Thanks to Rumer’s planning, the kids were occupied. That kept them from asking hard questions and demanding truthful answers. Currently, they were hanging artwork from a corkboard near the door. Even Oya had colored a picture, her chubby fists wrapped around one of the giant crayons Rumer had pulled from her bag.
Moisey had called the bag magical.
Maybe it was. So far, Rumer had taken snacks, coloring books, sheets of construction paper, and safety scissors out of its depths.
“Is there anything you can’t fit in there?” he asked as she took a container of baby food, a bib, and a spoon from the bag’s front pocket.
“The kitchen sink,” she responded, not meeting his eyes.
Odd. Because, Rumer was a straight shooter. She faced people head-on, looking right into their eyes and speaking her mind.
He’d noticed that about her.
He’d noticed a lot of things. Like how she’d thrown herself into the job, no holding back, no setting boundaries. No demanding space or time off.
It seemed odd that she was suddenly avoiding his eyes, pretending to be too busy to glance his way.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as she spooned orange mush into Oya’s mouth.
“Why would you think something was?” She sidestepped the question, which was a hell of a lot better than a lie.
“Because you’re avoiding me,” he responded. He was a straight shooter too. He didn’t have the time or the patience to be anything else.
“I’m sitting six inches away from you. I wouldn’t exactly call that avoidance.”
“You haven’t said more than ten words to me since we got here, you’re doing everything in your power to not look me in the eyes, and every time you get a chance you scoot that chair a little farther away. If that’s not avoiding, what would you call it?”
She sighed, spooning more mush into Oya’s mouth and pulling a small pack of baby wipes from her purse. “Self-preservation.”
“Want to explain?”
She looked up from the wipe she was yanking from the pack, met his eyes. “No.”
“Then, how about I take a guess?” he said, and she frowned.
“How about you don’t?”
“I make you uncomfortable.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Okay. I’ll rephrase that. The way you feel when you’re around me makes you uncomfortable.”
“This subject is not open for discussion.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because we’re in a roomful of kids who have big ears and bigger mouths. Yesterday, one of Milo’s teachers heard him tell someone that we were living together.”
“We are living together,” he pointed out, and she scowled.
“I’m your live-in help.”
“And?”
“I don’t want people thinking anything different.”
“Funny, I didn’t take you for a person who cared much about what other people thought.”
“What would make you think that?”
“You’re wearing a poodle skirt,” he pointed out.
She eyed him for a moment, a spoonful of mush hovering an inch from Oya’s mouth.
She glanced at her skirt, probably taking in the pale-pink fabric and the black poodle applique. Maybe also noticing her shoes—old-fashioned snow boots with faux fur trim and pom-pom tassels on the front zippers.
The outfit made a statement, and it sure as hell wasn’t I care what you think about my personal choices.
Slowly the scowl fell away and her lips curved, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “You have a point, Sullivan.”
“So do you,” he admitted. “We’ll drop the discussion.”
For now.
“Thanks.” She fed Oya the last bite of food and tossed the empty container in a recycle bin under the sink, the baby perched on her hip. Towheaded chubby-cheeked baby. Curly haired earth mother. His fingers itched to sketch them, to capture the way Oya’s fingers tangled in Rumer’s hair, the curve of her chubby cheeks and dimpled knuckles. Rumer’s soft smile, the lean muscles of her arms and shoulders pressing against soft ivory fabric. The hint of creamy skin between skirt and top.
His gaze lingered there, and she must have noticed.
She tugged her sweater back into place, a hint of color in her cheeks as she turned away, focused her attention on the artwork the kids were hanging.
“You guys are doing a great job,” she said, her voice a little too loud and a little too bright.
He did make her nervous.
And, he should have just let that be whatever it was.
If she’d been anyone else, he probably would have. After all, she didn’t have to be comfortable around him. She just had to do her job. But, there was something about her that he couldn’t resist. Something that made him study her face when he should have been working. That made him want to see her smile, hear her laugh, watch as she taught Maddox how to set a fence post or Twila how to pull wild onions from the ground near the edge of the property. Every day, he’d watch from the window as she took all six kids for after-school treasure hunts. They’d come back with robin eggshells and pond fronds, tiny wildflowers and smiles.
At night, he’d sketch them from memory when he should have been sleeping, his fingers flying across the paper, the sure strokes of the pencil tracing jawlines and scuffed shoes, holey jeans and those elusive smiles.
“What time is it?” Moisey asked anxiously, probably still thinking about the moon, calculating what time she should open the curtains and try to let its light in the room.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the window faced another building or that there was about as much chance of her seeing the moon from it as there was for a moonbeam to wake her mother up.
“Seven,” he responded, and realized Rumer had turned to face him again, her silvery-blue eyes staring straight into his.
She was trying to convey a message, but he’d never been good at reading minds, so he stood, crossing the room and leaning close as he whispered, “What?”
