by Sosie Frost
“I really can’t take you anywhere, can I?” I gave his ass a subtle slap.
He intercepted the spanking and kissed my hand. “That was a mistake, Sassy. Tonight, I’m getting you back.”
“Tenfold.”
“Oh, at least twenty.”
The library welcomed a dozen families into the rec room, exchanging a crisp twenty-dollar bill for an easel, a paint-stained smock, and entry into the ring of kids eagerly waiting for permission to begin wrecking the construction paper clipped to their workstations.
Mellie, as usual, ran full-speed, arms outstretched, braying like a donkey. Unfortunately, this time she collided with the one girl also spazzing her way across the carpet, somersault after somersault.
Both knocked heads and landed on their bottoms.
The little redheaded girl began to cry.
Mellie shushed the other girl with too much sass for her own good. “No crying! Don’t be a baby!”
“Mellie!” I passed Tabby to Rem and stormed forward, ensuring the girls were only bruised, not broken. “You’re supposed to say you’re sorry for hitting her. Apologize. Now, young lady.”
Mellie pointed at Rem. “Uncle Rem said only babies cry.”
“Oh, did he?”
At least he looked ashamed.
I helped the other girl to her feet. Only one child in Butterpond had such fiery hair—tomato soup, Tidus always said. I searched for Sheriff Samson in the crowd and brushed the flecks of dirt off his granddaughter, Tina.
The Sherriff wasn’t as mobile with the bum knee—injured after a late night, last call after the Rivets’ playoff win. He masked the limp with a swagger that fooled no one except the couple punk kids under the age of twelve who happened to skateboard in the municipal office’s parking lot.
“Whoopsie-daisy.” Sherriff Samson swooped down, groaned as his back audibly cracked, and instead patted Tina’s head. “You good, sweetpea?”
“Just had a little toddler head-on collision,” I smiled. “I think they’re okay.”
“This is Emma Marshall’s baby.”
“Yep,” I said. “I’m her nanny…”
Samson wasn’t listening. His gaze passed to Rem.
Just my luck.
“You got the kids?” Samson asked.
Rem nodded. “Yeah.”
“Brought her to paint?”
“That’s right.”
“Oddly wholesome for a boy like you, ain’t it?”
“Men change, Sherriff.”
The library was no place for the town’s resident bad boy to face off against the Sherriff. I would not have the YA section become the OK Corral. Especially since the last five years had been kinder to Rem than Samson.
Rem had filled out, bulked up, and transformed into a hardened hunk of muscle and poise. In the same amount of time, Sherriff Samson had shrunk three inches, gained a gut, and threatened retirement after a flock of Canadian geese invaded the municipal center’s parking lot, soiled his SUV, and attacked him every evening as he left the office.
No longer was Sherriff Samson chasing after Rem and Tidus as they transitioned from boyhood pranks and into the drugs that nearly ruined both of their lives. But that didn’t mean a truce was struck. Neither man trusted the other.
“Thought the Paynes chased you out of Butterpond with whatever pitchforks were left in the rubble of the barn?” Samson asked.
Our equipment had been stored in a separate shed, but I wasn’t getting in the middle of the pissing match without an umbrella. Rem bounced Tabby to his other arm and tried to maintain his stare while the baby stuck her fingers in his ears.
“Came back to help Em,” he said. “Someone’s gotta watch the kids while she gets better.”
“Heroin, right?”
Of all the words for the librarians to hush. Rem stiffened, his jaw tight. “She’s recovered. Clean for a couple weeks now.”
“Hope it stays that way. A shame. First your father. Then you. Now her.”
Rem didn’t let it piss him off. “I’ve been sober a long time. My father’s dead, buried, and rotting. But Em is getting help. She’s beaten the addiction, no thanks to people like you who would kick her when she’s down.”
“Who do you think took the kids out of the house?”
Rem wouldn’t hear it. “Well, I got the girls now, and Mellie wants to paint.”
“You?” Samson’s laugh filled the library. “Family man Remington Marshall. Responsible for two young kids. Surprised they haven’t knocked over a preschool yet.”
