Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,63

cool, as it felt that I already had a window into what his day could look like.

“This is super helpful,” I told her.

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, let’s go get the tiny tot ready. I’ll go with you to his school so we can chat and introduce you to the teacher, principal, and other staff. This will get him used to it, but they’ll get to know you as well.”

We stood up and went to his room. Casey was a well-mannered child. He followed the directions of his mother, and we made it to school with no hassle. Once introductions were made and he was safely in homeroom, Mrs. Vega and I parted ways, but not before she gave me keys, alarm codes, prepaid grocery store card, and contact information for her and her husband—this included the mobile, work, and both of their assistants’ information.

“Any relatives?” I asked.

“None,” she said as she caught the Uber that was waiting for her. “We’re the Vega tribe. Just us.”

Damn.

The trip to his school was only thirty minutes, which allowed me time to go back, clean, and prepare dinner for the evening. I saw that Casey’s favorite dish was spaghetti and meatballs.

He liked Rice Krispies Treats and Cheez-Its and was not a fan of chocolate. I was, so that was good. I could have my snacks to myself. Casey was a video gamer, but he needed balance with these items, stated a note from his mother. He was a good student, conscientious about his family and their needs, even at such a young age. He was a problem solver, which could get him into mischief at times, and he loved old-school cartoons and games and didn’t really stay up to date with new things. This is how he was able to connect with his dad when he was younger.

The father didn’t strike me as the type, but what did I know about him as a father? The man as an employer was not good, but that was my only lens. Mrs. Vega seemed to like him as a husband, but with that schedule, that was what probably made the marriage work—his being away.

Anyway, after I went grocery shopping with the card that Mrs. Vega gave me, washed clothes that were in the laundry, folded them, and put on dinner, it was time to pick up Casey from school. The kid held my hand right away, shared his day, and told me how a boy said that his hair was cut using a bowl.

“A bowl cut?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s what he called it,” he replied excitedly. “He said I had a bowl cut.”

“Do you?” I asked back. “Is it true?”

“No,” he pondered, then looked up at me and said, “Why would he say that?”

“Probably because he had a bowl cut, that’s the only way someone knows what it is.” I looked at his hair.

It did look like someone put a bowl on the boy’s head and cut it from there, but it suited him. He was a cute little boy that would draw women unto him, as he was on par for looking like his father. He had the same light eyes, the nose was in the making, but he had his mother’s plump lips. She was a curvy white woman. Today she looked good and wore clothes that accentuated her body type.

Casey and I made one stop to get some Italian ice. This was more for me because he never had any. It was hot, so it was my pleasure to introduce him to a tasty, cold treat.

By the time we reached home, Casey and I set up a routine that we’d follow. Homework, I’d review, help, some play time, and then dinner. He’d wash up, and we’d read a book before bedtime. It seemed that the parents hadn’t really set up those structures for the young boy, so this was new to him. However, during his playtime, we used construction paper to make his schedule and post it on the bottom wall so he could see it. He was learning to read, so there were words and pictures next to everything.

The first night, it worked, which shocked Mrs. Vega when she came home around seven o’clock to see her son in bed. I explained everything we did—the plan and the day. Once, I’d given her the receipts and made my exit, she texted me an hour late and thanked me for washing, folding, and making dinner for her too. I had forgotten about that