Humming a little nonsensical tune, she now stood in the kitchen of the guest house prepping to cook a veggie omelet from the groceries she’d gotten yesterday. Humming filled the kitchen space. Her mother had always said that was one thing she’d gotten from her, a great singing voice. Daryl’s mother had been a performer before falling for her dad during a whirlwind romance in Atlanta. It didn’t take her mother more than a few years of marriage and a baby to realize she wanted more out of life than a poor tinkering inventor could give her.
So, her mother left her father and moved back home to Dallas, Texas when she was barely three. The sting of anger for taking her away from her father so early sizzled in Daryl’s gut every time the slightest recollection of that memory passed. Her mother had been selfish and short sighted. They could have made it work as a family. Her father never stopped loving her mom.
The tune left her. Continuing to cut up veggies in silence, Daryl moved around the kitchen in a somber mood. The sun wasn’t fully up, but she sure was. Moving about in the state of the art kitchen, she had assembled an omelet, pouring it into her one pan on the hot plate when it happened.
“Aunt Nique! I knew you’d come. I told Charlie to get you here, and he did!” a little voice said, as small hands latched onto her thighs from behind.
“What the hell?”
Daryl stood there frozen in shock. If she’d thought the contract issues were bad, this was hella worse. Her worst nightmare was unfolding in the weirdest way. There was a little person latched onto her right now. That meant that the little person belonged to big people, and said little person believed her to be someone called Aunt Nique.
“Monique? Aren’t you glad to see me?” the child asked.
What was she supposed to do? Lie to the kid? Nah, she wasn’t glad to see it. If anything, she wanted to toss the omelet at it and take off running before she was arrested.
Moving the pan off the hot plate, she took a breath in for courage and said, “Um, hey there…” as she turned around slowly.
Little hands loosened as she made it around to look down at the cutest little boy in the cutest pajamas. He held a huge plush stuffed dragon, had the biggest green eyes she’d ever seen and looked up at her with his mouth hanging open. She stared, and he stared right back. One thing was for sure. His white parents wouldn’t have a second’s afterthought of tossing her black ass in jail for being here. Daryl had to think. There had to be a way out of here before the little guy could go get big people.
Just as she was about to try to talk her way out of this, the little guy said, “You’re not Monique. You’re brown like her, but you’re not Monique.”
All she could do was a nod.
He continued. “Do you know Monique?”
Daryl shook her head no, too amazed at how the child was processing finding a stranger in his family’s guest house.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful… and I like you.”
“Uh, thank you?” she said, still not sure how to work this. He swung the pot belly round stuffed dragon as he waited for her to say more. “Say, who’s that?” she asked pointing to the stuffed animal.
He smiled brightly. Holding the stuffed animal up for her to get a better look, he said, “This is Charlie, my dragon. Monique gave him to me.”
“Charlie, huh? He’s a super cute dragon.” Wanting to share something in common, she said, “You know, when I was your age, I loved dragons too.”
“You did?” His eyes were so big, they almost sparkled.
“Yep, and I tried to find out everything I could about them.”
“My dad says real dragons aren’t as nice as Charlie is to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. All the dragons I’ve ever seen were pretty darn cool.”
“You know some dragons too?” the child asked.
“Well… not exactly. Like I said, I just used to read everything I could about them. I guess I would have loved to meet one here and there though.”
“You like dragons. I think that’s good enough for me.” He lifted his arms up and added, “May I have a hug?”
Whoever he was, his grammar was great, better than hers, that was for sure. He had charm. She had to give it to him. She did want to give the little fella a hug. Wait that could be her way out of here. Hating the thought of tricking a child, Daryl had to push back the self-disgust.
“Hey, how about this? How about I give you a hug, and you keep my being here our little secret. I was just about to leave, but I’d love to give you the biggest hug ever. How does that sound?”
He scrunched up his face and stared at her again. Shit, that couldn’t be good. She stood still watching the little boy, and she could swear he was mulling over what she said before giving an answer. How old was this kid? Maybe six? That was too young to be doing all the ninja thinking this one looked like he had going on.
Finally, the little boy stuck out his hand for a handshake. Confused and scared enough not to make any sudden moves, Daryl took it and shook.
“Good,” he said. “My name is Brock. What’s yours?”
“Um, Daryl.”
“Isn’t that a boy’s name? I have a friend at school with that name. He’s a boy, and, he’s brown like you too. I like playing with him a lot.”
What the hell was happening here?
“Okay, glad you like your friend Daryl. I’m named after my father. He was a Daryl too.”
“Wow, that’s cool. I’m not named after my dad. His name is Asher. But, I like my name too. It’s easy to spell.”
“Good to know.” Daryl had no idea how she was going to get the little boy out of here before his parents noticed he was missing. Her ongoing freedom was slipping away with each second they stood here making pleasantries. Who would have thought it would be a little kid who was her undoing?
“How old are you?” he asked.
Might as well answer. This was going to be the last conversation she had before she was put in handcuffs anyway.
“Well, you’re going to go straight there, huh? You know, with the age question?”