“I’m waiting until we can pull a heist on the Toys R Us in Ironfield.” Rem’s slick tongue would get us all in trouble. “Figured I’d teach them their ABCs—assault, battery, and counterfeiting.”
I interrupted before the librarians were summoned. They were old, but they were damn accurate with their canes. These ladies didn’t shush—they struck, right behind the knees.
I took Tabby away before Rem’s fist clenched her as well. “I’m the girls’ nanny, but Rem’s been really good with them.”
Samson’s tone gentled for me. “At least they have some good influences then. Hate to see a third generation of Marshall end up in the gutter like the rest.”
Rem endured enough. He poked Samson’s chest in a way that would get Rem maced if the sheriff could have found his pockets under his gut.
“Look.” Rem’s voice lowered—just enough of a grunt to accuse him of threatening Butterpond’s two-member police department. “I know my family’s name isn’t worth the spit to say it. But those girls aren’t me. They’re innocent. They don’t know anything about their momma or uncle except both read ‘em bedtime stories and feed ‘em chicken nuggets. You will not insult them.” He stepped closer. A challenge. “I don’t got a lot to be proud of, but those girls mean more to me than a night in the lock-up for punching you square in the balls.”
“Okay…” I pushed them apart. “I think we should take the girls to paint now.”
“Best thing you ever did for this town…and for her…” Samson pointed at me. “Was leaving.”
“Well, now I’m back.” Rem held his arms out. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Hopefully, nothing.” Samson narrowed his eyes. “I did a favor for you, boy. Five years ago, when Bill Payne wanted you locked up for that fire. I did you a favor.”
A favor? I frowned, but Rem didn’t let me ask the question.
“No. You did the Paynes a favor,” Rem said. “Don’t act like it was for me.”
“You aren’t that noble, Marshall. Go and pretend that you’re some martyr, but I know the truth. You were no good then, you’re no good now, and the entire town of Butterpond—including this pretty lady—were better off with you gone.”
A step too far for both of us, but I didn’t get to defend my own honor.
A shocked librarian cried over the room. “She’s covered in paint!”
And that was my cue.
I didn’t have to ask. Didn’t even need to look.
I just knew.
That punch in the gut, this is going to take forever to clean, does paint come out of a car seat instinct that all people inherited when working with small children.
The crowd parted as I rushed inside the rec room.
It was worse than I’d thought.
Mellie had plunked down on the carpet with her shirt off, but I couldn’t tell. A thick layer of red, blue, yellow, and green paint smeared over her arms, chest, and fingers. The child had become a goddamned macaw, and only once the room had panicked did she stop slapping the paint over herself. A drizzle of blue dripped from her fingertips.
“Oh, Mellie…” I covered my mouth. “What did you do?”
The gaze of every parent seared through me. The judgment was next. Why was she left unattended? Who would allow their child to behave in such a way? Who raises an abstract artist when that trend is so early 2000s?
I knelt down, but I didn’t have enough wetnaps in my purse to fix this one.
Mellie grinned at her uncle and gave him a cheeky wave. “Look! I’m Uncle Rem!”
“What?” I asked.
She proudly pointed to the colors on her arms and then at him. “Look!”
Rem wore a short-sleeved shirt, tight against his chest, abs, and biceps. So far, it had entertained the moms dropping off their husbands and daughters for the event. But peeking from the sleeves and extending down his arms…the snake tattoo.
Bright and vibrant, the reds, yellows, and greens inked a complete sleeve into his skin.
Mellie had painted herself to look like her uncle.
“Hey.” Rem’s smile horrified the parents more than the painted child. “That’s kinda neat!”
“Rem,” I whispered.
He sounded so goddamned proud it broke my heart. “She wanted to look like me!”
Sherriff Samson grumbled, shaking his head as he kept his granddaughter out of the utter mess that’d spilled from Mellie’s exuberance. A rolling glop of red had escaped the newspaper lining, and the splattered blues and greens stained the paper. One wayward kick from Mellie, and the paper tore, ruining the carpet beneath the child.
