“How do you think your mom would feel if you didn’t come home tonight?”
She takes another step back, a big one. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m talking about what could have happened to Jazz today if I hadn’t found her before some sicko did. Children disappear every day in this country. It doesn’t just happen in the movies. It happens when a careless babysitter is so self-absorbed, she allows a little girl to wander right into danger on her own. How would you have felt if I’d found Jazz floating facedown in that lake? How would it feel living every day for the rest of your life knowing it was your fault?”
Tears fill Isabel’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” she yells, sniffling but still defiant. “I didn’t know she left the house.”
“It’s your fucking job to know,” I yell louder, getting right in her face, and Isabel cringes. “How do you feel right now? Scared? Afraid I could hurt you?” I have her back against the door now, and she’s still got defiance lighting her eyes. “Times how you feel right now by a thousand, and you’ll know how scared Jazz would have been if someone took her. How terrified she would have been if she fell into the water and couldn’t get out.”
“Stop,” Isabel finally yells, hands over her face. “Stop. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
I wait for the tears and the sobs. When they come, I finally feel like the kid heard me. Finally feel like she’s taking this seriously. But I never want her around these girls again.
“Get out,” I tell her. “Get out, and don’t you dare ever come here again.”
She drops her hands and looks at me with round wet eyes. “What? You’re not their mother. You can’t tell me—”
“One of those kids was in danger on my fucking property. That makes this my fucking business. The only person who doesn’t have a say in this whole fucking thing is you. You forfeited that by neglecting the children you were supposed to be caring for. Now get the fuck out.”
“Give me my phone.”
“Send your parents to the marina. I’ll give it to them personally, along with an accurate accounting of what happened here today.”
Isabel grabs her keys and backpack, and she’s out of the house in twenty seconds flat.
Now I’ve got to go have a much softer, quieter, sweeter talk with the girls. I brace my hands on the doorjamb, exhale, and lower my head. I’m still so angry, so traumatized, I’m shaking.
I start toward the stairs and look up to find all three girls huddled on one step. Their eyes are wide, their posture frightened. Ah, fuck. I should have foreseen this.
“Hey, girls,” I say in as normal a voice as I can find. “I’m sorry you had to hear all—”
Violet lunges off the stairs and runs straight toward me. The other two are right behind her. Before I know what’s happening, all three are clinging to me, their faces pressed against my body.
Tears sting my eyes as I drop into a crouch and pull them all into a hug.
“I’m sorry,” Violet says in a shaky voice. “I just thought Jazz gave up looking, and I started playing Apples to Apples with Poppy.”
“I’m sorry I left the house,” Jazz says.
“I’m sorry you’re mad,” Poppy says.
That makes me huff a laugh. “I’m not mad at any of you.”
I drop to a seat on the floor, and they crowd around me. “I want to explain this. Taking care of children is one of the most important jobs in the world. And when someone doesn’t do a good job of it, bad things can happen. I don’t want anything bad happening to any of you. Ever. Isabel is just too immature to be doing such an important job, and I’ll never stand by and do nothing if I think you’re going to be hurt in any way. It’s important to stand up for what’s right when you see something bad happening. I don’t always think raising your voice is the right way to handle things, but sometimes it has to happen to get the message through.”
Violet’s gaze is pinned to mine. “So, you’re not mad?”
“Not with any of you.”
“And not with Daddy?” she asks.
“No, honey, not your daddy either.” I give them another squeeze. “Are we good?”
“Yeah,” they say in a chorus.
“Who’s got homework?”
“Me,” they say together again.
“You too, Jazz?” I ask.
“Handwriting.”
“Okay. Jazz, you get changed into dry clothes, and all of you bring your things to the kitchen table. Once you’re started, I’m going to fix that fence.”
14
Ben
I drive by the entrance to the marina on my way home and look for Kat's truck. It’s parked where it usually is, right up next to her shop. I ache to see her, kiss her, touch her. That’s how I know I have to stay away, because I want her too badly, and she won’t be sticking around.
And after hearing all about her escapades as a kid and her dreams for the future, I sure as shit don’t want to be the guy who holds her back. I don’t really want to get my heart broken again either.
Yeah, staying away is still the right thing to do. For both of us.
My heart is sinking into my stomach as I reach overhead and tap the garage door opener on the visor. Movement from the left side of the house catches my eye, and I stop in the driveway, trying to figure out if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.
Yep, that’s Kat manhandling my fence.
She’s wearing one of her old pairs of jeans, the ones she wears when she’s working, and just a tank top even though it’s about fifty degrees outside. Her hair is up in a messy knot on the top of her head. She’s wearing gloves, and she’s got what looks like my toolbox at her feet.
“What the hell happened now?” Coming home every day feels like an episode in the misadventures of the Lathams’. I’m never sure what I’ll find. And I’m not sure if I should be excited or frustrated to see Kat, because her muscles are rolling beneath her skin and her neck is exposed and…
“Stop thinking about it, idiot.”
Frustrated. Definitely.
I climb from the car and make my way across the lawn. Her face is flushed and she’s breathing hard, her chest rolling with the motion. And when she meets my gaze, I realize she’s pissed. Openly, obviously pissed. And Kat pissed is something to take seriously.
“I’m sure there’s a story behind this,” I say, “but by the look on your face, I’m not sure I want to know what it is.”
“Look, you’re going to be angry,” she says. “I already know that, and it’s fine, whatever. But this is all new to me, and I probably should have handled it differently, but I went with my gut, which I’ve discovered turns all full-on mama-bear mode when it involves these girls—”
“Whoa, whoa.” I put both my hands out. “Slow down, baby.”
I didn’t mean to call her that, I’m not even sure where it came from. Scratch that, I know exactly where it came from. I can still remember my hands tangled in her hair while she was taking me throat-deep. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”