Amazing Grayson (#MyNewLife Book 3)

by M. E. Carter

  Mrs. Johnson comes to stand next to me as I watch them walk away. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes, hands on her hips. “We went over the rules several times, but he was so darn excited to be here. It’s been a struggle all day.”

  “He doesn’t seem disabled.” I know that sounds awfully ignorant to Mrs. Johnson, especially coming from me. I know just as well as anyone there are some disabilities you can’t see. Mental ones most often. But Oli just seems extremely highly functional.

  “Oh, you’ll see.” She smiles sardonically. “He’s been doing really well, but his mother told me to warn you once the honeymoon is over, it’s on.”

  “Can you give me any more information than that?”

  “Yeah. They recently moved here from Kansas. He’s lived in the suburbs all his life. This is his first time out in the country. I can’t give you specifics, but he has defiance issues and impulse control problems. We’re hoping the animals will help calm him. Mom’s considering getting him some sort of an emotional support animal when he’s old enough. Figured this program would be a good stepping off point to see if that’s an option before spending all that time on paperwork to apply.”

  I nod. “Smart. Are you going to head back to school or hang out in the main office today?”

  “I’m gonna work in the main office, if that’s okay with you. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. I could go for a quiet place free from distractions.”

  “I think Jill is having one of her Metallica days. I hope you brought ear plugs.” She crinkles her nose in disgust. Mrs. Johnson hates heavy metal, but when the office manager gets here first, she gets to control the music. “Oh, it’s not all bad. Brittany found some of that nasty vanilla Coke you like so much. She put a twelve pack in the fridge just for you.”

  Her eyes light up with delight. “Oh! I may have to work at the kitchen table with her instead. She spoils me rotten.”

  “She spoils all of us rotten.” And she does. Running all the meals and the main house has been Brittany’s job since she and Pedro got married. She’s damn good at it.

  Mrs. Johnson tells me she’ll find me when she’s finished, and I head off into the farm, catching up to Pedro and Oli, since the others have already disappeared to their stations. The workday is already half over, but my new project with a smiling, lumbering teenage boy, just began.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I give my eyes a break from the manuscript I’ve been working on all day. Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Closer to three hours.

  I love being an editor. I set my own hours. I choose my own projects. I get to be part of the creative process behind the scenes. It’s literally my dream job.

  But so help me, if this client does not learn how to use an Oxford comma, I am liable to tattoo it on her forehead.

  The front door clicks shut as I’m rolling my head around to stretch my neck.

  “Hey Julie!” I call out.

  Her head pops in the doorway. “Are you still working?” she asks, her straight black hair swinging like a curtain over her shoulder. It’s ridiculous how much she resembles her father. Tall and lanky. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark complexion. People used to always question if I was her biological mother because I’m so fair compared to her. Once they see us sitting side by side reading, the questions go away. Then we’re like mirror images of each other.

  “Just getting ready to finish up for the day.” I relax my stretches and lean back in my chair. “How was school?”

  She doesn’t respond. I know that look, though. It hasn’t been an easy transition for her.

  “It’s fine.” She plops herself down in the extra chair.

  “Make any new friends today?” She shakes her head, avoiding eye contact with me as she picks her nails. “Are the kids really that bad?”

  She finally glimpses up at me, revealing the crinkle in her brow. “No, it’s not that.”

  When we moved here, I wasn’t expecting her to have such a hard time. She’s never had a hard time making friends before. It’s obvious by her expression I was mistaken.

  “It’s just… these kids have all grown up together, ya know? They started school together in kindergarten. It’s different than where we lived, when new people came in and out all the time. I’m the first new kid they’ve had in how many years?”

  “I don’t know. How many years?” I ask, trying to lighten up the mood.

  “I haven’t actually asked, Mom.” I know by her eye roll my playfulness isn’t helping the situation, so I give up and stick with validating.

  “It’ll get better,” I tell her.

  “I know. It’s just… I’m kind of glad to be able to start over where no one knows me. No one knows my story. I’m not the daughter of the most hated man in town anymore. But part of me, wishes I could go back.”

  “Have you heard from Jamie yet?”

  She shrugs half-heartedly, which is discouraging. She and Jamie were inseparable for the last couple of years. They weren’t quite boyfriend and girlfriend, but they were more than friends. It’s complicated in the world of high school freshmen. But I’m still surprised by her answer.

  “I think he’s moved on. I guess with me not there every day, he’s forgotten about me.”

  My heart breaks for her and once again, my mom guilt kicks in.

  I have never doubted moving here was right for all of us. It got Oli into a great program at All Hands Farm. We were away from the judgmental stares of people who still blame me for my ex-husband’s illegal activities. It even gave Julie a fresh start to be someone besides “the daughter of that retched thief.” She knows it, and I know it. And while it was the right move for us, it doesn’t mean it’s an easy transition.

  After such a hard conversation, I don’t want to switch topics on her, but I don’t have much choice.

  “We got another letter today.”

  Julie groans and leans her head back, draping her arm over her eyes. “Why doesn’t he just give up already?”

  “Because he’s your father, and he’s never going to give up.”

