Chapter 20
Sammy
The school bus pulled into the manor’s driveway at nine-thirty the next day. I stood near the entrance with my clipboard, my stomach doing nervous flips despite all the planning.
Twenty-two third-graders. Plus Jan Henderson and four parent chaperones.
I’d handled tour groups before, but never one filled with eight-year-olds who had the energy of caffeinated squirrels.
The bus door opened and children poured out, their excited chatter filling the morning air. Corey spotted me and waved, his grin wide enough to split his face.
Jan descended the steps last, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Sammy,” she said, striding over and offering her hand. “Thank you so much for hosting us.”
“Happy to have you all.” I shook her hand, then raised my voice to be heard over the growing furor. “Okay everyone, let’s gather over here by the entrance.”
The children formed something resembling a group. One boy was already trying to climb the decorative fence. A girl had found a stick and was poking a plant.
This was going to be a long morning.
Wings spread overhead, casting shadows across the gathered children. The chatter stopped mid-sentence as every head turned upward.
Gavrel descended slowly, giving the kids time to process what they were seeing. He landed with barely a sound despite his size, folding his wings against his back.
“Whoa,” someone breathed.
“Is that him?” another voice whispered. “Corey’s friend?”
“He’s huge.”
Gavrel’s tail did a happy swish behind him as he approached. The movement seemed to break the spell. The children erupted into excited whispers.
“Bonjour,” he said, his accent making the words sound formal and friendly at the same time.
Ms. Henderson stepped forward. “Class, this is Mr. Budiere. He’ll be helping with our activities today.”
“Do you really carve with chainsaws?” a boy asked.
“Sometimes,” Gavrel said. “But not today. Today we’ll use safer tools.”
“Can I touch your wings?”
“After we go over the rules.”
I worked through my welcome speech while Gavrel stood beside me. The children’s attention kept drifting to him, but they mostly stayed focused.
The parent chaperones introduced themselves. Two mothers, a father, and someone’s grandmother who looked like she could wrangle a dozen kids without breaking a sweat.
We started with a basic tour of the gardens. The children scattered like dropped marbles, investigating every flower and rock.
“Stay where I can see you,” Jan called.
Gavrel moved through the group, his presence creating an orbit that pulled stragglers back toward the main cluster. His wings spread when a child got too close to the pond’s edge, creating a barrier.
One of the mothers, a woman named Rachel with perfectly styled hair, kept glancing at him. She wasn’t subtle about it either.
“You’re very good with them,” she said to Gavrel when we paused near the rose beds.
“Children are honest. I appreciate that.”
“And strong too, I imagine.” Her smile had too many teeth.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Gavrel’s tail twitched, the only sign he’d noticed the flirtation.
“The demonstration area is this way,” I said, redirecting everyone toward Gavrel’s clearing.
He’d set up a long table with clay blocks and plastic carving tools. Safety goggles and gloves sat stacked at one end.
“Everyone find a spot,” Gavrel said. “We’ll start with basic safety rules.”
The children pressed close to the table. Gavrel explained how to hold the tools properly, how to apply pressure without hurting themselves, and how to work with the material instead of fighting it.
His claws retracted as he demonstrated. The children watched with wide eyes as he shaped clay into a simple flower.
“Your turn,” he said. “Start with something basic. A ball or a cube. Get comfortable with how the clay feels.”
Voices erupted as twenty-two children grabbed tools and attacked their blocks.
Gavrel moved between them, answering questions and offering guidance. His tail sashayed behind him.
“Mr. Budiere, do your claws hurt when they go away?”
“No, it’s like flexing a muscle.”
“Can you carve upside down?”
“I haven’t tried.”
“What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever made?”
“A fountain in Paris. It took three months.”
Rachel positioned herself near Gavrel’s end of the table. Her daughter worked on a clay ball, but Rachel’s attention stayed on him.
The father, whose name I’d already forgotten, approached from the other side. “How much weight can you lift? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Several tons if the grip is good.”
“That’s incredible.”
I watched from a few feet away. Other adults treated Gavrel like he belonged here, like he was part of the team rather than a visiting novelty.
Pride warmed my chest. It was nice to see him shine.
A small girl with dark braids stood at the table’s edge, her hands hovering over her clay block without touching it. Gavrel noticed and moved closer, his voice dropping to something gentle. “What would you like to make?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“That’s okay. We can start with exploring how the clay feels. May I show you?”
She nodded.
He guided her hands, showing her how to press and shape without forcing. His fingers were much larger than hers, but he moved with complete control.
“There,” he said when she’d created a small dimple. “You did that. The clay responded to you.”
Her face lit up.
My throat tightened. This male who could crush stone with his bare hands was using that strength to build up a shy child’s confidence.
After we’d finished carving, we moved toward the tree planting area. Gavrel had marked a spot near the hedge maze, explaining his reasoning to Jan.
“The soil here is good. The tree will get enough sun but not too much. And it’s visible from the main path so students can see it when they visit with their families.”
“Excellent,” she said.
The children gathered around the marked circle. We had kid-sized shovels waiting, along with the young maple we’d selected.
“Who wants to dig first?” I asked.
Every hand shot up.
They took turns, every child getting a chance to move some soil. Then Gavrel stepped in, his shovel cutting through earth like it was butter.
