“Well, if you live here, you can’t go to that old school. It’s in a different district.”
Confidence shattering, Blair instantly looks ready to cry as she asks, “Do I have to change schools?”
“I can make it so you don’t. There are ways to get around the rules.”
A wide-eyed Landry watches our conversation. She looks like a cornered animal. Her relationship with Blair is different than with the other kids. I think her firstborn knows how shit rolls in a way the younger ones don’t. For one thing, Blair understands her dad is dead. The others are blissfully unaware.
“I don’t know,” Blair says, looking at me like I might hit her.
When I don’t answer, Woodrow appears from the back door where he’s been eavesdropping.
“You don’t need to decide yet,” he explains before her tears can start falling. “We gotta move you in here first and find your cat. You have a broken arm. Best for you to rest for a few days. No reason you can’t drive to the old school every day until you finish up. There isn’t much left anyhow.”
Blair seems smaller suddenly. Her bravado fizzles out. She’s left with only the knowledge and energy of a tired nine-year-old who got her arm snapped by a raging monster yesterday.
“Come sit with me,” Landry tells her daughter who wanders over.
Blair mumbles, “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know. It’s so fast. We’ll figure it out.”
I look at Woodrow to signal he did right by stepping in. Before I say anything, Beckett appears in front of me. He stares with the blue eyes he inherited from his shit-heel father. Right now, he’s eyeballing me.
I think to ignore him since I don’t know what to say. Instead, I squat down and point at his stuffed fire engine.
“I like your fire truck.”
Beckett exhales hard and then inhales deeply like he’s about to say a bunch of shit.
“It’s mine.”
“I know.”
He shuffles closer and shows it to me. “Red.”
I consider telling him about his room, but I don’t know if that’s the right move. In my head, I’ve shared conversations with these kids. We’re old friends. In reality, I have no fucking idea what to say to any of them.
“Did you like breakfast?” I ask since that’s what I’d ask an adult.
Nodding, he points at the table. “Eggs.”
Double braids bouncing, Brooklyn runs over and stands next to her brother. She stares at me before smiling. “I eat eggs.”
Staring into the girl’s hazel eyes, I just go silent. There’s nothing to say to her egg comment.
Landry appears between us and smiles. “This is Silas. Isn’t his house big?”
The kids look around and nod. Right about then, Brooklyn decides she’s done talking to me. The three-year-old returns to the couch, where Beau and Blair watch something on Landry’s phone.
Also done with me, Beckett asks his mom to pick him up. I don’t think she should when she’s dealing with the ligament health issue.
Of course, Landry still picks him up and smiles at me. “Don’t feel bad for getting stumped,” she says, and Woodrow chuckles at whatever he sees on my face. “I don’t know how to talk to kids who aren’t mine.”
Before I can respond, I hear a truck and motorcycles heading up the drive.
“My people are here. We’re going to pick up your crap. List out what you need and where it’s at.”
“Wait, I should come with you,” Landry says, moving closer and leaving the air smelling of her damp hair.