Chapter Six
Kenna
He said the school isn’t far, but far is relative when you don’t know the area.
I look around as we leave the business area and enter a more residential one.
We go down a street with modest homes, some with actual white picket fences, and it makes my heart hurt a little.
Will I ever be able to settle down in one place and buy Amelia the house she deserves to grow up in?
My eye catches on the handicap placard hanging from his rearview mirror, a reminder that he’s the father of a disabled child.
I contemplate what that must be like for him, single and raising a special needs kid.
How strong he must be to do it all alone.
It’s hard enough raising a perfectly healthy kid. I can’t imagine what he’s had to do.
We all have our burdens, though. Some of them are just more visible than others. Sinking into a bit of depression as I reflect on my current situation, I startle when Amelia squeals, “A snowman! Mommy, look, it’s Frosty.”
I turn to see a life-size three-tiered snowman in someone’s front yard.
Amelia claps. “He’s got a carrot for a nose.”
“He sure does, baby.”
“Mister, do you have a Frosty at your house?”
“You can call me Carter, Amelia. And no, not at the moment.” His eyes close briefly and air puffs out of his nose.
He’s clearly reliving a memory. “Actually, I can’t remember the last time Christian and I built one.
” He glances at me. “There’s plenty of snow on the ground.
Maybe we could all make one if you end up someplace… close.”
“Can we, Mommy? Please?”
“We’ll see.” I glare at Carter. “That’s not playing fair.”
He acts all innocent, like he has no idea what he just did, shrugging off the accusation as we come to a stop behind a line of cars waiting to enter the school parking lot.
“The line usually moves pretty fast,” Carter says. “Want to listen to some music?” He turns to me and winks. “Or is that not allowed?”
I roll my eyes at him and reach for the radio at the same time he does.
Our fingers bump right in front of the knob, and my eyes are drawn to his hands.
They’re a working man’s hands, slightly rough and calloused but with soft palms. And strong.
Definitely strong. What is it about them that makes them so attractive?
My mind goes back to our handshake at the restaurant.
I can’t remember my hand feeling so safe and secure—not since my mother held it.
But her hands were small and feminine, like mine.
My mind cycles through all the hands I’ve held over the years.
My father’s. My Ex’s. Amelia’s dad’s. A few boys I dated in college.
All their hands were soft, never sturdy, rugged, and substantial like Carter’s.
Never did I feel as invulnerable holding theirs as I did in the brief moment Carter held mine.
“Sorry.” He pulls his hand away after playfully bumping my knuckles. “You choose.”
I flip through the stations until I hear a familiar song.
Amelia starts singing in the back. She loves to sing.
But what amazes me beyond belief, is when Carter joins in on the chorus.
I’m stunned listening to the sweet harmony created by my daughter and the man sitting next to me as they both belt out Taylor Swift lyrics.
If Amelia weren’t completely smitten with him before, she sure as heck is now.
When the song ends, I simply stare at him and raise a brow.
“So sue me,” he says, inching the car forward. “I have a teenager with a best friend who is obsessed with her music.”
“Teenage boys like Taylor Swift?”
“His best friend is a girl, and you’re about to meet her. She goes by the name Bug.”
“Bug? As in an insect?”
He laughs. “Her real name is Darla, but Christian tells me the nickname goes way back to when she was little and loved to play with bugs. I guess to this day, she’s not scared of them like most girls are.”
“Yeah, I hate bugs. Especially spiders and roaches.” My entire body shivers as if one is crawling on me right this second.
“So you thought Florida was the best place for you? Kenna, I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. Do you realize how many bugs there are down there?”
“You’ve been?”
“A few times. Once with my family when I was young. And I took Christian when he turned eight. He’d been asking for a while if we could go, so I scrimped and saved every penny for well over a year.
” He smiles, clearly enjoying the memory.
“After four days of tromping around every Disney park, he actually told me he was glad he had CP because it got us to the front of every line.” He points. “There they are.”
