“Like?” Marianne’s words grind out like ice cubes in a dispenser. “Spill it!”
Derek’s gaze passes from me to Marianne. “I don’t know all the details. Just something with his dad.”
“His dad?” A note of fear spikes in Marianne’s voice.
“What’s wrong with his dad?” I ask.
She whips her head around to face me. “Everything! The man is crazy. He treated Zach’s mom like dirt. He even-”
“Honey,” Derek interrupts her. “I’m not sure this is our dirty laundry to be airing.”
Marianne stares up at Derek, almost in shock that he would ask her to keep quiet about something like this. A part of me aches, wanting to know the truth. Hoping it’s not as bad as she’s making it seem.
“It’s not like he keeps it a secret,” she says and turns her attention back to me. “Zach avoids that man like the plague. If he’s around Zach, baby, there has got to be something serious going on. I’d just let Zach be. He might just be trying to spare you from having to deal with that jackass.”
“Ooo. I heard it, Marianne.” One half of Miles’s body juts out from around the corner of the wall, his other half still somewhere in the hallway. “You said a bad word. That’s one quarter in the swear jar for you.”
“What?” Marianne’s mouth drops open. She presses a hand to her chest as if it reinforces her innocence. “Me? Derek said ‘damn’ earlier. How come you didn’t get him?”
“Ooo.” Miles jumps out from behind the wall. Both hands point toward Marianne. “That’s two quarters.”
Marianne’s face pinches into a tight scowl. Her lips press together so tightly they turn white. “This child. I swear.”
She begrudgingly fishes into her pocket and produces the coins. When she stands, she tosses the coins into the jar with a flick of the wrist that’s almost violent. Her eyes level over the two men who stare back at her with mischievous grins.
After thirty seconds, Derek’s grin fades, and he wraps an arm around Miles. He ushers the child toward the door. “Come on, Miles. I’ll take you outside to practice before...something happens to you.”
Marianne’s face relaxes into a smirk. She shakes her head and reclaims her seat across from me at the table.
“I take it the swear jar was your idea?” I ask.
“Yep.” She takes a long drink of her coffee, before adding, “Had I known I’d be contributing to it the most, I wouldn’t have started the da...ng thing.”
Another laugh escapes me. “Did you ever want any children of your own?”
“We couldn’t,” Marianne says soberly, her eyes shifting to the side. “Well, I can’t.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She waves a hand between us. “No, it’s fine. I mean, that’s why we take in foster children as often as we can. I love having kids around.”
“Miles really appreciates it. You’re all he talks about.” That day in the garden, all Miles could do was talk about how much he loved his family, all the things they do together. His face lights up talking about Marianne, and a sense of pride takes hold whenever he mentions Derek. I can only hope to be a role model like that for my children. I don’t want them to feel like they have to take care of me instead.
I silence those thoughts quickly. They have no place in my heart.
“Miles is something special alright,” Marianne says.
The smile beaming across her face tells everything you’d ever need to know. “You know, you take these kids, and you open your hearts to them, and you just love them. But sometimes there’s just that one kid that really stands out to you. And you just know your life is never going to be the same without him.”
There is a dream-like enchantment in her gaze that fills my heart with warmth. Even without being the recipient of that love, even without knowing what it feels like first-hand, I feel as though I’m a part of something special just by watching her.
I leave a few minutes later, with nothing but my thoughts to accompany me. Dark and sad thoughts, that I tried to bury years ago. When I walk through my door, Lyndsey is on her computer, sitting cross-legged on the couch. She smiles in that troublesome way. Kind of like how a human speaks to a dog before a trip to the vet.
“Hey, how you holding up?” she asks.
My eye twitches at the corner. What a curious question. Holding up from what? How am I supposed to answer that? “Well, I’m not dead. So thanks for asking?”
“No, I just mean…” She pauses. Her copper eyes soften, wanting to convey messages I should be able to read. But I am just as perplexed as she looks trying to uncover the meaning behind her worried state. “Where’ve you been all day?”