Chapter 14
“Jump!” Izzy cries on cue, throwing her arms in the air and providing a demonstration of the verb. She doesn’t quite manage to get both feet off the ground at the same time but it’s close enough.
I grin at her, nodding in encouragement as I cue her up again.
We’re practicing our performance of Van Halen’s “Jump,” which we’ll be wowing her kindergarten class with on Monday.
I’m going to be the main attraction for J week, of course, but rather than having me just stand there while she tells the class how awesome I am I thought we could do something a little special.
I strum off once we’ve run through the chorus, setting my guitar aside. “Alright, I think we’ve got the hang of it.”
“No,” Izzy pouts. “All the song.”
“It’s almost bedtime,” I point out. “We can practice again in the morning.”
“Practice now,” she insists.
“Isobel,” I say in a warning tone.
She scrunches her nose up in obvious frustration but doesn’t argue further.
I let out a dramatic sigh and give a one-shouldered shrug. “Alright, we can practice a little longer if you really want. But you won’t have time for a bath.”
The scowl disappears instantly, replaced with a wide-eyed, wary expression. “No bath?”
I make a show of checking the clock in the kitchen. “We’re really cutting it fine, here. We’ll be lucky to squeeze in a story as it is…”
Her expression now adorably aghast, she turns and rushes out of the living room—presumably to the bathroom—all thoughts of further practice forgotten.
I let out a snort of laughter and follow her to the bathroom, but my smile drops when I hear water rushing from outside the door. And when I step into the bathroom and see her playing with the faucet I can feel my expression forming into a dark frown.
“Isobel!” The word comes out in a harsh growl, fear making my tone harder than I’d ever usually use with my sister.
She snaps her head up, guilt clear in her expression, her wide eyes full of trepidation.
I hastily cross to the bath and shut the faucet off. “You know you’re not allowed to run your own bath,” I chide. My tone is much gentler but I haven’t been able to wipe away the disapproving frown just yet. “It’s dangerous. You could get hurt.”
She casts her gaze downward, nodding contritely. “I know. Sorry, Jazz.”
The last of my anger melts away and I can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. I know the only reason she broke this rule is because I riled her up about her bedtime.
Reaching out, I gently pat her head in a gesture of reassurance. “There’s no need to rush,” I tell her. “I’ll give you a bedtime extension but you have to promise not to do this again—you need a grown-up around for bath time.”
She nods eagerly, grinning up at me as she holds out her pinkie finger. “Promise.”
I arch a brow at her as I link pinkies. “A pinkie swear? You know what happens if you break one of these, right?”
She shakes her head, eyes wide with curiosity.
My lips curve with amusement. “Well, first your teeth fall out, then your hair, then your toenails. It happened to Piper once.”
Izzy’s forehead creases in puzzlement. “Piper has teeth.”
“She was lucky. They were her baby teeth. It took forever for those toenails to grow back, though.”
She’s thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. “I keep promise.”
I let out a soft laugh and let go of her pinkie. “Why don’t you go choose your jammies and some toys for the bath while I run the water?”
“Okay, Jazz.” The past few minutes seemingly forgotten, she merrily trots out of the bathroom leaving me to draw her bath.
I infuse the water with one of her bedtime bath teas, which I’ve discovered work wonders to chill Izzy out on nights like tonight when she’s still a ball of energy as bedtime approaches.
Izzy returns to the bathroom with a bundle of pink and blue flannelette clutched under her right arm and a pink clam shell bucket dangling from her left hand.
Inside the bucket are three plastic mermaids, a sparkly blue seahorse and an inflatable orca that looks so ridiculously out of place I’m finding it hard not to laugh.
I take her pajamas and set them on the vanity counter, my lips twitching as I notice she’s chosen Peppa Pig bottoms and a Bluey top. “Is this a new fashion trend or couldn’t you decide?”
“Couldn’t decide.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Alright then.” I check that the bath is ready and turn off the water. Then I help Izzy out of her jeans and sweater and take a moment to tie back her hair; the last thing I want to deal with this close to bedtime is a mass of wet hair.
I help her into the tub and let her get settled before dunking a washcloth into the water and wringing it out thoroughly. Carefully lifting her glasses up, I give her face a quick scrub and then set them back on her nose.
“You want to do the rest?” I ask her, handing her the washcloth.
