Chapter 3
Sammy
Corey’s teacher, Jan Henderson, caught me at the classroom door after I’d dropped off my son. “Sammy, do you have a moment?”
I forced a smile and nodded, watching Corey run over to join a few other kids.
Jan was in her fifties, with kind eyes and that particular teacher-exhaustion that came from years of managing eight-year-olds. She gestured toward the hallway. “I wanted to talk to you about something that happened yesterday.”
My stomach dropped. “Is Corey okay?”
“He’s fine. But we had an incident during our family tree project.”
She urged me into a room empty of everything but a table and four chairs, and shut the door, suggesting I sit. While I perched on the edge, she took the seat opposite mine and placed a manilla folder on the smooth surface.
“One of the other students asked Corey about his father. Corey got very defensive and said, quite loudly, that he didn’t need a dad and that dads were stupid.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“Then he started crying,” Jan said, her voice gentle. “He was pretty upset. It took a while to calm him down.”
I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. These things happen more than you’d think. I’m just concerned about Corey’s emotional response. The outburst felt like he was holding in some big feelings.”
I shifted in the plastic chair. “He’s been asking more about his dad.
” I shrugged, trying to sound casual about something that kept me awake at night more times than I liked.
“I haven’t been sure how to tell him that his father wanted nothing to do with him.
I know it wasn’t a rejection of Corey, but I know it’ll be hurtful to hear. ”
Her expression softened. “That’s such a difficult position to be in.”
“I keep thinking I’ll figure out the right words, but I haven’t so far.”
“You’re right that it’s hard to know how much truth an eight-year-old can handle, especially when it might hurt.” She leaned forward. “What I’m seeing is that he’s clearly processing some feelings about family. The outburst yesterday felt like frustration more than anything else.”
“What should I do?”
“Our counselor, Macy Jackson, is really wonderful with kids who are working through family questions. She could help him develop some coping strategies for when these feelings get overwhelming. Nothing formal, but maybe they could speak a few times. This might give him some tools to handle these emotions when they start to feel overwhelming. If she feels he needs more help, she could make a referral.”
I looked down, already mentally adding another item to my endless to-do list.
“Honestly, there’s no perfect way to handle these conversations,” Jan said. “Most parents wrestle with how much honesty is appropriate at different ages. You’re not alone in this.”
“It feels like I am sometimes.”
“For what it’s worth, Corey talks about you constantly.
He’s proud of his mom and feels secure in your relationship.
This seems more about his curiosity and maybe some peer pressure than any actual insecurity at home.
” She slid a business card across the table with Macy Jackson’s name on it. “Here’s her number.”
“I’ll call her today,” I said. “Thank you for being understanding.”
“Of course. Corey’s lucky to have you in his corner.” She paused. “Have there been any big changes at home, stressors he might be dealing with that could’ve brought this to a head?”
“As you know, we moved here six months ago. New town, new school, new living situation.”
“That’s a lot of transition for a child.” Her expression remained kind. “You’re doing a great job. Single parenting isn’t easy. But Corey’s a wonderful kid. He has lots of friends. He just needs some tools to help him manage when things get hard.”
I nodded, trying to hold it together. “Is there anything else?”
“No. Thank you for making time to speak with me.”
“Any time,” I choked out, rising. I managed a smile and headed for the door, but her words followed me out.
He’s clearly processing some big feelings. There was a hole in his life I’d never be able to fill.
The drive back to the manor took ten minutes but felt like hours. His teacher’s words kept circling in my head. Emotional regulation. Big feelings. Tools to help him manage.
All the things I should be providing.
I checked the clock on my dashboard. Nine-fifteen. The staff meeting started at ten.
I was running late already. Perfect.
My mental to-do list spiraled out of control.
Talk to Corey tonight about the incident.
Call the school counselor. Figure out how to explain why his father wasn’t in his life without making him feel unwanted.
Manage the café. Oversee the botanical gardens.
Prove to Gavrel that I was competent enough to handle this job, that Dazy hadn’t made a mistake hiring me.
