Huh? Didn’t see that one coming. Sir Stephan the Third, maybe? Or Michael William Wainwright. He seemed like the kind of guy who would have three names. Like that pompous prick I had to put up with in my last group home. Henry Alexander Mitchell. Not Hank or Henry, but all three. All the time. Guess which kid got beat up the most in that place.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sydney.” That stern tone definitely fit the aura of authority he had going on. “Your mother talks about you all the time.”
If that were true, then where was she?
I took in his dark hair and straight shoulders before tentatively placing my palm in his. What the hell was this guy doing with Charmaine?
“You look nothing like your father.”
That statement took me by surprise. While he was right–I had Charmaine’s light hair and fair complexion–my father died before I was born. The only thing I had was a picture, which I’d neatly packed in one of the three boxes Stacy was already pulling out of the car.
“You knew my dad?”
Sometimes I’d stare into the dark eyes of that picture and wonder who I got my silver orbs from? Was it someone in his family? What were they like? What was my father like?
Angus’s smile widened. “We went to college together.”
My dad went to college? I knew Charmaine had, but I didn’t recall her mentioning Angus. Though it did explain how someone like Angus knew her in the first place.
“Well, that’s it.” Stacy placed the last box on the ground next to us and brushed her hands off on her skirt. “I guess I should get going?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she looked hesitant to leave. Stacy had a big heart. Leaving me here with a strange man probably wasn’t sitting right with her.
Her lips pressed together as she glanced around. “I’d feel more comfortable if I could speak to her mother.”
“Of course.” Angus nodded. “I can wake her if you like. She’s had a long day, and given her recent issues…”
‘Issues’ was a nice way of putting it. Apparently, Mr. GQ liked to sugar coat things as well.
“I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”
The concern fell off Stacy’s face faster than a fart traveling in a windstorm.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
Yes, it is.
“Are you sure?” He arched a brow. “It’s really not a problem, and I’d hate for you to leave feeling uncomfortable.”
I’m uncomfortable.
“No, no.” Stacy waved her hand through the air and walked back to the driver’s door of her sedan. “It’s fine.”
There was something off about this whole thing. Charmaine wasn’t the best mother, but not once, in all the years we’d been separated, had she ever missed a visit. When I was late—even if it was only five minutes—she’d flood my social worker with calls. There was no way she’d miss my arrival for a nap.
When I opened my mouth to say something, Angus cut me off. He threw his arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side in the stiffest mock hug I’d ever experienced.
“Smile, Sydney,” he whispered while giving Stacy a wave. “We don’t want your foster mother worrying.”
Why did that feel like a threat?
I told myself to stop overreacting and did what he said, giving Stacy a smile as she pulled away. I trusted this guy about as far as I could throw him, which wasn’t very far. I was only five-feet tall, and he had to be over six. But that didn’t mean my instincts were right.
When one had no idea what kind of place they’d be living in or who the people were around them, mistrust was natural. So were anxiety, discomfort, and nervousness. None of which were valid reason to worry Stacy.
Still…
Once the sedan was out of sight, I dropped the ruse and pushed Daddy GQ’s arm off me. “Where’s Charmaine?”