Mellie was a mess. The paints were spilled. The librarians fumed.
But Rem looked so happy.
At least…for a moment.
“She gave herself tattoos?” One of the librarians gasped in disbelief. “What sort of child is this?”
Another mother scoffed. “What kind of home is she living in?”
“Not one I’d let my kid visit.” A father agreed.
Sherriff Samson stepped close, eying a now somber Mellie and quieted Rem. “I asked myself…what would happen if Rem Marshall took in two little girls. How could a man who’d lived his life without regard for any other person ever care for a toddler?” His voice lowered. “Emma might be bad, but you’re worse. You gotta think about what sort of influence you have on these girls…all three of them.”
Rem didn’t answer. He knelt before Mellie and rubbed the semi-dry paint from her chest. It didn’t come off. He swore.
“Shit.”
Tabby giggled in my arms. “Tit!”
That didn’t help matters. Rem scooped Mellie up, ignoring the wet paint that stuck to his shirt. He stalked out of the rec room.
Damn it. I shushed Tabby as she delighted the room with a variety of her uncle’s favorite words. The librarians watched in horror.
“I’m sorry…” I hurried to the door. “Please, bill me for the expenses and cleanup. Send it to the farm. I’ll take care of it…”
I didn’t wait for an answer, chasing after Rem as he hauled Mellie to the park behind the library. He plunked her down in front of a water pump and attempted to splash the chillingly cold water over the paint. Mellie fought him. He held her steady. Neither was happy.
“It’s not coming off.” He struggled to keep his voice even. “What the hell is in this paint?”
“It’s nothing a good scrub in the bath won’t fix.” I sucked in a breath. “And if she’s…tinted for a couple days, that’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Rem kicked the pump, scared the kids, and spouted a leak in the mechanism. “Damn it!”
“Rem, she was just playing. This happens. Usually…not in public or with such vibrant colors, but…” I shifted Tabby to another hip and took his hand, bringing him close. “It’s just a part of being a kid. We’ll clean her up. Ignore what Samson said—he was always an idiot who stuck his nose into everyone’s business.”
“You don’t understand. Mellie has to get cleaned up. She can’t have any paint on her tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Of all the times to keep a secret.
Of all the days to not trust me.
What was it with this man and refusing to let me into his heart?
“Tomorrow is Emma’s hearing. The court is meeting to determine if she can regain custody.” Rem couldn’t look at me or the girls. “Tomorrow, they might be going home.”
17
Rem
Pretty sure I couldn’t douse a kid in turpentine.
I plunked Mellie into the tub instead, drummed up some bubbles, and debated getting the paint stripper to peel the not-so-temporary tattoos off my niece.
Mellie giggled and picked at the blue stain under her fingernails. She waved her hands at me and sighed.
“Mess. Mess. Mess.”
“You said it.” I filled a Tupperware container with water and tipped it over her head. “Look out. Tidal wave.”
Mellie puffed her cheeks and held her breath while the water dumped over her hair.
Green hair. Red hair. Yellow hair.
I’d inadvertently tie-dyed the kid. The courts probably wouldn’t want the girl showing up in any color but their normal hue.
Mellie didn’t care. She pinched both her nose and the nose of her favorite tub buddy. The toy needed to be stuffed down the drain. Bath-time Barbie was becoming Black-Mold Barbie. CPS wouldn’t like that either.
I’d get her a new one if she went back to Em’s.
When.
When she went back to Em’s.
The thought weighed me down so heavy I worried about leaning over the water. Already felt like I was drowning. Guilt. Hope. Rage. Resignation.
God, I was a bastard. I should have been thrilled. Emma had recovered. She’d stayed sober for three months. That was a fucking amazing accomplishment—something the girls could be proud of.
Wished I had that much to offer them. All I could do was dump some water over their heads with a beat-up Tupperware container.
“Tidal wave!” I teetered the container in my hand. “Whoa!”