She beams at me. There’s nothing Izzy loves more than doing things for herself.
With nothing left for me to do, I take a seat on my usual perch: the closed toilet.
Leaning back against the tiled wall, I rest my forearm on the vanity counter and stretch my legs out, one foot propped on the edge of the bath.
It’s a surprisingly comfortable position that lets me relax while also keeping an eye on Izzy as she plays around.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I tug it out, my lips curving up as I read the text.
Damon Forrester
What are you doing right now?
I think about it for a moment but ultimately I can’t resist taking the opportunity to mess with him a little.
Me
Watching my sister take a bath
It’s close to a minute before my phone buzzes again and I know he’s spent that time trying to figure out whether or not to take that text at face value.
Damon Forrester
I really hope you’re just screwing with me. I know I’m into some creepy and taboo shit but there are lines…
I give a little snort of amusement. He’s so fucking easy.
Me
You got me. I might have been screwing with you a little. But I wasn’t lying—you asked me what I’m doing right now and I told you the literal truth
But I may have neglected to provide some important context… my sister is five years old and has Down syndrome. She needs to be supervised during bath time
Damon Forrester
You’re a dick. And it’s creepy that you used a special needs five-year-old to mess with me
Me
I just answered a question. It was your sick mind that went to creepy places
Damon Forrester
I let out a wry huff and set my phone on the counter, returning my attention to Izzy; she’s still happily playing with her toys, chattering away as she creates a story for them.
As I watch, she raises the orca from the water in a dramatic burst, manipulating it into a kind of half-barrel roll, half-backflip in the air before gracefully diving it back into the water.
I have to bite down on my lip to hold back my laughter as Izzy makes the mermaids cheer enthusiastically from their seats in the clam shell bucket.
“What a show,” Izzy pronounces. “That hard to beat. But maybe seahorse do it.”
I grin at her. “Ten minutes, princess.”
“Okay, Jazz.”
My phone buzzes again and I grab it more out of habit than anything. Most of my focus is still on the bath; I really want to know whether the seahorse beats the orca.
Rolling my eyes at that ridiculous notion, I finally check the text.
Damon Forrester
So I guess if you’re watching your sister tonight there’s no chance of meeting up…
I grin at the message, shaking my head. Fucking needy slut.
Me
Sorry dirty boy, I’m being a responsible caretaker tonight
Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be spending some quality time with Hansel and Gretel before they leave tomorrow?
Damon Forrester
We’ve spent most of the day together. They wanted to do their own thing tonight
“Oh no,” Izzy gasps, prompting me to glance up in alarm.
I let out a sigh of relief when I see the mermaids flapping about at Izzy’s command and realize the dramatic exclamation was part of her little role-play. “What a dahster.”
“I take it the seahorse wasn’t a match for the orca?” I ask indulgently.
Izzy shakes her head morosely. “Crash and burned.”
My lips twitch at her use of the idiom; I’m not quite sure where she’s picked it up from but given her struggles with language it always amuses me when she casually draws on idioms in the correct context.
I’m tempted to ask to see a replay of the epic crash but I doubt she’d be able to easily replicate it and attempting would only frustrate her.
“Well, that’s too bad for the seahorse but now the show’s over I think it’s time to get out,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “Not ten minutes.”
Frowning, I check my phone and see that she’s right.
Damn it. “Fine. Five more minutes. But Izzy’s Bathtub’s Got Talent is over so how about we do a swap?
” I push myself off the toilet, crouching down to rummage through the bottom vanity drawer.
Finally excavating a pack of bath crayons, I stand and turn around to lean over the bath.
“I’ll take the toys and you can have the crayons. ”
Her eyes light up and she nods eagerly. “Okay.” She quickly piles the toys back into the clam shell bucket and holds it up for me.
I offer an affectionate smile, proud that she didn’t need to be prompted. “Thanks, princess.” I take the bucket and set it on the floor next to the bath, then open the pack of crayons. “Do you want all of them or just pink and orange?”
“Pink and orange and green,” she says brightly.
I let out a soft laugh. “Alright, then.” I find the colors and hand them to her, then return to my perch on the toilet, watching affectionately as she scrawls all over the side of the tub.
It’s pretty clear once the final five minutes are up that the bath tea has done its job; Izzy has well and truly mellowed and, unlike last time, she doesn’t put up any kind of protest when I suggest getting out of the tub.