I rolled my eyes.
Deacon poked his head into the kitchen. “Anya just called for you.” He held out a measuring tape, which I took with a sigh.
I took the steps two at a time and schooled my face when I pushed open her door.
“Was the tape measure lost?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Sorry, gingersnap, I was talking to Uncle Beckham about my new job.”
She snuggled back underneath her blanket, and in the dim light of her room, I could see the curiosity light her eyes. The canopy was effectively forgotten, which wasn’t a bad thing. Surreptitiously, I tucked the measuring tape into the pocket of my gym shorts.
“Is it your first day tomorrow?”
With a nod, I sat on the edge of her bed. “I signed all the papers today, but I’m going to go just for a little bit in the morning so Miss Amy can show me a few things on the computer. Grandma will be here when I leave, so she’ll probably make you breakfast when you wake up.”
Her lips pursed in thought. “Can I have blueberry pancakes?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Anya smiled, turning on her side with her arm gripping a small plush dog. “Are you scared for your first day? Do you think they’ll be nice to you?”
In the innocently spoken question, I heard her own fears about starting a new school, even if it was still a couple of weeks off.
“Yeah,” I told her. “I think they’ll be nice to me. The important thing about meeting new people is making sure you treat them the way you want to be treated, right?”
She nodded. “Mommy always said that too. The Gold Rule.”
“Close,” I murmured, ruffling a hand over her head.
“You’re really quiet when you meet new people, though, Daddy.”
“I suppose I am.”
“Does that mean you want people to be quiet with you too?” she asked, completely innocent, and like she did just about every day, she broke my heart just a little further.
But I decided to answer her honestly. “Depends on the person. I like hearing you talk, gingersnap.”
She giggled. “You have to say that.”
“Nah. I only say it because I mean it.”
“I think you should figure out what your new people like, Daddy. They may not be like you.”
“You’re pretty smart, you know that?”
Anya sighed, snuggling her face into the stuffed animal. “Maybe you should take The Mommy List with you,” she said quietly. “Just in case.”
The Mommy List, as she’d started referring to it, was tucked in the frame behind Beth’s picture, at Anya’s request. Over the past two years, anytime I went somewhere new, she asked me if I needed it. Just in case.
I always said the same thing. And she never pushed it.
Like I could forget that damn list anyway.
“Maybe I should.” I smiled. “You ready to go to sleep now?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
I stood, leaning over to drop a kiss on her forehead. By the time I walked into the hallway and pulled her door closed behind me, her eyes were already closed.
Anya’s words rang in my head, and I pulled out my phone and decided to send Amy a text.
Me: I know I’ll be there in the morning, but so I don’t forget to bring it up, I’ll take any tips on the best way to introduce myself to the staff.
She responded almost immediately.
Amy: Most of them were aware this was a possibility, so I don’t think anyone will be too shocked, but we’ll set up a time for you to meet Isabel before we do a meeting with everyone.
* * *
Me: How do you think she’ll take it?
* * *
Amy: She’ll be your biggest ally in this. She’s smart and dedicated, and completely unflappable. I swear, I’ve never seen anything knock her off-balance.
* * *
Me: Unflappable sounds pretty good right now.
* * *
Amy: Tomorrow is her day off, but she’ll probably show up at some point. Not many surprises when it comes to Isabel.
I tucked my phone away and sighed. “No surprises sounds pretty good to me.”
Chapter Two
Isabel
No one in my life knew about it, but my favorite possession in the entire world was a metal box. My Nan—my half-brother Logan’s mom—gave it to me when I turned ten, and she told me it was the best way to keep important things safe. Things I wasn’t ready to share with anyone else or wanted to make sure were taken care of. It came right after a screaming match with Molly because she’d found my diary and made fun of me for something I’d written about a boy in my class. A place to lock things up from my sister’s prying eyes sounded like the best possible gift.
It was sleek and black, a little beat up around the edges, and had a thick lock that had grown dull with age. Along the heavy metal top was a red stripe, and I always liked that surprising pop of bright color. The rest of the box was so forbidding, but that little bit of color gave it personality.
She told me it was vintage, that they didn’t make lockboxes like it anymore. Stamped into the metal along the bottom was 43 Bond, not that I even really knew what that meant.
Over the years, I was very selective of what I put into that box. There were a few keepsakes, some that brought happy memories, and some that served as an important reminder, good or bad.
A silver locket Molly bought me for my eleventh birthday after saving her money for months because she knew I wanted it. I used to look at it when I wanted to remember why my older sister was, in fact, not the bane of my existence.
A ribbon from my senior prom corsage. The date had been forgettable, but his sweaty man-child hands trying to figure out what to do with me were … not. That guy—just like the few others who’d made the sad attempts to date me as I stretched my long legs into adulthood—couldn’t carry a conversation if it was strapped to his back. That one came out of the box if I ever needed to remember why it was easier to say no.
A bracelet our mom gave me just a few weeks before she left us on our brother’s front porch. I’d never worn it. Usually, that one stayed tucked way the hell back because even the smallest glimpse of that delicate silver pattern had my heart racing. People knew when they’re going to leave you. The bracelet didn’t need to come out of the box in order to remind me of that.
Some of the items weren’t that maudlin, don’t worry.
The first pair of hand wraps from the kickboxing gym that had been my second home, my life, since I started working there at eighteen. I was fourteen the first time I wore them.
Some were silly, or made me feel silly, which was a little different. I didn’t usually pull those out to study them. But I was getting there. All of the storytelling had a point, I promise.
As I got older, I realized the box—strong and secure and protective—was a fitting symbol for me.
How sexy, right?
Isabel Ward, the human lockbox.
I was tough and strong. Everything important stayed safe where no one could touch or ruin it. There was space inside me for a lot more, but the older I got, the less opportunity there was for the lid to be opened.