Brock blinked and waited, eyes holding her transfixed with their clear brilliance. He was adorable.
Summoning up the courage to keep her voice strong and steady, Daryl answered, “I’m twenty-four.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“In January,” she answered.
“That’s cool. Mine is September seventeenth. I’ll be six.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Can I have that hug now?”
There was no denying it; this little boy had focus and determination. He hadn’t agreed to her terms, had gotten a name and her age and was back to his original request. Daryl didn’t know if he was setting her up for the police to swoop in or to make friends. Deciding he couldn’t be that diabolical, she squatted down to his level, opened her arms and gave him a big hug.
Brock stepped into her embrace, latched onto her tight, and held on. She smiled when he began to rock in her arms. She joined in, allowing him to get the hug he wanted.
“You’re so soft. I really like the way you smell, Daryl,” he said.
Something deep down softened in her heart. This little fella was so sweet. There was something about him that had her wanting to stay and take care of him. And, that was a first. As an only child, Daryl had never been around siblings. As an adult, she’d had yet to get that urge to mother anyone. It was such a foreign concept to her that she found herself marveling at how this small child had reduced her to Bambi’s mother. And just like that doe, she was going down if she didn’t find a way to get out of here.
Deciding to still try to talk her way out of this, she said, “And, you smell like little boys should.” Ack, that was horrible. Try again. “Hey, I just made an omelet. Are you hungry?”
He nodded, refusing to lessen his grip on her neck. Daryl’s knees were starting to tremble, being down here in a catcher’s squat for so long.
“Brock, do you like ome
lets?”
He loosened his grip enough to look at her in the face, “I don’t know. You made it, to eat?”
“Yep, I sure did.”
“Okay, you’re my friend. I trust you. Let’s eat!”
Wow, talk about a punch to the gut. This child said she was his friend and he trusted her. She was tempted to find his parents her damn self!
“All right, let me up so I can finish up and get the food ready.”
He released her, giving Daryl enough room to stand back up. Big green eyes tracked her every move as she stood and shook out each of her legs.
“Thank you for the hug. I really liked it. But, I didn’t say yes to the other part.”
And like that, her bladder seized and wailed. This little thang was going to tell on her. She had to play it safe and find out what he meant before jumping to conclusions. He was a child, not a coworker or boss.
“What other part is that, Brock?” There, that sounded innocent enough.
“The part about you leaving; I don’t want you to leave. Daryl, please stay here with me. I’m going to be here for the whole summer, and I need a friend. You’re my new friend.”
Shit. That went straight to her heart. Knowing she wouldn’t be strong enough to deny him, looking him straight on, Daryl busied herself with making a new omelet. The other one was rubber now.
“That’s so kind of you to say, but I have to go. I’ve got something to do back in town.”
“Do you have to go to work like my dad? I think he goes to work too much. Do you have to go to work a lot?”
She chuckled despite herself.
“I wouldn’t say I have to go to other people’s work a lot, but I do work for myself a lot.” Eyeing the shredded cheese, she’d splurged on; she asked, “Hey Brock, do you like cheese in your omelet?”
He giggled the cutest little kid laugh as he said, “I don’t know! I don’t know what an ommy let is? I told you that, Daryl. Are you going to eat cheese in yours?”
She loved the way his eyes got even bigger with that question. And that laugh? Forget about it. If she didn’t know any better, Daryl was falling for this little kid. At this moment, truth be told, she didn’t want to leave him either. There was a vulnerability about him that made her want to fight tooth and nail to keep him safe. Hell, she was feeding him and taking a chance on wasting some of her six-dollar shredded sharp cheddar cheese that had been a luxury buy at the grocery store.
“Yes, I’m going to have cheese in mine. That’s the best way to eat an omelet.”
“Ooh! I want cheese too,” he said.
Knowing enough about kitchen safety to not cook with a little one underfoot, Daryl scooped Brock up and placed him in one of the kitchen bar stools before she had a chance to second think it. He giggled, liking how she’d done that.
“You sit right there. I’ll move the hot plate over here so you can watch me make your omelet. How does that sound?”
His entire face brightened as he leaned on his elbows and said, “You’re so cool!”
“Why thank you, my friend.”
“So, we are really friends now?” he asked, curiosity lacing every word.
Daryl paused to consider it. Certainty told her that she’d better not lie to him. That would be cruel.
“Yeah, I’d say we’re friends,” she finally admitted.
“Good, that means you have to stay. Friends don’t leave friends alone.”
“Well, that might not be possible, Brock. We’ll see what happens. Remember I’ve got to go away to do my work. Plus, I’m not sure what your parents would say with me being here.”
His little face scrunched, turning into a frown at what she’d said. Brock was not feeling her on this.
“What’s with that face?”
“When you say, ‘we’ll see,’ I don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it means no.”
She had to give it to him; the kid was way smarter than his years. Daryl found herself offering up a plausible reason for her stance on the topic. This kid was making her think more than she’d planned to this early in the morning.
“Sometimes it does, but sometimes it doesn’t. I really do have to see. Your parents won’t like me being here, I can assure you of that.”
