“I just want to protect her from getting hurt,” she said.
“Do you really believe Neil would hurt that child?”
“Not purposely,” she admitted grudgingly. Neil wasn’t a monster, after all. Just a rat bastard. “But that won’t make it any less painful for Bree.”
“Seems to me, both you and Breanne can learn something from this situation.”
“Thanks, but I’ve had enough of those pesky life lessons.”
“Sorry, not how it works.” Rose shook water from the onions and set them on the counter then dried her hands. “This is an opportunity for Breanne to learn that loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean they always meet your expectations.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
“And you’re learning one of the toughest lessons there is for a parent,” her mom continued as she cupped Maddie’s face in both hands, her palms damp, her skin smelling of dirt. “We can’t always protect our children from pain. No matter how much we want to.”
* * *
FAY HADN’T COME down for dinner.
For what must have been the hundredth time since he’d sat down at the glossy dining room table with his family, Neil glanced up. But his sister didn’t suddenly materialize, smiling and happy and whole, in the doorway.
She’d been fine at lunch, he reminded himself as he sipped his water. His mouth tightened. Maybe fine was a slight exaggeration. More like she’d been...coping. She may be unsteady on her feet, but at least she was still standing. He’d take comfort in that. And make sure she stayed that way.
“Isn’t that nice, Neil?”
He blinked at Gerry. “Yeah. It’s great.”
“You have no idea what we’re talking about, do you?”
Not a clue. But if the conversation he’d zoned out was anything close to what he’d already endured since sitting down to dinner with Carl, Gerry, Bree and his nephews, it probably centered around Carl’s golf game, local gossip or Elijah’s favorite TV show.
At Gerry’s arch look, Neil shifted, realized that he was squirming like a guilty ten-year-old and stilled. “Sorry.”
She set her fork onto her plate with a soft clang. “We were discussing Bree’s award.”
“Award?”
“I came in third,” Bree said, her hands in her lap. “It’s not like I won or anything.”
Gerry smiled at her granddaughter. “Still, it’s a huge honor and we’re very proud of you.”
“What award?” Neil asked.
“To Breanne,” Carl said, raising his water glass.
Elijah climbed onto his knees and held up his plastic cup. “To Bree!”
Glasses clinked against each other. Elijah hit Bree’s glass so hard, milk sloshed over the side.
“What award?” Neil repeated. Loudly.
Loud enough that everyone went quiet. Even Elijah stopped talking and Neil was starting to wonder if that was even possible without knocking the kid out.
“You didn’t tell your dad about the contest?” Gerry asked Bree.
Across from him, Bree lifted a shoulder. “I guess I forgot.”
He waited but she stared at her plate. It was like pulling teeth with his own kid. Worse, he was in the spotlight, all of his shortcomings as a father on display for his family.
“Why don’t you tell me now?” he asked.
“It’s no big deal.” She rubbed at a spot of gravy on the tablecloth. “My English teacher sent in one of my short stories to a contest in Pittsburgh and it got third place.”
He’d known nothing about it. Hadn’t even known she wrote short stories.
“Good job.” He managed to squeeze the words out through the tightness in his throat, feeling as if they were wrestling with what he really wanted to say.
Why didn’t you tell me?
“Can I have another roll?” Elijah asked, practically landing in Bree’s lap as he reached across her for the basket of homemade rolls.
Next to Neil, Mitchell kicked his feet against the wooden high chair. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Dinner was, as always,” Carl told Gerry, “excellent.”
It was. She’d made roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans with bacon and pearl onions. Neil’s favorites. He could afford the fanciest meals, ate out at the best restaurants and still, there was nothing like Gerry’s cooking. He was probably biased due to the fact that, up until the time Carl and Gerry took him in, Neil’s meals had come out of a box, a can or a drive-through.
“Oh, honey,” Gerry said to Bree with a tsking sound Neil had heard often growing up. “Are you sure you want another helping of mashed potatoes? Oftentimes we think we’re still hungry but that’s only because it takes our brains twenty minutes to get the message that our bodies are really full.”
Bree froze, a spoonful of potatoes hovering over her plate.