by Nicole Snow
He kisses her forehead. “Not for long, honeybee. Nothing to worry over right now. Promise.” His eyes are small, pained, reluctant.
Wow. Apparently, shame can be part of Marshal Howard's makeup.
So many heavy words. Sweet ones, too. He wasn't kidding – this is hard for him.
I don't know, but I doubt they've ever been apart. I have a brief flash of Marshal's hulking arms holding a new born baby, bottle feeding her, alone and uncertain as he learns what it takes to protect this new life.
It's also not the first time I've wondered why there's no Mrs. Howard. “What about Mia's mother?” I instinctively know it's not an easy question. “Can't she help out?”
Marshal doesn't breathe. His gaze sharpens, intensifies, a new energy I can't quite comprehend coming into it. He holds his daughter softly against his chest.
I don't know why I bother saying the next words. They just come out. I need to know, and maybe he isn't following. “I mean, it's none of my business, but doesn't she have –“
It's incredible how intimidating he is even when there's a tired child in his arms. He storms closer, buries me in his shadow, and cuts me off mid-sentence with nothing but the fierce glow in those eyes. They've become oceans, dragging me under.
“Don't, Red. I'll cut you some slack this time, and this time only because you don't know better.” His eyes bore deeper into mine and his voice becomes a harsh whisper. “Listen close because I'm only gonna say this once: never, ever talk about the bitch who walked out on my baby girl in this house. She's dead to us.”
Holy crap. I'm trembling, backing away, wishing I could disappear through the nearest wall. “Uh, sorry. I'm sorry, Marshal. I didn't know. Really.”
I still don't know anything, technically. What does 'dead to us' mean? Is this woman gone literally? Figuratively?
Whatever the case, it's not the time to find out. I'm long past due to get the hell out of dodge.
“I'll drop by the day after Christmas, just like we planned. Sorry for any bad memories, again.”
“Sadie, stop.” His voice freezes me mid-turn, before I find my way out through the kitchen. Wincing, I close my eyes, scared to look back. I finally do, wondering if the next word I'll hear is fired. “Grab the envelope off the table with your pay before you leave. It's all there, and then some. Merry Christmas.”
I almost died. I can't even manage a smile as I beat it out of his house.
I barely remember to snatch up the envelope before I'm gone, skipping the goodbye. His heavy footsteps tread in the other direction, taking his little girl upstairs for her nap.
It only hits me later what a thoughtless, skittish asshole I am. It's later, after I'm up in my room binging Netflix, and mom is down for the night. There's three hundred dollars when I tear open the envelope. Over twice what he owed for the day. There's also a note tucked inside with the same blocky, crabbed writing I saw the first day I decided to go after the nanny gig.
Here's your bonus, Red. Now think about the rest. I want you under my roof helping out. I'll even be a perfect gentleman.
I don't know whether to laugh, sigh, or breakdown in tears. Whatever else Marshal, Papa Bear, the Castoff is, he's an emotional labyrinth.
Later at the drugstore I stop for extra wrapping paper and a few last loose ends before Christmas. I pick up an extra box of candy for Mia, a late gift I'll give the little girl as soon as my break is over. I also get her a couple coloring books and find a bag of treats for Whiskey, the overgrown ginger who spends most of his time sleeping in the corner cat bed while I'm babysitting.
I hesitate in the coffee aisle, but yes, I even breakdown and buy a nice bag of imported beans for Mr. Grinch himself.
Marshal's offer won't stop gnawing at my belly. It shouldn't be possible to carry this creeping frustration down Port Eagle's main street, fully decked out for the festive season, but I do.
I've never been a fan of the holiday rush. It just seems claustrophobic, another measure of my time ticking away in every blinking light and winking plastic Santa.
I can't go on like this. Decisions are waiting. I want to talk to my family sooner, rather than later, and make the best of the fallout. If I even decide to become Marshal's temporary live-in nanny.
My luck doesn't improve much when I pull into the driveway. My brother's fancy SUV is parked in front. It's been there long enough to have the evening's dusting of snow sitting on its black sun roof.