“She’s memorized a month’s worth of moonrise charts,” she whispered back.
“I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
“There is, and she memorized it.”
“And?”
“The moon rose an hour ago.”
“Da . . . rn,” he said, snagging the back of Moisey’s dress as she darted past.
“Let me go! I’ve got to open the curtains.”
“I have to tell you something, kiddo.” He didn’t release his hold, and she yanked at his arm with such futile fury, he could swear he felt his heart break.
“Moisey,” he said, and maybe she heard his sadness. Maybe she understood what he was trying to say, because she stopped fighting and tugging and looked up into his face.
“You said she’d get better,” she accused, every word dripping with venom. “The very first night when Daddy died and I was crying, you told me she’d come home.”
He had.
“I know.”
“You lied. You’re just a liar. That’s the whole problem! You always lie!” She was nearly shouting now, her words echoing in the suddenly silent room.
Rumer was crouching beside her, trying to pull her in for a hug, but Moisey wanted none of it. None of them, and Sullivan was helpless, the wretch of a parent he’d known he would be—answerless, motionless—as Moisey yanked back one more time, her pretty little dress tearing. He let go of the torn fabric, feeling like the failure he knew he was.
She was crying. Not just a couple of tears, harsh horrible sobs that stabbed him right in the heart that he would have sworn a few weeks ago was impervious to pain.
She ran to the curtains and dragged them open, staring out at the brick wall that blocked everything from view.
Then, she whirled around, barreling toward him fists up, arms swinging.
“Liar!” she yelled, and the next thing he knew, he was lifting her—all her scrawny-armed punches and boot-f
ooted kicks—and she just kind of melted against him, her soft curls against his neck, her arms around his shoulders, her hands clutching his jacket.
“What are we going to do, Uncle Sully?” she sobbed. “What are we ever going to do without her?”
And, he finally understood, he finally got it. He finally knew why Matt and Sunday had taken in kids no one wanted, traveled to Africa and to China to bring home the homeless, why they’d filed paperwork and exposed their lives to social workers and strangers. He finally understood that kind of love, because he felt it. Felt the overwhelming need to slay dragons and right wrongs, to protect Moisey’s tender heart and her fighting spirit.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered so only she could hear, “it’s going to be okay.”
“Promise?” she asked, leaning back and cupping his face, staring straight into his eyes.
“Promise,” he responded.
“Uncle Sullivan,” Heavenly said, breaking the silence and calling him by name for the first time ever.
Surprised, he glanced her way, realized that she was standing near the bed, looking down at Sunday.
“What . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he saw what she did, realized what she had.
Sunday’s eyes were open.
They weren’t just open. They were focused. On him. On Moisey.
Shocked, he set Moisey down, crossed the room, bent so he was looking straight into her eyes.
“Sunday?” he said, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking at Heavenly, a frown line creasing her brow.
“Don’t cry, honey,” she said, the words raspy and rough and barely intelligible.
He heard them, though.
He understood them, and he was reaching for the call button to call the nurse as Heavenly turned and ran from the room.
Chapter Eight
Running in a poodle skirt and snow boots with a baby on her hip was difficult, but Rumer managed. There was no way she was going to let Heavenly out of her sight.
She rounded the corner, barreling toward the bank of elevators that the twelve-year-old had already reached.
“Hold on!” she yelled, but the doors were already sliding shut.
“Dang it!” she muttered, darting forward and slapping her hand to call for another elevator.
To her surprise, the doors to the one Heavenly was in slid open. Heavenly was in the opening, her face wet with tears, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks.
“Thank God,” Rumer sighed, stepping onto the elevator and jabbing the button for the lobby.
“I’m not going back there,” Heavenly said, crossing her arms over her skinny chest. “You can’t make me.”
“Who said I was going to try?” Rumer asked, keeping her tone light. No sense adding her own emotions to the mix.
“You’re here.”
“And?”
“Adults always think they need to chase after kids and bring them back, but sometimes they just need to leave them alone.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you always do that?” Heavenly snapped, lifting a handful of her hair and then letting it float back down around her shoulders. A nervous gesture from a nervous kid who didn’t know the rules of the game they were playing, because she didn’t understand that they weren’t playing, that everyone didn’t use words or fists to manipulate and maneuver. That sometimes adults were exactly who they seemed to be, and that home really could be a safe place to land.
“Do what?”
“Agree with me.”
“That’s a good question, Heavenly. I’m glad you asked.” The doors slid open, and she hooked her arm through the tween’s, Oya still bouncing happily on her hip.
“See? You’re doing it again. Acting like I’m not a pain in the ass, even though I am.”
“First, I’m not acting like anything. This is the way I am. Second, you are a pain in the ass.”
Heavenly’s eyes widened.
“Just like most kids your age. I don’t hold it against you, because I was a much bigger pain when I was your age.”
