“What’s up with you? Did you do something you shouldn’t have or do you want something you won’t get?”
“Once again, none of the above.” He winked. “I’ll get to shutting up now.”
He fished out his phone. Conversation over.
“What’s with you two?” Zion whispered. “Is his proposal for real? The hackles rise on both of you when you’re within twelve feet of each other.”
“His proposal is not real. I talked with Mrs. Evanston. She agrees that no one would take a grudge that far.”
“She did? Are counselors allowed to be that direct?”
“That lady breaks all the rules. That’s why we get along so well,” I said. “The point is we talked and she said he’s doing this to make a point. I just need to sit down with him and say the point has been made. He can stop punishing me because I’m doing plenty of that on my own.”
Zion bumped my shoulder. “I know we’ve only known each other for a week, but if you want to talk about anything...” He let the rest hang in the air.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t but... thank you.”
We shifted to what we’d get up to after dinner. We were deep in an argument over watching Indiana Jones or Memento when Mrs. Desai called for our attention.
“We’re five minutes away from the home,” she said. “Mrs. Figgs will meet us at the door and give us our assignments on the spot. The children are the sweetest little things. They may offer to help, and they’ll definitely have endless questions for you. Remember to have fun.”
“We’re not just there to have fun or volunteer though, are we?” Zion spoke up. “We’re about to answer one of the top questions on a potential fiancé’s mind. How are they with kids?”
“Huh,” I said. “Mrs. Desai, you sneaky lady. I didn’t think of that at all.”
“How are you with kids?” he asked.
“Love them. The little buggers say exactly what’s on their minds. It’s a shame we grow out of that.”
“I don’t think we so much grow out of it in the community as it’s washed, ironed, pressed, and starched out of us. Gotta make us presentable.”
The corner of my mouth turned up. “They missed a spot with you. Looks like you can still tell it like it is.”
“All right, everyone.” Mrs. Desai gushed like we were going to the carnival. “We’re here.”
The shuttle let out in front of a modest, one-story building. A thigh-high fence wrapped around the lawn, decorated with fish, butterflies, stick children, palm trees, stars, and suns. They must have put the brushes in the kids’ hands and let them loose.
“Yoo-hoo.” A stout lady in a blue dress and sensible shoes waved from the entrance. “Hello and welcome to the Citrine Home. We’re very happy to have you.”
We echoed greetings and thanks. I fell in behind Preston walking up the path.
“I’m the director, Mrs. Figgs. I’ll introduce you to more of the staff as we run into them. For now, I’ll sort you into teams and then we’ll meet the children. They’re so looking forward to this.” Figgs consulted her clipboard. “I need ten on the lunch team. Five on the cleanup team. Four on the office team and six in the storage room. The rest of you can spend time with the kids. This is their outside time and they’ve got a new trampoline they can’t stay off of.”
She beamed at us. “Who would like which teams?”
Hands went up volunteering for this or that, and Figgs got it sorted out. Preston and I wound up in the group joining the kids’ playtime. Nathan was off to help with the food and Carter was on the office team.
We crossed the threshold and the horde unleashed.
“Preston!”
Three cannonballs launched at him. He let out a roar.
“You’ll never take me down! Never!”
The girls were ready for this challenge. Five more charged around the corner. Preston had just enough time for his eyes to grow big. Screeching, the girls chose a body part and hung on with all their might.
“No,” Preston gasped. “Help! Belle, save me!”
I stifled a laugh. “You’re on your own.”
“No! Nooooo!” Preston disappeared under a mass of giggling preteens. They piled the questions on between hugs.
“Preston, we missed you.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Are you coming tomorrow too?”
“What are you smiling at?”
That last one was definitely not from the girls.
Delilah brushed past me, raising a brow over her shoulder. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Adler? We came here to help. Lazy waste-of-space is an even worse look than uncharitable apathetic.”
“Lilah, if I could bottle that charm, the government would sell it as a lethal weapon.”
She smirked. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”
“You should. Bitch recognizes bitch.”
Her face reddened deciding if that was an insult or admiration.
“I’ll be here all day, ladies,” Preston said. “You guys have been doing some painting. Did you decorate the Monarch house too?”
“Yeah, Preston, come see.”
“Come to the Magpies first.”
The girls whisked him away from both of us.
“Shouldn’t you run off to the storage room?” I prompted.
“Yes, Lilah.” Mila grabbed her arm and tugged her away. “Don’t fight in a children’s home,” I overheard her say. “If there’s a line, this is it.”
I was slower to set off. The lobby had the children’s touch as well. Overlapping handprints went as high as the children could reach. Pictures of the kids covered the walls. Scanning them, I noticed they were taken at an angle that hid their faces.
“We’re not allowed to show their faces in photographs.” A young woman wearing a shirt with the home’s logo came up to me. “Means we have to get artful about it, but the pictures come out nice. We want them to have good memories to look back on.” She stuck out her hand. “Paris.”
“Belle,” I replied. “Can you tell me more about the children who live here?”
“Love to. Our kids range from six to thirteen years old. That’s as old or young as are allowed to live here.”
“Where do they go when they turn fourteen?”
“If they aren’t living with a family by then, we have a sister home for fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds.”
I ran my finger down a dusty frame. “And are there kids who aren’t adopted by then?”
“Yes, sadly, there are.”
“Did all these little ones lose their parents?”
Paris inclined her head. “Some did. Some were taken from them by child services. Others, a small few, were sent here by their guardians. Citrine Home is a therapeutic home. We address all of our kids’ needs—including mental.”
“Therapeutic home. By that you mean children who’ve experienced trauma.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
My heart constricted imagining what these kids had gone through. “Will you be here all day?”