  She snaps her head up. “He was a terrible father before he was arrested. Now, what? He has nothing better to do with all his downtime?”

  “Julie,” I warn.

  “I know, I know. He’s still the only dad I’ll ever have.” She rolls her eyes again as she says it, in a move every teenager across America has perfected at some point. This time, I choose to ignore it.

  “Right. Don’t burn that bridge.”

  “Mom, I’m not the one who is burning anything. Dad is the one who made it a priority to work instead of coming to any of our activities or being home for dinner. It’s been what, six years since Dad moved out of the house so you could get divorced? Do you know I have no memory of him sitting down and having dinner with us? And not just after he was arrested. Ever.”

  My gut twists at her words. Nobody wants to hear their child has no memories of their father making them a priority. Even if it’s painfully obvious what a scumbag he is now.

  “The only times I remember him with us was when we went on family trips. And even then, his face was stuck in his phone the whole time.”

  “I know, honey. I know. But he wants an answer, and I need to give it to him.”

  She sighs deeply and sits back in her chair again. “And you need me to decide if I’m going to go visit him in prison before presenting any of it to Oli.”

  I try to smile but my lips don’t cooperate. “If you’re not going to go, I’m not going to open that can of worms with him. It throws him into too much turmoil,” I remind her. “But if you are going to go, I can’t keep him from visiting too.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me, Mom.”

  “I know. And I don’t mean to. I’m not trying to pressure you. It’s just what our lives are.”

  She doesn’t begrudge me. I know that. She’s just had to grow up faster than most kids.

  “You don’t have to decide now. And you can reserve the right t
o change your mind. Always. If you want to say no for now, that’s fine. And if you change your mind, let me know. Just don’t change your mind if you decide to go, because you know Oli wouldn’t handle that well.”

  She pretends not to be paying attention to me, instead staring at her fingernails again when she weakly says, “I know.”

  I hate this. I hate that her life continues to be in upheaval all the time. It doesn’t matter where we move or how settled we get, there will always be a sense of chaos. Always be a sense of being unsettled. I know it’s part of having a special needs child, one who will never not be in your care, but how do I provide enough attention to my “normal” child while taking care of the one who will always need me more? It’s a mom guilt battle I fight every day.

  Still, I do what I can and while we have this moment, I try to take advantage of it.

  “What else happened at school today? Anything exciting?”

  “Well, there is one thing.” A small smile graces her lips as I nod my head in encouragement. “Since we just moved here, the swim coach is going to let me try out for the team.”

  I clap my hands together and hold them against my chest. “Oh honey, that’s wonderful!”

  “I might not make it, though. You know I’m not that fast, and this is a college town. Everyone’s chasing a scholarship around here.” Despite her reservations, her face is beaming with the new possibilities that have opened up for her.

  “You know I don’t care about that. I’m proud of you for going out for the team. Do you want me to see if there’s a pool around here you can use to practice for a few days?”

  Opening my computer, I begin searching gyms in the area that have pool facilities.

  “I probably should,” she starts. “I need a little practice with my flip turn, and I need to make sure I don’t disqualify myself on my breast stroke entry.”

  As my fingers click over the keyboard, I narrow down a few gyms within a couple miles of our house. “Do you have a lot of homework tonight? Oli won’t be home for another hour or so. Maybe we can head over to one of them and check it out real fast—”

  I barely finish my sentence when my phone starts ringing. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but it’s local. That can only mean one thing.

  Oli’s having a meltdown.

  Looking up at Julie, she shakes her head, visibly deflated because she knows too. “It’s okay. We can go later.”

  As she stands up and walks away, I call out, “I’m sorry, Julie. I’ll find you a practice gym tomorrow while you’re at school.”

  She doesn’t respond, but I know she hears me. She’s hurt that she has to be accommodating to her brother again. The problem isn’t that we’ve had to delay setting up practice times. It’s that we always delay setting things up for her, and there’s no way to fix it. When the choice is between one child who is possibly in a dangerous situation and one that needs to go swimming, there’s only one option.

  Mom guilt in full force again, I pick up the phone before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

  Bracing myself for what’s coming, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers.

  “Mrs. Declan?” a female voice says on the other end.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Mrs. Johnson, one of Oli’s teachers. We need you to come to the farm.”

  We’ve had some stubborn kids come through our program. It’s kind of the nature of what we do. We’re used to all kinds of behaviors. But even I have to admit, this new kid, Oli, he’s as stubborn as they come.

  Mrs. Johnson warned me. She said he would honeymoon for a while, but eventually his behaviors would surface. And boy have they. With a vengeance.

  He’s been here a couple of weeks, and he’s done really well. But he’s never gotten over his fixation on that new mare. The one I warned Pedro no one could touch except him. But of course, that’s the one Oli wants to pet, which we can’t allow.

  So today, after helping muck a stall and pitching some hay, it was time for the reward part of the day. Petting a horse.

  Oli immediately went for the mare and when he was told no, that’s when things went south.

  “You said when I was done with my work, I could pet that horse.” He’d obviously forgotten the details of our conversation.