He’d hit a root system within minutes. I would’ve needed tools and time to clear it. Gavrel just grabbed the exposed roots and pulled, the sound of tearing wood loud in the quiet garden.
The father whistled low. “Show off.”
Gavrel’s tail twitched. “I’m efficient.”
Rachel fanned herself.
Together, we lowered the maple into the hole, positioning it carefully.
“Now everyone helps fill it in,” I said.
The children took turns shoveling dirt back, patting it down around the roots with their sneakers.
“We should name it,” someone said.
“How about Trevor the Tree?”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“You’re a dumb name.”
Ms. Henderson jumped into the burgeoning fray. “Let’s vote. Who has suggestions?”
Ideas flew. Sprout. Peachy. Crouton.
They settled on Wisdom, which Rachel had suggested.
Gavrel carried the watering can over, letting each child pour a little. The maple settled into its new home, looking small but determined.
“It’ll grow big,” Gavrel told them. “You can visit it every year and see how much it’s changed.”
“Like us,” Corey said.
“Exactly like you.”
We moved to the picnic tables for lunch. The children attacked their food with the same enthusiasm they’d shown everything else.
Gavrel sat at one end, immediately surrounded by kids asking questions. He answered each one with patience that seemed endless.
Jan settled next to me. “You’ve got something special here.”
“Dazy and Feydin have worked really hard to turn it into what it is today.”
“I meant your partnership.” She nodded toward Gavrel. “It’s wonderful to see two people working so well together.”
The words landed strange. Partnership implied a permanent connection.
I watched Gavrel explain something about wing structure to three fascinated children. One of the parent chaperones asked his opinion about the afternoon schedule, treating his input as valuable as mine.
He wasn’t just helping. He was part of this.
The grandmother chaperone appeared with extra napkins.
Rachel started collecting everyone’s lunch trash. “Corey talks about Gavrel constantly.”
“They’ve gotten close,” I said.
“It’s sweet. My daughter’s father isn’t in the picture either. It’s good when kids have positive male influences in their lives.”
She moved away before I could respond. The words echoed in my head.
Positive male influence. Partnership. Team.
This wasn’t temporary help during a crisis. This was Gavrel integrating into our lives, and everyone treating it as natural.
I’d been so focused on not needing anyone, on proving I could handle things alone, that I’d missed the point entirely.
Strength wasn’t isolation. It was knowing when to accept help and when to share burdens. It was about building something with another person instead of carrying everything solo.
I was strong enough now to choose partnership from a place of confidence rather than desperate need.
The realization settled into my bones.
I wasn’t only Corey’s mom. I wasn’t just a chef or a garden manager or someone who could jump in and handle a crisis.
I was Sammy, a person worthy of love and support and equal partnership.
And I’d been choosing Gavrel from that place without realizing it. Not because I needed him to complete me or fix my life, but because I wanted him in it. We fit together in ways that made both of us better.
The field trip wound down. We herded children back toward the bus, their hands full of pressed flowers and their clay carvings.
“Thank you so much,” Jan said, shaking both our hands. “This was exactly what I hoped for. Educational, engaging, and memorable.”
“We should do this annually,” the grandmother chaperone said. “Make it a tradition.”
“I’d love that,” I said. “I’ll mention it to Dazy.”
The children piled onto the bus, their energy starting to flag. Corey gave me a quick hug before boarding, whispering that it was the best field trip ever.
Rachel was the last to board, her daughter already settled in a seat. “Thank you again. Both of you.”
She looked at Gavrel when she said it, but her smile had shifted from flirtatious to genuinely friendly.
The bus pulled away, children’s faces pressed against windows as they waved. We stood on the driveway until it disappeared from view.
Silence settled over the gardens.
Gavrel’s wings rustled, the sound loud after all the chaos. His tail had gone still.
“That went well,” I said.
“Very well.”
“You were amazing with them.”
“So were you.”
We walked toward the house, the afternoon sun warm on my shoulders. My chest felt full of emotions I couldn’t name.
“Want to sit on the porch for a bit?” I asked.
“Alright.”
We settled on the swing, my feet barely touching the ground. Gavrel’s wings folded tight against his back, and his tail lay completely still on the wood planks.
Something was wrong. I could read him well enough now to recognize his tension.
“Today was really special,” I said. “And… I’ve been thinking.” The words came before I’d fully formed them. “About everything. The house, your new life starting. All of it.”
His tail flipped, smacking on the wooden floorboards.
“I want you to know that I understand,” I said. “You’ve been so good to us, helping through the Virginia situation and being here for Corey. But I’m strong enough now to handle things. You don’t have to keep putting your life on hold.”
He’d gone completely still. He wasn’t even breathing.
“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done,” I said. “The way you’ve shown up and been part of our lives. But I recognize that you need your own space now. Your house, your work, and your independence. And that’s okay. It’s good, actually.”
“Sammy—”
“I’m not the same person I was when we met,” I said, rushing now to get it out before I broke, because it did hurt. “You helped me find strength I didn’t know I had. Confidence. The ability to stand on my own. And I’ll always be grateful for that gift.”
His expression had shifted to shock or disbelief. I couldn’t quite tell.
“So I want you to know that it’s okay if you need to focus on your new place and build your life there. I understand. We’ll be fine.”
The silence stretched between us.
Gavrel stared at me like I’d spoken a language he didn’t understand.