Henri responds with a wide delighted smile. “If you say so, Eight.”
Brielle gets off her chair. “I better get ready. Mom doesn’t like waiting.”
Henri drains her coffee. “I’ll help you.”
I bless the quiet as I pour a cup of coffee then lean against the counter and take a gulp. Then spew it across the room. It’s so fucking strong, it would dissolve the front bumper on Selkie’s car. Those girls are going to be buzzing for the next three days. Another reason I gotta get Oscar back.
I clean up the mess I made, then stack the dishes in the dishwasher, fill the sink with hot water and soap and scrub the counters.
Just as I finish, the girls come bouncing into the kitchen.
“Ta dah!” Henri exclaims as she holds her hands out to showcase Brielle.
“Jesus,” I whisper. Brielle’s hair is tied up in a dozen ponytails all over her head, she has a single sock that’s crumpled around her ankle, two different sneakers and big-hooped earrings. She’s also got on a face full of makeup.
“What do you think?” Henri asks. “The only way she’d look cooler is if her hair was blue or something.” She shrugs. “But no dye or time.”
This is not good. Brielle already suffers from low self-esteem so anything but a rave review from me is going to hurt her. I see her shrink in on herself as I take too long to answer.
Henri narrows her eyes. “Not your taste, Mr. Ironmaid T-shirt?”
I feel my face flushing because I don’t usually wear shit with logos on them and Henri’s already figured that out. “That’s irrelevant. You don’t dress like that and Brielle isn’t a doll to play with.” I look at Brielle and try to find the right words. “You’re as cute as a button.”
Fucking Jesus. Not only am I embarrassed at the shit coming out of my mouth, but it also sounds like something only Jess would say. I think of Selkie and wonder how she’d handle this. Probably let the kid go to school looking like that.
“Thank you,” Brielle says as she swings the skirt around.
“There’s a but,” Henri says to Brielle. “There always is.” She returns her attention to me. “So what if I don’t dress like that. Brielle is way cuter than me.”
Henri looks like her mom, but with bigger eyes and a narrower face. And like her mom, it’s a unique beauty. If you can get past the mouth on both of them. “She’s cute, but so are you.”
Henri shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.” But by the tone of her voice, it does matter. And she thinks I’m full of shit.
“I don’t lie, Seven.”
Once again, she grins at the use of her road name, which makes me grin back.
The moment’s broken as I hear the purr of an Audi motor in the driveway. Verity’s arrived and when she sees Brielle, life as the three of us know it will be over.
“Henri, get her cleaned up. Hair down, makeup washed off, both socks on. Matching shoes and get those earrings out of her ears.”
“Why?” Henri demands, crossing her arms stubbornly.
Brielle pouts, but says, “Eight’s right. Mom’ll get mad and then there’ll be no living with her.”
‘No living with her’ sounds like a Henri-ism. She’s been with Brielle less than 24 hours and already she’s rubbing off on the 10-year-old.
“Go,” I say to the two of them. “You got five minutes to get cleaned up. I’ll stall Verity.”
It’s still cold in the mornings and I shiver in my T-shirt and bare feet as I step outside. Verity is leaning against her car, smoking a cigarette. She smirks when she sees me. “So that’s how you look first thing in the morning. No wonder you can’t get a date.”
“I don’t want a date,” I reply. “You talk to Hangman this morning?” Small talk. I don’t do it. Don’t know how to do it.
“Sure. Pillow talk. Me, him, and a couple of the passarounds. One big happy family.”
“Just wondering,” I say feebly.
The silence hangs like a noose around my neck as I try to think of something intelligent to say.