“Oh, it’s just my dad, and he’s cool too. I think he would want you to stay, like me. You’re beautiful, and he really likes beautiful girls.”
Daryl had to allow the laughter to burst forth.
“And how do you know that, little man?”
“Because I’ve seen him with some when he thought I was sleep. They weren’t like you or Aunt Nique. They looked more like me,” he said, pointing to the back of his hand, “But, they were pretty too.”
“Well then, good to know,” Daryl said, laughing at how Brock interpreted his world. She was about to ask where his mother was when that telltale pang in the gut stopped her. There was something about this kid’s mother that was off limits. It was in the way he hugged her and seemed a little lost. No, she’d keep their conversation as light as possible. Little kids were great at telling all their parents’ business anyway. Sooner or later, hopefully, sooner, Brock would tell her enough to know what was in store for her.
6
Asher—Main house of the Princeton Summer Vacation home
Asher’s eyes popped open. The beginning of early morning sunlight teased through the slats of his bedroom blinds. His first thought was to get down to the backyard and clear out whatever that thing was before Brock got up. He sat up and wanted to scream. Every part of his body hurt. When he managed to swing his legs out of bed and sit on the edge, Asher noticed the start of some pretty bad bruises on his left arm and side.
“Mother fu—,” he said, censoring himself. His bedroom was right down from Brock’s.
He didn’t want his hyper curious son hearing him swear first thing in the morning. Not only would Brock ask why he was swearing, but he'd also want to know what happened to him. No, he’d suffer in silence and pretend it didn’t hurt like hell.
After a few attempts to overcome stiffness and pain to stand, Asher, moved one foot at a time until he made it to one of the bathroom sinks. Reaching for his travel kit might as well have been him being stretched on racks for how painful it was. His saving grace was that his son wasn’t up yet to see him in this much pain. Usually, on the weekend, Brock would come into his room as soon as he woke up. Asher had known the little guy would be pooped after his long day yesterday. He’d let him sleep in as long as he wanted. When Brock got up, Asher’s daddy duty would kick in, and that meant he’d have to figure out where to take a five-year-old for breakfast in these parts. Then food for the rest of the weekend would have to be delivered. He was nobody’s cook.
After a quick turn at brushing his teeth, washing his face, shaving and peeing, Asher donned a t-shirt, briefs, and pair of running shorts to go out to the backyard. Choosing to forgo shoes, Asher reasoned he’d make quick work of that thing, and be back inside too fast to go through the trouble. His bare feet made thudding noises as they landed on each of the sturdy hardwood stairs to the ground floor. And, this must be why Monique had urged him to have a runner installed on the staircase. One of these days he was going to listen to all her suggestions. Shaking more thoughts of how much he missed having Monique around and the tinge of frustration it caused out of his mind, he focused on getting down the staircase without waking Brock.
Finally making it to the last step, the memory of not locking up last night hit him. He hadn’t even engaged the child locks on the doors leading out to the pool area. Thankful Brock was still asleep; he slipped out one of the doors to stand on the patio transition between the house and pool area.
Early dew sparkled in the early morning sun as it blanketed lush green grass that cradled the pool and buildings of the backyard. Stretching, to reset and move more of his tired body, Asher scanned the backyard. Good thing he was in a remote area with very low crime. Anything back here would
most likely be a deer, for how secluded it was.
As soon as he made it farther outside to see past the pool area, the strange sight caught his attention. It wasn’t the round metal ball that looked more like a sophisticated window fan in the morning light. Nope. One of the doors to the guest house stood open, and he could make out faint voices coming from inside. Rushing over as fast as his tight, sore, hamstrings would allow his legs to move to check it out, logic caught up with him as he neared the pool area. He’d take a few beats to sneak closer and make out what was going on. Eyeing the contraption again, he picked it up in case he needed a quick weapon to defend himself.
Close enough to skim the front of the guest house, a familiar voice let out a hearty laugh. It was Brock!
Asher leaned in to hear the little boy’s words.
“Daryl, you were right. I LOVE cheese ommy lets!”
Daryl? Who in the fuck was this guy and why was he feeding his kid a cheese omelet?
Asher readied himself to vault through the open door when the voice that spoke threw him into a tailspin. A woman’s voice, soft, with a little bit of texture and grit, spoke to his son with a gentle reply that tripped up his ability to process what was happening inside the guest house.
He heard her say, “See, I told you omelets were good. Do you want more juice?”
“Yes, I like that juice. And, I like how you cook. You’re a great cook, Daryl.”
Smooth, bright, feminine laughter floated out to tickle Asher’s curiosity. Then the woman said, “Aren’t you the sweetest little boy. I’m not that good of a cook, just enough to survive. As for the juice, it’s Apple-Banana-Pomegranate. I’m surprised you like it. It’s strong, so I’m watering it down for your little stomach to handle. This probably doesn’t matter to you, but it’s good for digestion and some other stuff that grownups need to keep our wheels turning the right way.”
Brock giggled. Asher could tell his son liked the woman. He only giggled like that when he was enjoying himself.
Dragon's Curvy Dilemma Page 5