by Kristy Marie
I nod. I can’t act shitty to Cal. Other than pining after my girl, he’s done nothing awful, except maybe enjoying talk radio. But he’s been cordial around me and Milah both, so whatever. He’s fine. For now. Unless he decides to act on his feelings for Milah. Then we will have a problem.
Ms. Peak taps my shoulder, getting my attention and then repeating herself so I can read her lips. “There’s a talent show in two weeks. I’d like for you to participate in it.”
“No.”
I refuse to perform in front of others.
“Why? You’re incredible. The kids would love to see you in action. The world’s most prized piano prodigy….”
“No. I haven’t been a prodigy in a long time. I don’t want to do it.”
There is no way I am getting up on a stage, fearing any mess up. The door to the music room swings open farther. Cal never shut it fully. I know it’s her just by the smell of the fruit-scented lotion she uses.
She signs, using her words for Ms. Peak and Oliver at her side. “What if we do it with you?”
“Yeah!” the little boy at her side cries, bouncing in excitement. “I want to participate.”
Glaring, I focus my attention on Ms. Peak as if saying, now look at what you’ve done.
“I don’t think I can,” I tell them honestly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that much…” Attention? Eyes? Stress? Digging up the bones of my past? “Of a crowd.”
“But we would be with you,” Oliver negotiates as he plops down in a desk, already pilfering through my lunch bag for the dessert he knows Breck packed for him.
“I know, kiddo, but—”
“Just think about it,” says Milah. “I could sing, and Oliver could sign my words. It would—”
“Be sensational,” Ms. Peak finishes for her.
Knowing when to leave things—women always win arguments—I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. Do this for the kid. “Fine. I’ll do it. But only one song.” I make sure they understand that I am not volunteering to do pep rally performances or openings to the choir concerts. I’m agreeing to this one song, for this one night.
“Deal.” Milah claps, her eyes alight with happiness. “I haven’t sung in so long.”
I narrow my eyes. Yes, she did. “Not like this.” She waves me off, knowing exactly what I mean.
Ms. Peak watches our exchange with a grin. “Great. Now that’s settled. Let’s eat and then we’ll pick out a song for you both.”
This is not going to end well. I already feel it. And when my phone dings with a text message from Dr. Parker, it confirms it.
Dr. Parker: Ignoring me won’t make me go away. Dr. Callahan has an opening in his surgery schedule in a couple of months. It’s a good opportunity, Tim. You’re not her. You can handle this.
Tim: I said no.
I’ll never be ready.
I’m waiting on the sidewalk as the final parents pick up their kids from the car line. I don’t know who is picking me up today, but they’re late. Which is no big deal. I could use a few minutes alone. After practicing with Milah and Oliver for the talent show, I feel a bit overwhelmed. Did I really just agree to play the fucking piano on stage after years of hating it? I think I did.
With my acceptance, Milah and Ms. Peak immediately started sifting through song choices. I used the time teaching Oliver how to play chopsticks. I didn’t care what song Milah and Ms. Peak picked just as long as they were happy. I’m doing this for them, not the audience. I hope they know that. The excitement in Oliver’s eyes—Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn, spotting a familiar set of brown eyes and a Pokémon backpack before he sits down next to me.
“What are you still doing at school?” I ask Oliver, adjusting so I can see his face.
He tries to sign some of his words while he speaks. “Why are you still here?”
Seems like smart-ass is a free gift when you take the Milah Iglesias sign language course. I bite my cheek and grin. “My ride isn’t here yet.”
Oliver bobs his head and pulls out an open pack of crackers and hands me one. “Mine either. My foster mom has to stop and pick up my foster brothers and sister before she picks me up. She’s always late.”
I examine the cracker in my hand before I take a bite. “Do you like living with your brothers and sister?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s okay. I don’t have any real brothers or sisters like the other kids. Katie, Todd, and Austin are all real brothers and sisters. Ms. Peters said I was an only child.”
“I don’t have any real brothers or sisters either,” I tell him, hoping to make him feel better.
He smiles. “Do you have foster brothers and sisters too?”
“Sort of,” I answer, scratching my jaw and looking down the drive for a familiar car. “I have friends that are like my brothers.” Fuck it. “Like you, I live in a group home.”
His face lights up at my admission. “You’re a foster kid too?” He scoots closer and hands me another cracker. What is it with the kids in my life loving crackers?
I clear my throat. “Sort of.”
His head tilts up in confusion. “Ms. Peters said my mom couldn’t take care of me. Did your mom not take care of you either?”
Oh wow. So… I scrub a hand down my face, buying myself time. “Not exactly. It was more like I couldn’t take care of myself.” They say you should be honest with children; they can see through bullshit. And for some reason, I don’t want Oliver to think adults are perfect. We aren’t. So, if his life doesn’t go according to plan and he ends up at rock bottom, I want him to know that doesn’t make him any less of a man. Some men take the routes with tolls and dirt roads. We don’t take the highways, that would be too easy.