  “No, Oli. We said you could touch a horse. Not that one. The black one is off limits. You know this. We’ve talked about it before.”

  “You lied to me! You’re a liar, liar, pants on fire!”

  “Oli, I need you to calm down. You’re scaring the animals,” I warned. “You don’t want them to be afraid of you if you’re going to pet them.”

  That stopped him for a few seconds as he processed my words, but not for long. “I wanna pet the black horse! You promised!” he continued.

  “Again, Oli, we told you you could pet a horse, but not that one. She is off limits,” I said patiently. As much as he was trying to push my buttons, it wasn’t working. “Your choices are to calm down and go pet a different animal, or you don’t get to pet any of them.”

  That was it. As soon as I laid it on the line, Oli went into a rage.

  Now, rage is a relative term. I’ve seen way worse. But it sure wasn’t fun watching one my stools and my brand-new sawhorse go toppling over. And I was damn sure surprised he didn’t break his hand when he punched the wall, since that drywall didn’t give one bit.

  When none of that fazed me, he threatened to throw a cow pie at me, but gave up when I told him the only thing he’d do is get poop on his hand because fresh dung isn’t solid. Thankfully, that eliminated me getting covered with cow shit. Pedro would love nothing more than to see that, but it’s a hard pass for me.

  Instead, Oli sat down on the ground and refused to get up. If I’ve learned anything over the years, when a one-hundred-fifty-pound kid sits on the floor throwing a tantrum, you wait them out.

  Mrs. Johnson stayed as long as she could, waiting for him to become compliant. Finally, she had to go. Oli isn’t her only student. She’s responsible for several kids that need to get back to the school for pick-up time. So we did the thing we hate the most. We called his parents.

  Now here we are, an hour later, with Oli still sitting on the floor.

  Leaning up against the door jamb with my arms and legs crossed, I ask him for the umpteenth time, “Are you done yet?”

  “Mmm,” he grunts as an answer, which I interpret as a no.

  “Hey man.” Pedro claps me on the shoulder. “I figured you’d still be here.” He’s trying not to chuckle, but I can hear it under his breath. He finds the fact that I’ve been standing here pretending I’m not bored out of my mind for the last hour hilarious. Especially since he got to do the fun stuff like working right along with the kids. But since I’m the one who’s trained in restraints and de-escalation techniques, I’m the one who gets to deal with meltdowns.

  Making a mental note to sign Pedro up for his own certifications so he can have his turn waiting out a pouting kid, I turn to concentrate on our conversation. Lord knows it’s the most exciting thing I’ve done in the last sixty minutes.

  “The crew started the evening milking, and the vet is gonna stop by and make sure our Bessie is done with her antibiotics and can be moved back with the herd.”

  I nod my appreciation. “Make sure she’s marked, and we dump her supply. I don’t want to accidentally mix her milk in with the rest of it and get dinged for antibiotic residue.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Pedro and I look first at each other than over at Oli, who has spoken his first real sentence since his tantrum began.

  “What does what mean?” I ask.

  He stares up at me, clearly interested in our conversation. “About the cow’s milk having antibiotics or something.”

  “Oh.” I peer over at Pedro, and he shrugs. I don’t think either of us were expecting Oli to talk to us for a while. But this is good, and I’m not going to waste the mo
ment to educate him. “When a cow gets sick, we have to put her on antibiotics. Kind of like when you get sick. You know how you get put on medicine?”

  “I’m on a lot of medicine. You mean like that?”

  I can’t help but smile at his innocence. “It’s kind of the same. Except it’s the kind of medicine you only stay on for as long as you’re sick.”

  “It’s not for forever, like mine?”

  “Exactly. But when a cow stops taking it, it’s still in her body for a few weeks, which means we can’t drink her milk until we know good and well that the medicine is all gone.”

  “Then what do you do with the milk?”

  “We have to dump it out.”

  He thinks for a second before saying, “That seems like a big waste of milk.”

  I nod in agreement. “It is. But it’s better than having someone get sick from drinking milk that had cow medicine in it.”

  He scans the barn, and I squint my eyes, watching to see what he’s going to do next. Finally, he seems to come to a decision. “Are the cows nice?”

  “They are. Very nice.”

  “Do you think I could pet one?”

  I gape at Pedro who shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere I have to be right now. They’ve got it under control in the milking parlor.”

  Focusing back on Oli, who seems completely calm and compliant now that he’s been distracted from that damn mare, I say, “As soon as you pick up that stool you tossed and help me put the sawhorse upright, Pedro will introduce you to our Bessie. Can you do that?”

  He nods and scrambles to his feet, immediately following my instructions. Within seconds, he and Pedro are out the door and headed toward the parlor. I shake my head and make yet another mental note that the fastest way to get Oli to stop fixating on a horse is to talk about the cows. Go figure.

  They no more than duck into the other building when I hear gravel crunching underneath tires, and I turn to see a little black Mazda inching toward the open barn door. Having never seen the car before, I assume it’s one of Oli’s parents. I make sure to pick up the odds and ends from the ground and take them inside the barn. Usually when the parents first get here, they take a second to inspect where their child is spending so much time.