“Right,” Heavenly snorted, and shrugged.
“Ask Lu.”
“Lu’s your grandmother. She won’t say a bad word about you.”
“Right.” Rumer snorted, and Heavenly’s lips curved in what might have been a smile.
“Will she?”
“She always tells the truth, and I always try to do the same. So, you want an answer to your question, and I’m giving it. I agree with you a lot, because you’re right. Sometimes life sucks. Sometimes things happen in families—”
“They aren’t my family,” she cut in.
“Legally, they are. And, from what I’ve seen, they are in every other way that matters.”
“They took me in because of Oya. We’re half sisters. Our birth mom wanted us together, and Sunday really wanted a baby in the house.” She shrugged as if it weren’t important, but Rumer knew it was. “If it hadn’t been for my mother getting pregnant, Sunday and Matt would have kicked me out a long time ago.”
“They told you that?”
“They didn’t have to. I just know it.”
“That’s your problem, Heavenly. You know a lot of things that aren’t true.”
“They are true,” she argued, her eyes narrowed, her fists clenched.
“It’s interesting that you think that, since I was standing next to you in the hospital room.”
“So?”
“Sunday wasn’t looking at Oya. She was looking at you.”
Heavenly swallowed hard, her eyes wet with tears she probably wouldn’t let fall.
“As a matter of fact, you and Moisey were both crying, but you were the one she was talking to.”
“She was confused.”
“You’re confused,” Rumer said gently. “And that confusion is making you do stupid things. Like run out on a family that obviously loves you.”
“Love is a stupid idea for stupid people.”
“Sometimes. And, sometimes it’s an answer to someone’s prayer. Your mother—”
“She’s not my mother,” Heavenly said, but there was no heat in her voice.
“In her heart, she is. She loved you guys enough to come back from wherever she was. Now, you’re going to have to love her enough to bring her the rest of the way home.”
Heavenly blinked, her expression softer than Rumer had ever seen it. “She has to make it home. The other kids need her.”
Not: I need her.
But, it was a start.
“Of course they do. They need you, too. So do I. Oya isn’t a lightweight,” she joked. “My arm is about ready to break off.”
Heavenly reached for the baby, pulling her into a hug.
“She feels light to me,” she murmured against the baby’s hair.
“You know what Lu always said to me when I was a teen and causing her more trouble than any one kid had a right to?” She put her hand on Heavenly’s shoulder, steering her back toward the elevators.
“What?”
“She said that love made the heaviest burden easy to bear. Coming from Lu, that was a big deal.”
“Why? Is she mean?”
“No. Not mean. Strict. But, you’ll figure that out when you meet her Saturday.”
“Are we still doing that?” She frowned, jabbing at the elevator button impatiently.
“Of course. Lu needs the help, and you’ve got the right temperament for that kind of work.”
“The free-labor kind?” she asked, her snarkiness returning.
Thank God!
“The I’m not going to puke when I smell something horrible kind.”
“I’ve smelled way worse than horse sh . . . poop. My mother had twenty cats and two dogs. They crapped all over the place, and she never cleaned it up. I tried, but there were a lot of them, and only one of me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. That sucks.”
“Not really. It’s what I was used to. I didn’t know any better until they took me
away and put me in foster. The house there was clean. The people stunk, though.”
“Literally or figuratively?”
“If you’re asking if they really smelled bad, the answer is no. They were just bad people.”
“Then, I’m doubly sorry.”
“Everyone is sorry. No one can change it, so how about we talk about something more interesting?”
“Like?” Rumer asked, letting the thread of conversation go. It was the first time Heavenly had opened up about her past, and Rumer filed the information away. She’d take it out and look at it later. Right now, she needed to get Rumer back up to the room.
Sunday had opened her eyes.
She had.
Rumer still couldn’t quite believe it, but they’d all seen it, and then they’d all heard her speak.
She jabbed the button to call the elevator.
Seconds later, the door opened and Sullivan was there.
She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, but she was sure her expression reflected her shock.
It didn’t matter.
He wasn’t looking at her. His focus was on Heavenly.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.
“I can do whatever I want.”
“You’re twelve. You can’t. The end.” He touched her shoulder, and she shrugged away.
“Sunday is awake now. Only she can tell me what to do, and most of the time, I don’t listen.”
“Bull crap.” He took Oya, grabbed Heavenly’s hand, and pulled her onto the elevator.
They were two opposing forces constantly pitched against each other. Rumer could have intervened, but she figured the best thing to do was let them work it out.
They were family, after all.
Whether Heavenly wanted to admit it or not.
Rumer stepped into the elevator behind them, anxious to get upstairs, to see how the other kids were doing. They shouldn’t have been left unsupervised. Sunday might have opened her eyes and spoken, but that didn’t mean she could keep an eye on four kids.
Home with You Page 16