Even though there is a crowd of students, I spot them right away—there’s only one kid using crutches. The girl next to him has blue hair. And it’s evident that they’re both oblivious to what’s going on around them. The pair only have eyes for each other. Best friends my ass.
Carter rolls down my window as we pull up to the curb. A woman smiles warmly at him, then eyes me like I’m a threat.
“Hi, Carolyn,” he says to her. “How are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She’s too busy checking me out and then craning her neck to see who’s in the back.
She smooths down her hair after a gust of wind dishevels it. “Fine. A little cold.” She nods to me. “Family?”
“Oh, sorry. Carolyn, this is Kenna and her daughter Amelia. I towed their car earlier and am giving them a ride.”
“Hmm.” Carolyn mumbles and blatantly tries to look at my left hand. I smile at her, but she doesn’t smile back. She just turns and calls for Christian and Bug.
I watch Carter’s son expertly navigate his footing on the clearly salted sidewalk. He doesn’t notice me. He’s too busy talking to his ‘friend.’ The moment they reach the vehicle, he opens the door for his companion.
Like father, like son.
Before the girl gets in, she stares at Amelia, then she sees me. “Uh… hi.”
“Hop in,” Carter says.
Bug climbs in, angles herself around the car seat and sits on the opposite side. Then Christian gets in, puts his crutches on the floor, secures his seatbelt, and turns to Amelia without hesitation. “Hi, I’m Christian.”
I like this kid already.
When Amelia doesn’t answer, probably because she’s not used to being addressed directly, I say, “It’s so nice to meet you, Christian. That’s Amelia and I’m Kenna.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He gestures to Bug. “This is my friend, Darla. But everyone calls her Bug.”
I smile. “Hi, Bug.”
“You have blue hair,” Amelia says then turns to me. “I want blue hair, Mommy. No… pink. I want pink hair. Can I? Please?”
My eyes shift rapidly from my daughter to Bug. I’m at a total loss. I can’t tell her that her request is ridiculous without insulting Bug.
I’m saved by the cute, blue-haired girl herself. “Do you want to know the secret to being able to have blue or pink hair?”
“Yes!”
“Well, you have to be really good. I mean, really, really good. Like do all your chores and be nice to people and don’t whine and complain all the time. Then when you’re older, you use all that goodness to bargain for the one thing you really want… pink hair.”
“What’s bargain?” Amelia asks, hanging on her new idol’s every word.
Bug laughs. “Sorry, squirt. It just means that because you’ve been so good, you’re allowed to ask for something you might not have been able to get if you’d been not so good.”
I try, but fail, to keep the huge grin off my face. I already like both of the kids bookending my daughter.
Carter elbows me as if saying, ‘See, I told you.’
Amelia blurts, “Why do you wear funny glasses?”
I’m mortified. “Amelia,” I chide. “That’s not polite.”
Christian says, “That’s okay.” He takes his glasses off and perches them on Amelia’s nose.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “I can’t see.”
Christian spends a few moments explaining his CP to Amelia. Then he and Bug entertain all of Amelia’s questions on the ride to Carter’s home.
It’s been a while since Amelia has been with other kids. We’d kind of been holed up in the apartment, any friends we’d had long felled by the wayside. And it was just too cold to visit the playground or the park.
I’m thoroughly enjoying their interaction. So thoroughly, I actually start envisioning what it would be like being around them for the next week.
I watch Carter as he weaves us through school traffic and back onto the main road. He’s nice enough. More than nice, actually. But then, so was Ted Bundy, the psychopath who lured in his victims by presenting himself as a nice, handsome, vulnerable guy.
I turn and study Christian. No way was this kid raised by anyone with bad intentions.
But… can I even accept an invitation from this guy? Someone who had to save up for an entire year just to go on one vacation? It doesn’t seem fair to take a handout from a man who might very well be living paycheck to paycheck.
“Here we are,” Carter announces, pulling into the driveway of a gray-paneled home with black shutters, a two-car garage, and a large mailbox that is a tiny replica of the house.
