Chapter 5
HARTLEY
Stellan knocks right on time. Not early, not late, just exactly when he said he would. Like he understands schedules matter when you’re raising a four year old who runs on feral energy and vibes. I open the door with Alaska half-hidden behind my leg, her fingers hooked into my back pocket.
“Hey,” he says. “Good to see you.” She peeks around me, which already feels like a win. She gives him a small wave without looking at me to give her the go ahead. That’s new.
“Hi,” I say, and I sound normal, which feels like an accomplishment. “We’re ready whenever.”
He steps inside and automatically kicks off his shoes. He pauses, just a second, eyes flicking to Alaska.
She turns and walks toward the kitchen, and he follows her. He sets his bag on the table and pulls out some stuff he brought with him; cards, foam letters, things that look used. I stay by the counter, wiping down a surface that’s already clean because my hands need something to do.
“Is it okay if we start with a game?” he asks. Alaska nods. “Cool,” he says. “You’re in charge.” Her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile.
They sit together at the table. He talks while he works, not at her, just enough so she knows what’s happening. He spreads the cards out slowly, like there’s no rush to get anywhere.
“Let’s listen for the AH sound,” he says. “Not the letter, just the sound.”
She leans closer, eyes moving from card to card. Her fingers hover, uncertain. Then she taps the table twice, her signal for wait, and he actually waits.
When she grabs the wrong one, he doesn’t correct her. He just sets it aside like it belongs there anyway.
I keep watching even after I should look away. I notice how he keeps his voice low, how he lets silence fill the gaps, how he doesn’t look at me every two seconds for approval. He knows what he’s doing.
That’s comforting, but also inconvenient.
I catch myself watching his hands and immediately look away, pretending I’m very invested in the sink. This is not the time, Hartley.
Halfway through, he looks up at me. “You want to come sit with us?” he asks. “It might help if she sees you doing it too.”
I hesitate, then pull out the chair next to Alaska. She leans into my side immediately and my arm goes around her without even thinking about it. Stellan slides a card toward me.
“Just match the sound,” he says.
I nod like I understand, even though my brain immediately overcomplicates it. I pick up the card, look at the letter, and say it out loud instead of just the sound.
Alaska looks at the card, then at me, then lets out the longest, most exaggerated sigh I’ve ever heard come out of a small human.
She takes the card from my hand, flips it over, and taps the table twice, her reset signal. Then she makes a small shaking motion with her head and points to Stellan’s hands, mimicking the motion he showed her earlier.
“Oh,” I murmur, heat creeping up my neck. “Right. Not like that.”
She nods once, sharp and satisfied.
“She’s got opinions,” Stellan chuckles.
“She gets that from my brother,” I mutter, and then immediately regret saying anything about that at all.
But he doesn’t react. He just nods like that’s normal too.
We take a snack break, juice and crackers, everything placed exactly how Alaska likes it. Stellan waits until she starts eating before grabbing anything himself. He rolls his shoulder a little when he leans back.
“Shoulder still bothering you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He pauses. “Yeah. It’s healing though so that’s all that matters.”
“I see a lot of injuries like yours at the massage studio. How long have you been on leave?” I ask, already wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“A while,” he says, not defensive, not closed off. Just done with the answer.
Fair.
Alaska finishes her snack and drags her coloring book over. She taps the page, looks at him, then at me.
“She wants us to color,” he says, like it’s obvious.
We sit there coloring dinosaurs that are purple and green and definitely not accurate. Our hands brush once reaching for the same crayon, barely anything, but my brain reacts like it’s a big deal.
I pull my hand back too fast and feel stupid about it.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t look at me. He just keeps coloring.
When it’s time, he packs up quickly. Alaska signs thank you again, bigger this time. He signs it back without missing a beat.
“Same time next week?” he asks me.
“Yeah,” I say. “That works.”
At the door, he pauses. “She did good today,” he says. “You’re doing a good job with her.”
The words land harder than I expect. I nod because my throat feels weird and I don’t want to deal with that.
After he leaves, Alaska goes back to her crayons like nothing important just happened.
I stand there for a minute, staring at the door, trying to sort through the noise in my head.
He’s good with her.