Oliver stares at me, his eyes searching my face until he slips his hand in mine, squeezing. “Maybe I can be your brother and we can take care of each other.”
Something like sand clogs my throat, and I cough a few times before a car turns down the school’s drive. “That’s my foster mom,” he says, handing me his last cracker and standing.
I get to my feet as the car comes around the curve and squat down so I can look the little boy in the eyes when I promise, “Brothers,” and hold my hand out for a shake.
Those innocent eyes go wide as he slips his hand in mine for the second time today. “Brothers forever,” he promises.
“I need to buy a car.” Those are the first words I say to Theo when I get into the car. “But first, I need you to make a stop.”
“What do I look like? Your chauffeur? Get Mason to take you. I haven’t even been home yet.” I look at him and realize he’s still in his suit, not his typical workout attire. “You were in Atlanta?”
“Yeah. Going over a couple of prospects.”
Theo and Hayes are baseball scouts. They started the business when Theo retired from Major League Baseball. He wanted to be closer to Anniston, and when he realized Hayes was just as good at running his mouth, they figured they could make good money together.
“Anniston text you to come get me?”
He shakes his head. “Cade.”
“Oh.” Another reason I need a car. My family is busy. They don’t need to be group chatting about who is available to come pick me up.
“Where is this other place you need to stop?” His fingers drum along the steering wheel, but he faces me long enough that I can read the words on his lips.
“The bank.”
That comment gets the car pulled over and a side-eye that I didn’t want to deal with today.
“I promise, I’ll tell you all everything as soon as we get back to the house. Just not now, okay?”
I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to do it.
“Okay, as long as I get a front row seat to this shitshow.”
“Fair enough.”
We don’t talk to each other after that. Instead, Theo drives in the direction of the bank, barking out something into his phone. I don’t bother trying to decipher what he’s saying. I have my own s
hit to worry about. Like walking into this building that I haven’t seen in years. My hands fidget, and my chest pounds. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Do not text him. You don’t need his advice.
I pull out my phone anyway.
Tim: I’m going to the bank. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
Dr. Parker: Why would I make a big deal out of it?
Damn, he’s frustrating.
Tim: Because you make a big deal about everything.
Dr. Parker: Why are you going to the bank after all these years of avoiding it?
I sigh into the car, and it earns me a look from Theo.
Tim: Because I need a car. I don’t want to be a burden on my family.
Dr. Parker: Is that the only reason?
Dr. Parker loves to dig. He can’t just appreciate that I’m checking in and proving that I have moved on.
Tim: Before I say any more, I want you to agree this will count as my visit next week.
Dr. Parker: Depends on how fulfilled I am after this conversation.
Tim: You’re a pain in my ass.
Dr. Parker: And you’re stalling. I do have other clients besides you today. Spit it out.
He’s funny, making himself seem all important. His small office can’t have that many clients.
Tim: Fine. I want more. I want to make sure she gets to work safely, and I want to be able to take them places.
Dr. Parker: Them?
See what I mean? He’s constantly digging.
Tim: Milah and Oliver.
Dr. Parker: The little boy who is losing his hearing?
We’ve been over this.
Tim: Yes. I know you don’t forget things, so you must have a reason for confirming which child I’m referring to. Just go ahead and say it. We’re almost to the bank.
Dr. Parker: I thought you said you weren’t handing down advice to him or setting an example.
He’s pushing my buttons. Why did I text him?
Tim: I’m not setting an example.
Dr. Parker: Aren’t you? Aren’t you showing him that you can endure adversity and still achieve your goals?
Tim: Okay, session over. See you in two weeks. I gotta go.
Dr. Parker: See you next week.
Dr. Parker: And, Tim, she would be proud of you.
Usually, his proud comment would send me careening into a fit of rage, but today, maybe due to all the nerves, it’s comforting. Like maybe I was looking for someone to tell me it’s okay to do this. That it’s okay to access the account she left for me. To use the money she bled and lived for. Well, Tom, my father, lived for it. She lived for the music. And while I hate the very thought of using it, I know deep down she would kick my ass for waiting all these years—living on the streets because I was angry and bitter that she had handed down a curse and then left me alone. I was there for her, at least as much as I could be. I loved her. Looked up to her. And she left me.
I don’t realize the grip I have on my phone until Theo touches my shoulder. “We’re here.” His face is strained. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
I look at Dr. Parker’s last message and then back at Theo.
She didn’t have an army of loved ones to fight this battle with her.
But…
But I do.
And it’s time I pull my head out of my ass and fight with them.
“Yes.”
One word.
It’s all I need to say for Theo to tip his chin and get out of the car, leading the way through the towering glass doors.
“This is so exciting,” Theo muses, while we pass the rows of various styles of vehicles. “The next thing you know, we’ll be talking about condoms and girls.”
Ignoring Theo and his sarcasm about me asking for his help, I scan the rows of SUVs. I’m looking for something in particular. Something that will possibly fit a car seat. Damn, who would’ve thought I’d ever be choosing a vehicle based on the needs of a child—of a potential future.
