She nods brokenly. “I don’t want them to end up like our mom, and I’m so scared that I’m one wrong decision away from forcing them in that direction. I don’t have a dad, and my mom’s in prison. They’re all I have. I can’t lose them too.”
I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb against her silky soft skin.
God, this girl. Her brain must be on a constant spin cycle of worry. “You’re not going to lose them.”
“You can’t know that,” she argues.
Chest tightening, I force her face up and hold her eyes. “I see the way they look at you. They admire you. This shit… they’re kids. Surely, they’re probably confused and upset about all the changes, sothey’re acting out, but don’t think for a second that you’ve caused any of it, okay?”
She gives a tiny jerk of a nod. The gesture lacks any confidence, making me think that she’s placating me rather than agreeing.
I straighten and peer down at her. “Work if it makes you feel better, but I promise you don’t need to.”
“Thirty more minutes,” she says, already turning back to the computer.
With a nod, I step back, then I let myself out of the room. After our talk the other night, I’ve been hoping to take her out this weekend. Now, I’m even more determined to make it happen. After a quick phone call to make a reservation, I jog across the street to visit with Cynthia and Thelma.
I ring the doorbell, and while I wait, I take in the overwhelming number of potted plants on the front porch. Despite how chilly the mornings are these days, their flowers are holding strong. Can’t say the same for mine.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Cynthia opens the door wide and motions me inside. “Come in, come in. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Caleb Thorne?”
The floors creak beneath my boots. “It’s good to see you, Cynthia. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“I’ve got cookies in the oven. Let me pull them out, and then we’ll chat.”
I follow her into the kitchen, where Thelma sits at the table. The table covered in thick sheets of paper and a few canvases. And several small paint containers that bear stickers that sayHawthorne Mills High School.
Biting back laughter, I shake my head.
I settle at the table across from her, careful not to touch any wet paint. “What are you up to?”
The oven squeaks behind me as Cynthia opens it to take out the cookies.
“Painting,” Thelma replies, dragging a paintbrush over the piece of paper she’s working on, leaving a red streak behind. “Can you believe it? I mentioned to Casen and Quinn that I was thinking about painting again, and they brought me all these supplies.”
I press a hand over my mouth to keep the laughter at bay. “Yes, very nice of them.”
Thelma is a lot of things, but she’s not stupid. She knows they stole the supplies, but frankly, she’d do the same thing.
Cynthia sits beside me, placing a gentle hand on my wrist. “The cookies need a minute to cool. What was it you came over to ask us?”
“Could you keep an eye on Casen and Quinn tomorrow evening? Around six? It’d only be for a couple of hours. I know this is short notice, and I can check with Salem and Thayer if it doesn’t work for you, but I thought I’d ask you first, since the boys like spending time with you.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Cynthia says, her face lighting up.
“Send the delinquents over at 5:45. Dinner will be ready precisely at six,” Thelma says without looking up from her painting.
Delinquents. Huh. Looks like my theory was correct. She definitely knows the art supplies are stolen.
“Will do. I really appreciate this.”
“We’re happy to help,” Cynthia says, patting my hand.
At the same time, Thelma says, “You owe us one.”
Cynthia scoffs. “Don’t listen to her. We love those boys.”
“What are you getting up to that you need us to be babysitters?” Thelma asks, finally looking up, eyes narrowed on me.
