to notice the tension as she gave me a gap-toothed smile. “Uncle JJ?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Will you come to see my art at the center?”
“Of course I will,” I said, chucking her on the chin.
Her eyes lit up. “Maybe you could even teach my class!”
I realized then that I had no idea of several things: how old she was now, what kind of art she was doing, and what kind of center she was talking about. But in my defense, kids did grow fast. And there were a lot of them in the Sutton brood. Between Mark and John and Matt, they had like, eight kids. I remembered faces, nicknames, and for the most part, ages. I couldn’t be counted on to remember hobbies, too, could I?
“Um….” I glanced at Mark for help, but he was too busy dipping a spoon in my soup. “Mark? A little help here, please?”
“They cut the art program at her school a year ago. So now, people volunteer once a week to teach a class at the center,” he said distractedly, blowing on the spoon. “It’s not a strict medium. You just arrange for an activity for the kids and make sure they don’t kill each other for a couple of hours.”
“That sounds more like a parent thing.” I was more than willing to tool around her classroom and make the appropriate “oohs” and “aahs”, but this was something else entirely. Since Mark was too busy burning his tongue on my soup, I directed my attention at Olivia. “Maybe we could do something just the two of us.”
My father came hobbling in and made a beeline for the fridge. I watched him with a gimlet eye to make sure he didn’t get anything that he wasn’t supposed to have. When I was sure he was only getting sparkling water, I looked back down at Olivia.
Her delicate brow furrowed. “I want you to meet my friends.”
“Maybe some other—”
“I love you,” she said winningly, and I narrowed my eyes at her winsome expression. She had the trademark Sutton blue eyes and she knew how to work ’em. Not to mention, anyone who didn’t melt when a kid said ‘I love you’ was a monster. It was like the Grinch litmus test.
“I don’t know, Livy,” I said doubtfully.
“I love you,” she repeated with more emphasis, clearly puzzled why her kid magic wasn’t working.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” I lowered her to the floor because I might not remember how old she was, but I damn sure knew how heavy she was. My back had started to voice complaints, and I was too old not to listen.
“You should do it,” my father advised. “Anything is better than having you underfoot all the damned time.”
I decided not to address him categorizing my cooking of his meals, cleaning of his clothes, and making sure he didn’t accidentally off himself with medication as ‘being underfoot.’ If I did respond, he would probably have something smart to say in kind, and then I’d have to finally choke him to death. There’s a place they have for people who do things like that. He shuffled back into the living room, oblivious to my internal debate about strangulation and legal strategies to get away with it.
Olivia tugged at my shirt, and I looked down right into a glare. “I said I love you.”
“I’m not deaf, kid,” I said dryly, plucking my shirt out of her chubby little fingers. “I’ll give you and your band of ragamuffins two hours of finger painting, and that’s it.”
“We want to take photos like you do,” she said slyly, proving that you could never be too young to have a plan and execute that plan with an assassin’s accuracy.
“So you’ve run this past your merry band? I should’ve known.” I squinted down at her, working the logistics in my head. A few disposable cameras and traipsing around the park for an hour, I could do. “One hour and we’ll do the pictures.”
“You’ve got a deal.” She smiled and skipped off toward the living room.
Outmaneuvered by a… how old was she again? “You’re like four, right?” I called out.
“Six,” Mark informed me, busy dipping his spoon back in the pot. “But nice try.”
“Your daughter is a charlatan. And could you stop double-dipping? It’s gross.” I suddenly understood the desire to rap someone’s knuckles with a wooden spoon. “I promised I’d bring some to Cam, and I don’t want him getting your cooties.”
“Well, this is unexpectedly tasty for something I can’t pronounce.” He