And somehow give my son the one thing he needed that I couldn’t provide.
A father.
I gripped the steering wheel harder.
Corey had asked a few times about his dad when he was younger, but I’d told him his father wasn’t in our lives, and he seemed to accept that. But lately, especially since we’d moved here, he’d been watching. Noticing. Seeing other kids with their fathers at school events, at the park, and in town.
I’d always known this day would come, but I hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.
By the time I pulled up to the manor, it was ten-twenty.
The staff had already gathered on the front porch, sitting in the wicker furniture.
Seven people total. Jim, the head groundskeeper, a human in his sixties who knew more about plants than anyone I’d ever met.
Two part-time gardeners, both local college students working to make some extra cash.
Emma and Flint, a married elf couple who handled the more delicate plantings.
Claire and Beth, the two women who worked at the café, were already getting things ready for the day in the first floor of the carriage house that had been converted to a snack shack.
Gavrel stood at the far end of the porch, leaning against the railing.
I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the car, forcing my expression into something I hoped looked like calm professionalism.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, taking the steps two at a time. “Traffic.”
“No problem,” Jim said. “We were just discussing the sprinkler situation in the east garden.”
“What’s the issue?” I settled in an empty seat, giving everyone a smile.
“Two of the zones aren’t working properly. I think it’s a valve problem, but we might need to call someone.”
“How much do you think it’ll cost?”
Jim shrugged. “Couple hundred, maybe. Depends on the parts.”
I mentally calculated the estate’s budget, trying to remember what Dazy had said she’d left for emergency repairs. There was a fund for maintenance, but I didn’t want to drain it in the first week of managing things solo.
“Let me look at the valves first,” I said. “Maybe it’s something simple.” My foster dad had put up with me endlessly following him around while he did home repairs, and he’d even given me my own tool set when I was twelve. I might be able to handle this myself.
Gavrel shifted, his wings rustling. I didn’t look at him.
“Also,” Emma said, her melodic voice carrying that particular elf-politeness I found enchanting, “we need to decide where to put the new azaleas. The original plan had them near the pergola, but Jim thinks they’d do better in partial shade.”
“The pergola gets full sun most of the day,” Jim said. “They’ll burn.”
I looked between them. Dazy would’ve known immediately what to do. She had a particular instinct for plants and design, for how everything fit together.
I had ten years of restaurant management experience and six months of on-the-job garden training.
“Where do you think we should put them?” I asked Jim.
“Near the back corner, by the oak trees.”
“Does that work for you, Emma?”
She nodded. “It’s a good compromise.”
“Great. Let’s do it then.”
Gavrel’s tail twitched. I caught the movement in my peripheral vision and felt my shoulders tense.
He was cataloging every decision I made, probably comparing it to how Feydin or Dazy would’ve handled things. Finding me lacking? I hoped not.
We went through the rest of the agenda. Visitor numbers were up, which was good. Today’s guided tour schedule needed adjusting because one of the volunteers had called in sick. The compost bins needed turning. Normal, manageable tasks that felt overwhelming under Gavrel’s quiet observation.
“Anything else?” I asked.
The staff shook their heads.
“Alright. Let’s have a great day.”
They rose and stepped off the porch, everyone heading toward their various tasks. I turned toward the café, mentally switching gears to the lunch prep.
Gavrel followed me.
I didn’t acknowledge him, just pushed through the café door into the converted space that still smelled like fresh paint and wood. The kitchen staff, two local women who’d worked at a fast-food place before this, were already prepping for the lunch crowd.
“Morning, Sammy,” Claire called from the counter on the opposite side of the room.
“Morning. How are we looking?”
“Good, except the delivery truck is running late. We’re short on fresh greens for salads.”
“How late?”
“They said another hour.”
I checked the clock. We opened at one. An hour would be cutting it close. “Okay. We’ll make do. Do we have enough ingredients for the sandwich menu?”
“Yeah, we’re fine there.”
I walked over to the walk-in cooler, taking inventory. My brain was already pivoting to backup plans, alternative menu items, and things we could prep ahead if needed.