Mellie scrunched up. Unfortunately, she wanted to protect Barbie’s nose and forgot about her own. She sucked in a breath just as the water passed over her face. Her laughter turned to coughs, and she hacked up half of the water.
“Uh-oh.” I waited while she sputtered. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
“Just water up your nose?”
The coughing subsided. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
I dumped another container of bathwater over her with a splash. Mellie giggled, kicking in the tub and creating more multi-colored bubbles.
“Uncle Rem!”
“What?” Another waterfall. “I thought you liked…tidal waves.”
She laughed. “Stop!”
“Don’t you want to get clean?”
Another splatter. She splashed me back. “No fair!”
“Nothing’s fair during…tidal wave!” Two dunks this time. “You just gotta hold your nose.”
Another splash. Mellie practically dissolved into giggles. A giggle would have been easier to clean. Getting the paint off her body was a goddamned Herculean task.
Tabby shouted from the living room. Soon, the bathroom door burst open and she toddled inside, muttering a furious story of babble and gibberish under her breath. Cassie followed.
And reluctantly spoke to me.
“Tabby wanted to see what the commotion was.”
“Bath!” Tabby pointed excitedly at the tub. “Bath!”
Sure. Two and a half weeks ago, the kids were allergic to water. I bargained with a one-year-old, selling my soul to get her butt to stay put in the tub with a bribe of chocolate. My range of talents now included hunting, tracking, carpentry, and protecting a candy bar from some shampoo.
“You’ll get a bath later.” I poked her chubby belly. “Right now, your sister looks like a Picasso.”
“Pikachu?” Mellie gasped.
“Sure.” I dunked another ladle of water over her. “Give me an arm, Mellie. I gotta scrub you down.”
Mellie scrunched up her nose. “I like it.”
So did I, until I realized no one else in the library thought the paint tattoos were as adorable as me.
“Well, we gotta get you clean.”
“Why?”
I glanced at Cassie. She was no help. Then again, I’d
blindsided her with the court date. At least she wouldn’t get angry around the kids. Hopefully Mellie would have a nightmare tonight and sleep in our bed. Cassi wouldn’t suffocate me with a pillow in sight of the kids.
“Tomorrow…” I swallowed. The words were harder to spit out than I thought. “You get to see Mommy.”
Mellie leapt to her feet. Half of the water surged out of the tub and onto me and the clean towels I’d set out for her. She made a break for it, but the excited dance slowed her down. I plunked her into the tub while she squealed.
“Mommy!” She celebrated by kicking her feet and knocking every shampoo and soap into the bath with her. Everything, including me and the towels and the water and the soaps, tinted a strange shade of blue. “I miss Mommy!”
Tabby pounced in the puddles, unsure of the cause for such excitement but pleased by the mess at her feet. She stomped twice before slipping. Cassie caught her as she fell, but Tabby wiggled enough so she could sit in the dampness and slap it with her hands.
“Okay, so we gotta scrub you down and get you clean,” I said. “Sound good?”
“Yep!”
A half-hour and two drained and re-filled tubs later, the kid was still shaded like monopoly money, but she seemed essentially cleaned. Good enough for court.
She buzzed around the cabin with a doll, letting Tabby toddle behind, and we set to making dinner.
Silently.
Cassi hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t really looked at me.
I knew it was coming. I braced myself for it.
What was I supposed to say?
She tossed some chicken in the oven, but she lowered the knife to the cutting board halfway through the broccoli. That was fine. Mellie had an aversion to green. After today, I shared it.
“When were you going to tell me?” Cassi stared at the counter. “Was I just going to wake up one day and assume the toddlers had moved out?”
“Would it have worked?”
“Don’t you dare joke about this.”
Fair enough. “What do you want me to say?”
“How about…the kids’ court case is on Thursday, and we should get ready for it?”
“Topic never came up.”
A lame excuse. Cassi knew it. She thumped her hand on the counter and gave her fingernails a rat-a-tat-tat against the wooden cutting board. Probably would have been smart to move the chef’s knife away from her.