“Nice mailbox,” I say.
“I made it last year for my woodworking class,” Christian says. “Well, Dad and I made it.”
“Mostly you, son. And you did a fantastic job.”
“I got an A.”
I turn in my seat. “I can see that about you. You’re a pretty smart kid, huh?”
He touches the rim of his glasses. “It’s the glasses.
Everyone thinks kids with glasses are smart.
I mean, yeah, I am. But I’m getting Lasik soon.
It’s been almost three months since my other eye surgery, and once that time is up, I can do the Lasik and get rid of these things once and for all.
” He cocks his head. “I wonder if people will think I’m not smart anymore. ”
Christian’s words are slow and deliberate as he speaks. I’ve never spoken to anyone with CP before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Every once in a while it sounds like he’s slurring, but I barely notice it, more taken in by his easy, casual demeanor.
“Not possible,” Carter says like a proud father as he pulls into the garage. “Honor roll kid all the way.”
“What about you, Bug?” I ask. “You look like you have a good head on your shoulders. Are you on the honor roll too?”
She nods and touches Amelia’s arm. “Make good grades. Good grades will go a long way to getting that pink hair.”
“I can read,” Amelia says proudly.
“No way.” Christian’s words are over-the-top as he’s clearly feeding her tiny ego. “Aren’t you a little young to know how to read?”
“I’ll be five soon.”
I laugh. “In four months, Amelia.”
“Is that a long time?” she asks.
“Four months is nothing,” Christian says. “It’ll be here before you know it.” He taps my shoulder. “Can she really read?”
“She can. And she reads at the level of a six-year-old.”
Christian beams at my daughter. “You must have a good teacher.”
“Mommy teaches me.”
Carter arches a brow. “She’s not in preschool?”
I shake my head then shrug. “She used to go. But I’ve had a lot of downtime recently, so she doesn’t anymore. Nothing else to do really.”
He stares at me like he’s about to ask more, but Bug and Christian get out of the back seat, and I guess he realizes we’ve been sitting in the car all this time. He reaches back and unbuckles Amelia then gets out of the car. “I guess I’ll give you the tour then?”
Remembering the outrageous reason we’re here, I nod, collect Amelia, and we follow him inside.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs… uh…” Bug looks to Christian, not knowing what to call me.
“Our last name is Bennett. But please just call me Kenna,” I say. “You aren’t staying?”
She thumbs at the much larger house next door. “I have homework, and I have to help with the twins. Besides…” She glances at Carter. “We’re not allowed to hang out unless we’re ‘supervised by a parent’,” she air quotes in humorous sarcasm.
I totally get it. With the way these two teens were staring at each other on the sidewalk, if she were Amelia, I’d insist on a chaperone.
“Stupid rule,” Christian adds. “We’re fifteen.”
“Not a stupid rule,” Carter says. “You do know I was still in high school and only a few years older than you when you were born, right? It only takes one time, you know.”
“Gross,” Christian says, then turns red when he looks at Bug.
When she turns a shade of pink as well, contrasting her bright-blue hair, I have to agree that it is most certainly not a stupid rule.
“Bye, squirt. High-five?” Bug holds up her hand and Amelia touches it.
Bug walks across the snowy yard to her house, turning at the door to look back at Christian, whose gaze hasn’t strayed from the cute, athletic, teen. She smiles at him then disappears inside.
“You’re not going back to work?” Christian asks Carter when he sees us all approaching the inside door of the garage.
“Not quite yet. I thought Amelia here might want a snack first.” He turns to her. “You like graham crackers?”
“Yes!” she squeals.
Carter obviously isn’t ready to explain the situation to his son. Maybe he’s afraid it will spoil his surprise if Christian thinks the basement is just an empty wasteland. Or maybe he’s not sure how to tell him he’s just invited two complete strangers to live with them for a week or more.
And for the hundredth time in the last hour, I wonder if this is a horrible idea, or just what my daughter and I need.