Pushing my key into the front door lock, I grit my teeth. My jaw clenches tighter when it opens for me.
“There you are, weirdo.” Jackson steps aside, giving me space. Nothing dampens his ugly grin as I yank open the closet door, peeling off my winter coat.
“Hello to you, too, dick. What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I dropped by to see you. Thought I'd find out how that babysitting gig is treating you. It's gotten an awful lot of your attention. Dad says you're dragging yourself through the door so late some evenings he's already put mom to bed.”
“Jackson, I just got home. Can't you wait five minutes before laying into me?”
He shrugs, an annoyed look on his face. Like I'm the one who's being ridiculous.
I realize a second later it's all for show. I also notice Ginger isn't here, which means he has a bigger license than usual to be a huge prick without her reigning him in.
“What? Can't your big brother have a heart-to-heart?” he says quietly, moving in front of me. His hands dart out, catch my chest, and squeeze. I try not to flinch. “I'm not here to screw you over, sis. Honest. But you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck you think you're doing hanging around with him.”
I'm not sure whether I blink before my heart rate goes to eleven. Blood rushes to my cheeks, throbbing like a bad wound. I hate how easy it is for him to make me feel like a fourteen year old kid who just got caught sneaking in after curfew.
There's no point in asking who. We both know. What I can't figure out is how he found out I'm working for Marshal.
“The Castoff, sis? After what he fucking did to me?” His tone isn't what I expect.
I thought there'd be disgust, anger, shame. But this voice, this outrage in my brother's eyes, is deeply personal.
“I've only heard the rumors second-hand. I was in college when it happened, remember? Jackson, I don't know what you're –“
“He started a fight on main street, sis. Attacked me like the crazy animal he is. He spit in my goddamn face and on every man in uniform at that parade.”
“That's...” Not what I've always heard. According to the story I know, Marshal was guilty of insulting him, but he never threw the first punch. I looked up the old articles since I started working for him. “That's crazy. Obviously, I'm really sorry it happened, Jackson, but it was also four years ago.”
I decide to play it safe. There's no use in challenging his account, where he's the victim. I'd also love a chance to find out what he thinks he is, if he'd just get out of my way, come into the living room, and sit. “Why don't we talk about this over coffee like rational human beings?”
Jackson swallows, rooted to the ground, his arms slack at his sides. “Because just looking at you makes me sick. What the fuck is there to discuss if you're not backing off, Sadie? You're just going to keep nannying for that asshole, apparently. After you kept your boss a secret and didn't even spill the truth as a common courtesy.”
I look him in the eye, nodding. Yes, yes, and obviously, yes.
“There's nothing for us to talk about.” He moves past, heading for the door, pushing me lightly against the wall.
“Jackson, wait!” He doesn't. He triggers me on a whole new level, leaving me screaming after him. “It doesn't have to be like this! He's not a total monster. If you'd just come back and talk to me, instead of running away like a pissed off man-child, maybe you'd see!”
I jump, feeling another heavy hand on my shoulder. I spin around and see dad, a deflated frustration in his eyes that says he already knows. �
��Let him go, Sadie. He has his reasons.”
“Yeah, and what reasons are those?” I hate how angry I sound, how I push my father away and stomp into the kitchen, hurling my purse on the counter. “Nobody talks to me about anything. I know what happened at that stupid Fourth of July parade years ago, dad. I read the old Port Eagle Standard piece. I know I wasn't here for it, I know there's plenty of blame to go around, but is Jackson really the total victim?”
My father sighs, slowly trailing after me. “That man signing your paychecks insulted him deeply. He scandalized the entire town.”
“Oh? Even though the police report says Jackson confessed to starting the fight?” I watch my father cough into his hand, rubbing his throat. It's the same nervous tick I've seen whenever mom confronted him over running up the monthly credit card statement. “That's right, dad. I've done my homework. Sure, it's a little reckless, taking this job after everything that happened. I know I kept it close to my chest. Part of me just knew this would happen. But I went back and checked. It's not nearly as one-sided as everybody makes it seem.”
