Chapter 10 #3
She sits up. “Dallas brought a lot of food for lunch and shared,” she tells me, taking my hand to pull herself up. “He said he wanted to be full, because he was going to drink his dinner.” She dusts off the crumbs on her legs, peering up at me.
I shake my head, sighing.
I lead her to the kitchen. “I wish you’d help other teachers,” I state. “Or volunteer at the animal shelter. You like cats.”
She plops down on a stool at the island as I pull out a bowl the housekeeper left us. Opening it, I smell jambalaya.
“I like his room best,” she tells me.
I set the container in the microwave and start heating it. “I don’t want you in there. Understand?”
“Don’t make me leave,” she bursts out.
I look over my shoulder at her, seeing her eyebrows pinched together in panic. Her chest rises and falls faster.
“I don’t want to change anything,” she cries. “Callum…”
“Calm down, Sophia.”
I grit my teeth together. Jesus. She has to have a damn meltdown every time someone fucks with her world in the slightest.
The microwave stops, and I remove the bowl, stirring the contents. When I put it back in for another minute, I turn to her, seeing the tremble in her chin as she stares at the countertop.
My shoulders slump a little. God, I need a drink.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” I say, my voice gentle again. “I just don’t like him.” I fix us two glasses of pink lemonade. “And he might not be there long anyway. I don’t want you getting attached.”
Why the fuck did she have to run into him?
I set her drink in front of her and lay out forks and napkins. “I know you don’t understand, but he’s not good for anyone.”
“But he feels good.”
“What?” I blurt out instead.
He feels good?
Goddammit. I thought if she liked being there, he couldn’t be doing anything inappropriate.
But she folds her napkin in half over and over again. “When other people talk to me—teachers and stuff—they make looks at their friends,” she says quietly. “It feels like they’re saying things to each other I can’t hear.”
I narrow my eyes.
“But he doesn’t do that.” She tries to fold the napkin a sixth time, but it won’t stay. “He only looks at me when he talks to me.”
I press my lips together, trying to hide my anger. I hate that she notices people’s body language around her. I didn’t think she did.
When she runs into people we know around town, they often exchange looks as she speaks. They know she’s not acting her age, and it’s like they always need to make others aware that they think it’s weird, too.
A private joke. Maybe pity.
I don’t know how much Sophia is choosing how she presents herself nowadays, if it’s a choice she’s making consciously or something else, but I do know the sister I knew is still there. I catch glimpses of her old personality sometimes.
And she’s not blind to how people see her.
I scoop her a bowl of jambalaya and set it in front of her, watching her eat as I pull the rubber band and ribbon out of her hair.
Scooping up her hair, I refit the ponytail back up to where she likes it.
“Did your mom call?” I ask.
She nods, chewing. “Mmm.”
“Did you sleep okay last night?”
She bobs her head as she eats another spoonful.
I tighten the rubber band and tie the ribbon into a bow. “Aren’t you going to ask how I slept?”
I peer around to the side of her head, trying to reteach her some manners.
She chomps a piece of sausage. “I heard you snoring.”
“Sophia,” I groan. “That’s rude.”
“But not a lie.”
I shake with laughter, staying behind her so she doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing. “I don’t snore,” I tell her.
“Your girlfriend someday will tell you,” she retorts. “You’ll see.”
Girlfriend…Right.
She can continue to assist in Dallas Jaeger’s class. For now.
I don’t need to be fighting a battle on two fronts.
Three, if you count my father. He’ll be back from time to time this summer. Real estate development doesn’t stop during storm season.
“Callum?” Sophia says in a quiet voice.
I look around her, watching her move her fork around, playing with her food. “What?”
She’s quiet for a minute, and I move over to the cabinet. Removing a glass, I press it to the water dispenser.
“Does he hurt you?”
Her steady voice makes me go still, that innocent cheerfulness gone and a more mature awareness breaking through.
I look at her, seeing her eyes focused on her plate, but her shoulders are squared.
Sophia.
I push down the lump in my throat. “No.”
“Why?”
My father has hurt me. He’s hurt my feelings, but that’s not what she means.
“Because he doesn’t like me enough to justify the effort,” I tell her.
And my eyes start to burn; I’m almost too scared to breathe. Please stay. I need you.
She shakes her head, a tear spilling over. “He didn’t like me.”
Not enough to protect her, but…
“He liked something,” I reply.
Having my father’s interest isn’t a good thing, and while I know that, she learned the hardest.
Sophia inhales a breath and looks up at me, smiling. She pops another bite into her mouth, and just like that, Anna-Katherine is back.
“When are you going to fall in love?” she teases.
She beams at me, dancing in her seat again.
I quirk a smile and jerk my chin at her. “Eat.”