a large room with tall ceilings.
The sound of voices and laughter swells as we step inside, and I pause in the doorway to look around.
On one side, there are kids and adults seated at round tables.
Most of the kids are writing or coloring, some of them are reading or drawing.
One little girl is knitting, which instantly makes me like her.
A few of the adults are talking quietly—teaching, maybe?
On the opposite side of the room, there are couches and armchairs situated on top of a brightly colored rug and, off to the side, an open window to what looks like an industrial kitchen.
“What is this place?” I ask, as Finn takes the bin from me and stacks it on top of the two he set down against the wall.
“Tutoring club,” he says, leading me further into the room. “There’s no school today, so they opened early this morning. Parents still work, so kids need somewhere to go. For some of these kids it’s the only meal they’ll get all day.”
I’m struck by the lightness of the mood, the smatterings of laughter, the engaged adults who kneel or sit with the kids.
“They’ll feed them, help with homework if they’ve got it, and once they’re caught up, the kids can go down the hall to the game room to hang out.”
“Mr. Finn!” A little girl rushes toward him.
“Hey, Amalia!” Finn kneels down so he’s at her eye level.
She holds up a piece of paper with a big 10/10 written in red ink. “Look!”
“Spelling test?” he asks.
She nods. “I got them all.”
“Did that boy you have a crush on give you the answers?”
She shakes her head, her pigtails flopping from side to side, and laughs out a loud, “NO!”
“Okay, okay, just checking,” he says, feigning exasperation.
She’s missing her two front teeth, and there’s a trail of freckles across the pale skin of her cheeks and nose. Her eyes are bright, and she looks so proud. My heart squeezes when I realize she now has Finn’s undivided attention.
“Did you get a prize out of the cupboard?” he asks.
She shakes her head again. “I was waiting for you.”
“Well, let’s go! Why are we standing around here?” He stands and says, “See, now I’m waiting for you, just standing here, lollygagging—” She laughs and grabs his hand, starting to pull him away. He glances at me. “Be right back.”
I nod, but as he’s tugged across the room, I move back toward the wall, watching the chaos and commotion of a space that feels like it’s meant to be a safe haven for these kids.
An older woman walks over, her eyes kind. “Hi there, welcome!”
I feel a little on display. “Hi . . .”
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” she says.
“Oh, I came with Finn—” I point in his general direction, but she doesn’t look away.
“Oh . . .?” She smiles. “He doesn’t usually bring friends.”
My gaze snags on him, across the room. “He comes here a lot?”
The woman laughs. “You could say that. I’m Tasha.” She points to another woman who is sitting at a table with three kids but looking our way. “That’s my sister, Toya.”
When I make eye contact with her, she frowns at me and looks away.
Tasha notices and gives me a sheepish smile. “She has a little crush on Finn.”
Toya has to be in her sixties.
“She’s probably a little jealous.” Tasha puts a hand on my arm and leads me around the room.
“Of me?” I laugh. “Unnecessary. Finn and I aren’t even really friends.” But as I say the words, they don’t feel true.
“Well, that’s a shame,” Tasha says. “He’s a great one to have.” She peers over at the area with the couches, where Finn lies on his stomach on the floor, reading a book with four young kids, including Amalia, who sits on his back reading over his shoulder.
I think I understand what she means.
“Wow. He’s good with them, huh?” I ask, even though the question doesn’t need an answer.
“The best.” She squeezes my arm. “These kids adore him.”
I wonder if this is the result of growing up in a big family. Not for the first time, I want to know more about him, his family, his house, his brothers and sisters. I wonder if it was anything like mine.
A little girl walks out from the kitchen. “Miss Tasha, the sandwiches are ready whenever you want to serve lunch.”
“Thank you, Grace,” Tasha says with a smile. Then to me, she adds, “Grace is our best helper. She always shows up with all her homework done and helps tutor the younger kids or get meals and snacks ready to serve.” She leans toward me. “She likes to be busy.”
Ooh. A kindred spirit. I smile at the girl. She gives me a stern look.
“Have you seen my brothers?” Grace asks. “Brady has a math test Monday, and he needs Miss Toya to explain fractions—” She looks at Tasha. “If he’s playing that stupid Nintendo—” She walks off, pushing through the door and out into the hall.
“She’s a little intense.” Tasha motions for me to follow her into the kitchen, where we see a tin of perfectly made sandwiches next to a basket of individually packaged chips and a tray of cookies. “Carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, that one.”
“What’s her story?” I ask.
Tasha walks over to an industrial-sized refrigerator.
“Their dad is deployed right now, and Grace knows it’s hard on her mom.
I think she’s trying to do whatever she can to lighten the load.
” She pulls out a big metal tray with juice boxes neatly stacked inside.
“She’s a good girl, but no one that age should have to feel that kind of responsibility. ”
This hits me with a pang of nostalgia. I understand, maybe more than most, the weight that girl is carrying.
Tasha nods at the sandwiches. “Grab that?”
I pick up the tray, follow her to the counter behind the open window, and help as Tasha lays everything out. I go back for the cookies while she grabs the chips, then see Grace return with a dejected-looking dark-haired boy who looks a few years younger than her.
Grace walks the boy over to Toya, says something to her, then nods at a backpack sitting on the table.
The boy sits and pulls a textbook from the bag.
His sister straightens, looking around the space.
When she spots another boy who looks younger but otherwise identical to the one at the table, she walks over to him, sits down and wraps an arm around him.
“Is that her other brother?” I ask as Tasha lays out a stack of napkins.
Tasha follows my gaze over to the kids and stands up straighter. “Yes, that’s Bodie. He’s taking it pretty hard that their dad is away again so soon.” She smiles. “They’re lucky to have Grace. She’s such a good girl.”
“I wonder who takes care of her,” I say absently.
Tasha laughs. “We do, when we can—although Grace is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. You good?” I nod as she walks away, leaving me standing there to watch Grace and Bodie.
It’s all I need to see to understand this little girl. Because once upon a time, I was her. In a lot of ways, I still am.
Grace talks to Bodie, who sits and looks up at her. I can see his love for her on his face, but she looks like she’s still lecturing him. An eldest daughter with all the traits that eldest daughters have. Strong leader. High achiever. Responsible. A good role model. Conscientious. Organized.
Perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
But just because Grace is capable doesn’t mean she should always have to. Once in a while, it would be nice if someone took care of her.
“Wouldn't it be nice if someone took care of you for a while?”
I grew up with people who would’ve definitely taken care of me . . . but I gave them no opportunity. I wouldn’t even know how to let them. And I haven’t been letting them ever since.