I can't believe I'm defending the Castoff. I signed up for Mia, not his reputation management, yet here I am.
“It's not about the fistfight, babe. It never was. He was the only man in uniform there who wasn't part of the parade. And he turned his back when your brother led his convoy past. Can you imagine how that feels?” Dad's eyes are darker, more sympathetic than they should be behind his glasses. “There were men in their sixties, seventies, eighties there. Five vets from Afghanistan, two from Iraq, plus a few old timers from Vietnam. Sheriff Wheeler almost had a conniption fit.”
His words hit like a poison dart. I hate being thrown back to doubt after I was sure I could at least have a safe conversation with my family about this.
Wishful thinking.
“Never saw anything like it in my life, Sadie. Neither did anybody else. This kind of drama only happens in the big cities. Not our town. We're a simple place. Mr. Howard should've known the whole town would turn on him the second he decided to disrespect a hometown hero, and go down swinging, screaming how your brother did all kinds of terrible things.” Dad pauses, shaking his head. “The man's clearly unstable. It's a miracle they don't take his little girl away.”
It physically hurts to hear him say that. My eyes shut so tight they throb at the mere suggestion.
Goddamn it, he doesn't understand. Just like everybody else, who seems to think he's the devil incarnate.
A moment of passion, a big public mistake, shouldn't ruin a man's life. There's a lot I don't know about Marshal and his inner workings, but he's proven that much.
There isn't a cruel bone in his body toward Mia. I've looked. What's there is a busy, stressed, and caring father. Nothing evil. Not so different from the man in front of me.
I've watched him light her world up and make her smile with my own two eyes. No rumors, or scorn, or past mistakes will ever strip that truth away.
“How long have you known?” I ask, trying not to let on how bothered I am.
Dad shrugs. “A few days, maybe. You know Emmie at the corner store. She said you'd been on a lot of little snack runs lately, and I guess those winter Oreo packs are his girl's favorite. Wasn't hard for her to make a good guess.”
Damn! I tried so hard to keep it on the down-low, too. If only this town wasn't so small, so gossipy, so incestuous. Keeping secrets for more than three days tops is near impossible.
Dad clears his throat again, stepping closer, loaded words at the tip of his tongue. “Sadie, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned. This nanny thing, it isn't healthy. It isn't good for you. There have to be other jobs in town. Between us, I don't think it's appropriate to continue. You just saw how hard Jackson's taking it.”
I'm quiet for a moment. “You're asking me to up and quit?”
Dad looks at me and nods, slowly.
I don't know why it cuts as deep as it does. Maybe it's knowing now I have a fight on my hands. I'm not backing down easy, but it also seems like the worst time in the world to discuss Marshal's live-in offer.
Too bad. I want to get this over with.
“I can't. I'm sorry. I understand he doesn't like it, and neither do you, but I need the money. Marshal's a fair man. He pays me well, every single day. I'd like to think his little girl is kinda attached, too. I won't give up on her.” Imagining Mia alone and disappointed stings worse than anything else. “I'm a grown woman. Jackson will have to get over it, dad. And I hate to say it, but so will you.”
“Jesus, Sadie,” he growls, rubbing his face. His glasses are foggy – steaming from the tension in the room – and he rips them off and starts cleaning them with his shirt. “This isn't an ego thing, in case you're wondering. I'm trying to look out for you, for the whole family. Working for the Castoff isn't just unhealthy. It's –“
“I'm taking more hours in January. Overnights. Probably for a few weeks. Marshal has a big job out of town, apparently. He's offered higher pay and some really generous benefits if I take him up on it. I didn't want to lay it on you like this, but there's no point in hiding it. Sorry I didn't come clean sooner about my boss.” I ignore his wide-eyed glance, strolling past, ready to go to my room.
I can't get past the figure in the hall. Mom's been standing outside the kitchen eavesdropping for God only knows how long. She looks like she's numb to everything in her baggy sweatshirt and scuffed clogs. The usual paint splotches are on her arms, at least three different colors, her sleeves rolled up in a rumpled mess.