From the moment I knew the rouge gene had been passed down, I knew I would be the end of its reign. I wouldn’t let it continue devastating lives. I know most may not agree with my decision. My mother didn’t, but this is my choice—my decision—but getting to know Oliver and the amazing and smart little boy he is, has me feeling things. Things like hope and excitement about seeing him live and grow into a brilliant man.
“Hey, Von Bremen.”
This is a bad idea, but I have no other choice. Theo is the only guy I know that has some knowledge about kids. Anniston would know, but I’m not ready to confide in her just yet. She wouldn’t keep her mouth shut, and before I could finish my sentence, Breck would be shopping and pinning fun lunch ideas for kids. Yeah, I’ll stick with Theo for now.
“Yeah,” Theo answers, reading the stats on a sports car he would never buy. Theo is a classic car guy. I think he’s had the same Mustang since he was a teenager. He’s always having it worked on, and even though Anniston thought he should upgrade, he wouldn’t hear of it. Apparently, it holds some history.
I clear my throat. I need to ask him before the sales guy approaches. “How old before a child doesn’t need a car seat?”
There, that’s not too obvious, right? Wrong. Theo straightens and pins me with a serious look. “Why do you need to know, Lambros? Did you knock up the teacher already? God-fucking-da—”
“No,” I’m quick to interrupt. “Milah isn’t pregnant. That’s not why I’m asking.”
His gaze still looks suspicious.
“I swear.”
Fuck. He’s going to make me say it. If I don’t, he’ll grill Milah or tell Cade, and well, nothing good can come from making Theo curious.
“There’s this student.” Yes, a student. “And I was thinking of offering him a ride when he stays late, working with Milah and me on sign language.”
Theo’s forehead wrinkles. “The little boy who sat with you at the festival? He’s deaf?” See, Theo may act shitty and hard on most days, but he really does care.
“Not yet,” I say, “but he will be eventually unless he can get this implant thing.”
“Why can’t he get the implant?”
Why can’t he just answer my question about the car seat issue?
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Because it isn’t covered by insurance. At least not all of it.” That’s what his social worker said when I asked her about getting a better hearing aid for him. I thought maybe Oliver could benefit from something stronger. Some brand name that would hold up longer. Anything to keep his hearing for as long as possible. When he goes deaf, he’ll need to remember those sounds to keep his voice from sounding off. Eventually it will, as it will with me, but I want him to have more time. He needs more time. He’s too young.
“So why don’t the parents pay the rest? What’s the problem?”
“He’s a ward of the state.” I hold Theo’s gaze, willing him to drop all the questions. I need to know about the car seat, not disclose all my cards. I don’t want Theo to start putting the pieces together.
“Lambros,” he says, coming closer. “Are you attached to this kid?”
I swallow, searching for the right answer and coming up with… silence. I’m not ready to acknowledge my feelings, to myself or him. Not yet.
After a few awkward seconds, Theo grins, tipping his head. “Okay, Lambros. Denial it is.” He looks at me smugly like he now has some dirt on me. I can live with that as long as he doesn’t tell his wife yet. “So, car seats…” He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Anniston knows all about it, but I’m sure we can look it up.” He looks around at the other patrons visiting the car lot. “Or we could ask one of the women here. Since you asked me and not Anniston, I’m taking you don’t want to share your little baby secret quite yet.”
“He’s not a baby,” I say after chuckling lightly. “He’s six.”
Theo grins. “You’re in deep, Lambros. Tell the truth. Is purchasing this car about the kid or the girl, because I highly doubt you
’re doing it to prove Dr. Parker that you won.”
Technically, I did win. I achieved what Dr. Parker challenged me to do. I secured a job. I excelled at said job, and I made a few friends outside my family, which was not on his list. Now, I will have the car and will officially be able to say that I’ve moved on. Part of this purchase is because of that. But like I told Dr. Parker, I want Milah safe and… I’d like to do more things with Oliver. Show him everything I can before his hearing wanes. He needs to experience a concert, so when Milah interprets one, he’ll feel the passion and remember the experience. I want him to hear all there is in the world. From birds to opera, I want him to experience it all. He deserves it.
I look at Theo. He isn’t being smug now; he simply wants to know if I’m changing. At this moment, after everything he and his wife have done for me, I want him to know this truth, “I want to be independent—whatever else happens, happens.”
Theo nods appreciatively. “All right, Lambros. Let’s get you a dad car.”
I groan, fighting a smile and the feelings swirling around in my gut about the word “dad.”
Fuck my life.
Of course, my car would pick today to crap out two miles from the house. It’s karma getting me back for calling Samuel a spoiled little twerp behind his back. Or it could have been the fact I wished Coach Murano would get a kidney stone so he would know what it felt like to be a pain in someone’s side. Honestly, it’s probably neither.
It’s just been a really horrible day. First, Principal Moorehouse called me in his office.
“Milah, I’m terribly sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the board has gone over the financials and they’ve decided to cut the language program early.”