Gavrel appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Claire and Beth glanced at him. Hard not to notice a seven-foot gargoyle standing inside the entrance of a tiny kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked. His accent made the question sound formal. Polite.
It grated on me for reasons I couldn’t name.
“We’re fine,” I said. “Thank you.”
“The delivery issue—”
“Is handled.”
He hesitated. “I could fly to the supplier. It might be faster than waiting for the truck.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m sure they’ll be here in time.”
“Of course.” He turned and left.
I exhaled slowly, going back to the inventory list. My hands were shaking.
“You okay, boss?” Claire asked.
“Yeah. Just a long morning.”
I threw myself into the prep work, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. Checking and rechecking the sandwich station. Reorganizing the cold case even though it didn’t need it. Then helping them unpack the vegetables when they arrived.
Keeping my hands busy kept my brain from spiraling.
I was heading back toward the manor house to get something to eat for lunch when my phone rang.
The school’s number lit up the screen. I paused on the porch, my belly dropping for the second time that day.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Ms. Caswell, this is the front office at the elementary school. Corey forgot his lunch money this morning. Are you able to bring some by? He’s all out.”
I closed my eyes. “Yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up and stared at the wooden porch floor, trying to remember if I’d checked Corey’s backpack this morning. And trying to remember the last time I’d felt like I was doing this parenting thing right instead of constantly scrambling to keep up.
The answer to both was I wasn’t doing enough.
Inside, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, nearly colliding with Gavrel in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning down at me.
“Nothing. I need to run an errand.”
“You look upset.”
“I’m fine.”
He studied my face with intent silver eyes. “I’m happy to help if I can.”
“It’s… Corey forgot his lunch money. I need to bring it to him.”
“I can take it.”
“You don’t need to do that for me.”
“Sammy.” His voice came out gentle. “Please let me help.”
I wanted to argue. Prove I could handle everything myself. But the café opened in thirty minutes, and Corey was sitting in the cafeteria feeling forgotten.
I pulled a twenty from my wallet and held it out. “Could you give this to the front office? They’ll apply it to his account. Corey Caswell.”
Gavrel took the bill, his claws careful not to touch my fingers. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He opened the front door and stepped outside. I followed as far as the porch, watching as he leaped off the top step, spreading his wings. The dark membranes caught the late morning sun, the metallic sheen making them look almost iridescent.
The garden staff paused in their work to watch. So did a handful of people passing on the sidewalk beyond the fence.
Gavrel rose higher into the air with powerful downstrokes, gliding fast and smooth. Within seconds, he’d become a dark shape against the blue sky, heading toward town.
“Show-off,” Jim muttered, but he was smiling.
I stood there until Gavrel disappeared from view, feeling like the worst mother in the world.
My son had needed something simple. Lunch money. Five dollars would’ve been enough. And I’d forgotten to make sure he had what he needed because I’d been too busy worrying about proving myself to everyone. Instead, I was proving myself to no one, not even myself.
“Alright,” I said to no one in particular. “Back to work.”
I turned and went to the kitchen, fixing sandwiches for both me and Gavrel.
It was wrong of me to snap at him or make him feel as if he wasn’t needed.
I couldn’t seem to get anything right today.
By the time I’d plated the food, I’d decided to wait for him to return. We could eat together. I’d apologize, tell him I’d welcome his advice and help. From what I’d seen so far, he wasn’t a meanie. He might have some good insight into some of the other issues on my to-do list.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I heaved out a sigh and dropped my head into my hands.
Everything I’d been holding back since Jan’s concern this morning came rushing up. Corey’s pain. The fear that I was failing him. The pressure of this job and the chance I couldn’t afford to mess up.
“Is something wrong, chérie?” Gavrel asked.
I lifted my head, finding him standing in the doorway, his wings folded against his spine and his tail still at his side. His expression held something I couldn’t quite name. Concern, maybe. Or pity.
My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall.
“Everything,” I said. “Everything is wrong.”