Chapter 34
34
[Vale]
T he following morning, Cort was gone and as much as I tried to remain hopeful, making pancakes and bacon and plastering on false positivity, the inevitable happened.
A mediator came to talk with the kids and then Deputy Sheriff Andy Whitehall took Atticus and Amelia back to their home despite my offer to let them stay with me a while longer.
“Got no immediate reason to keep them with you.” Andy leveled me with a hard glare, upset that I removed the kids from their house without their father’s permission—according to Henry—despite the shiner on Atticus’s cheek.
Henry claimed the boys were horsing around and Hudson threw a baseball at Atticus.
Atticus missed the catch.
There was no way my boy lied.
“Waste of money being on that expensive travel team if they can’t even teach boys how to toss a ball or catch one.” Andy repeated Henry’s accusation.
I couldn’t believe Henry had done such a thing: dismissing his own crime and blaming it on my son.
Even with each of the kids telling their truth and my statement about their obvious fear, Andy didn’t listen.
“You had no right removing those kids from their father.” He spoke with a patronizing tone, like I was some busybody meddling in family affairs.
He said I was fortunate Henry wasn’t pressing charges against me.
“On what grounds?” I’d demanded, glaring at Andy like he’d lost his mind.
He shrugged. “Kidnapping.”
“What the hell, Andy?”
“Deputy Sheriff Whitehall, Valentine,” he corrected me.
“Where’s Stone?” Even though I knew the answer and I didn’t really want to bother my brother with this situation—he’d learn about it soon enough—but I did not appreciate how Andy was handling things.
“Don’t you worry. The sheriff will hear all about this.” Andy spoke as if that sheriff wasn’t my oldest brother, and I didn’t know his position in the law.
And implying my son had done something wrong, as well as I had.
Insufferable ass .
When Stone did get home, late Sunday morning, we hosted our weekly family gathering and didn’t have time to speak about the incident until later that evening.
Entering his office on the first floor of our home, I feel like the angsty teen I once was, needing to ask my older brother for some necessity, or money, or help.
In this case, I don’t need his help as much as his compassion.
Atticus and Amelia Stanton need help.
Of course, in my explanation about Hudson calling me, I can’t leave out Cort’s presence.
I don’t want to tell Stone about Cort and me like this, but I can’t avoid Cort’s involvement.
“I called Cort,” I lie, bold-faced and straight to the face of my hero, because whether Cort was in the house or not isn’t the issue right now.
Henry is.
If Stone questions why I didn’t call any of my brothers instead, he doesn’t ask.
Instead, he sits back in his swiveling chair and stares at me from across his desk, listening while I explain how Cort drove to the Stanton home, what we saw, what Cort saw of Henry’s condition, and then how I brought the kids back to the house, glossing over how Cort stayed here.
As Cort made the call to the sheriff’s department there was no way to skip over his involvement, plus considering his position as a coach, Cort was obligated to report what he’d seen.
Eventually, Stone leans forward, locking his eyes with mine.
Ones that mirror our momma’s, or so I’m told.
All of us Sylvers have blue eyes in some shade or other, and it’s been repeatedly mentioned how they were one of her best features.
Kind and sweet, loving and honest.
Stone’s eyes are a combination of those characteristics mingled with other traits, original to him.
No-nonsense. Steadfast. Protective.
If he has further questions about Cort’s involvement, he doesn’t ask.
He simply states, “I’ll have to corroborate Cort’s story with yours.”
“Of course,” I swallow hard, knowing I’ve put all of us in a difficult position.
Cort and me. Me and Stone.
Stone and Cort.
This isn’t going to end well for anyone, but the people I’m most concerned about are the Stanton kids.
“What will happen to Atticus and Amelia?” I stare at my brother, certain he reads the fear in my eyes.
“They can’t stay with Henry.”
Stone sighs.
“They can, unfortunately. And they will, for now. But we’re keeping an eye on the situation.” Stone leans forward.
“ I’m keeping an eye on things.”
His words bring me little comfort.
The current situation is the voice of three children against an adult, and the adult won this round.
I don’t want Atticus and Amelia to eventually be the losers, though.
When I was a kid, any adult I turned to for help was eventually chased off our property by our drunk father.
I don’t want that kind of lifestyle for the Stanton children.
Or any child.
But as Stone continues to stare at me, leaning forward with his hands clasped on his desk, I sense he’s trying to impart some deeper meaning to his words.
Like he isn’t only keeping an eye on the Stanton kids, but me as well.