That used to mean she'd had a good day creatively. Today, it's just more potential chaos.
“Where do you think you're going?” she asks, centering herself in my path so I know I'm not just getting by without words.
“Upstairs. It's been a long day. Need anything?”
“I didn't raise my daughter to be a wimp. How about you turn around, march back in there, and give your father a nice fat piece of your mind? The nerve, making your decisions for you!”
Oh, Christ. I take a deep breath. “Mom, no, it's not like that. He was just –“
“Steph, I'm not making her do anything. I simply asked her to have a little respect for her brother, who's been through so much. I don't want this family turning into a laughing stock.”
Mom rolls her eyes, steps forward, and puts her hand over his face. I actually feel a little bad for my father, having to take this, knowing she isn't well.
Quite a change from the defeated misery he pulled on me only minutes ago.
“Peter, Peter, Peter,” she says, slurring his name the third time. “Always so concerned about appearances. So what if she's decided to take a harmless sitter job? It's easy money. Lord knows I did my fair share of part-time gigs through art school.”
Dad gives me a dirty look, gently lifting her hand off his mouth. “It's not like that. She's looking after the Howard girl, Marshal's kid. Do you remember what he did a few years back?”
Mom wrinkles her nose. “It's my muse that's shot, not my memory, Peter. Of course I remember.”
“Then you know how Jackson feels. I tried to break the news as gently as I could, before he stormed out.”
“You handled him with kid gloves. Easy mistake.” Mom doesn't skip a beat, a wry smile on her face. She turns toward me. “Listen, both of you, what's really messing with this family are the secrets. Sadie, you never should've kept this from us. And you, Peter, I should've been the first to know. I'm disappointed.”
“I'm sorry, dear. I would've told you tonight, but our kids couldn't wait to lock horns.”
I think mom and I share the same disapproving look. Just for once, I wish my dad would grow a pair if he's decided to double-down on being an asshat. I hurt him, I get it, but he knew the truth. Possibly for days, without confronting me. He went to Jackson first instead.
“So, does a crazy person get any real input in this house, or will you two just humor me?” Mom looks from him to me.
“What?” I sha
ke my head, not understanding.
Dad gives me a warning look, before he stands straight and whispers through clenched teeth. “Of course we'll consider anything you have to say, Steph. You're the love of my life.”
Her eyes soften. Sometimes, when the love flows honestly, we're able to get through to her. She walks over to him, grasping his hand. Then we lock eyes.
“She's a young woman and she's finding her way, Peter. Let her do the nanny gig. And no, Sadie, I don't want any help from your boss. I'd love to have one less busy-body in this house standing over my shoulder, making sure I don't throw a chair through the window again.”
I inwardly wince. It happened last summer, just weeks after I came home. I was the only one home at the time, and I went flying up the stairs, bracing for the worst after hearing the crash.
My heart never beat harder or louder thinking my mother had thrown herself off the balcony attached to the master bedroom.
“Also, I'd love a promise from you, Sadie – don't take this opportunity lightly. Promise us you'll do exactly what you said. Just a few weeks with him, overnight or whatever. You'll check in once a day. Come straight home if there's even the slightest hint of trouble.” Mom's eyes crawl dad's face. She's trying to make him feel better, coaxing this out of me.
Ugh. Despite the edge in her voice, I can't deny the common sense. I nod, looking at my parents, searching for the words. “Fine. I won't let anything get weird. It's just a job. It's not like I'm trying to be the Castoff's best friend, or anything.”
No? Then I wonder why calling him the word Castoff tastes so wrong on my tongue.
“Dear, it's not the nature of the work or the bad blood with Jackson worrying me,” dad says, beginning in his softest voice. “It's Sadie's safety. That man, after what he did...he's clearly a few screws short of a set. I don't trust him.”
“Who isn't these days? It's incredible, really. This town still treats him as an outcast even after he published his apology in the local press. I remember reading it later that year. Seems no one else did. Do we just punish the wild ones forever? Marshal Howard is feral, strange, a little crazy, perhaps, but he's no murderer. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. He simply chose a very colorful way to protest.”
