“That kitten”—she points at the page—“would be dead.”
I’m startled by her response, so I laugh a little. “Why do you say that?”
“Cuz, whenever a critter climbs into our truck engine, it gets all chewed up when you start it up. It happens a lot out at our place. One time—” She swallows. “—we even saw a puff of fur fly up.”
She’s right. I grew up on a farm, and there were always lots of farm cats around. They catch the mice that can get to the corn, so cats are important. No matter, this is a teachable moment. “Well, one thing I love about reading is we get to read stories that aren’t exactly like real life. This kitten was able to find a place to hide in the engine that was safe.”
Andi snorts and shrugs. “Sure. If you say so.”
Oh my God. I’m so tempted to giggle at her response, but I’m afraid she’ll misinterpret the reason for my laughter. The reason it’s humorous? It sounds like something her father would say. This child is 100 percent Nash Watson, cynicism and all.
“I’m sure not all kittens get caught up in the engine.” I hand her the book. “Your turn.”
She reads another short sentence, struggling with the words. “You do a great job sounding out your words, Andi.” And she does. All she needs is practice. “Do you read much at home?”
She shakes her head. “No time. Too much to do.”
“Can’t your daddy—”
“Nope.” She pops her p again. “He ain’t got the time.”
“What about before bedtime?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “He’s too dang tired.”
“Okay. So, what if we read together during the week? I could sure use some company for fun reading.”
Andi pushes herself out of the chair to stand. “Nah. Mrs. Andrews wouldn’t like it.” She points her thumb at the door. “I gotta get back.”
“Let me walk you.” I do my best to get out of the beanbag chair with some dignity, but it doesn’t work out that way. On my hands and knees, I look up to see a small hand with dirty fingernails held out to me. I take her hand and do my best not to bring her down with my own weight. She’s strong though.
“Thanks, Andi.”
“No problem, Miss Harmon.” We both turn to the door as she says, “You may want to get yourself a rocker instead of one of them bean chairs.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Easier for older people like you to get out of one of them.”
I giggle as I reach for the door. “I’m about your daddy’s age.” Two years younger, but that’s close enough.
“I rest my case.”
I laugh this time as I hold the door open for little Andi to walk out first. “You’re funny,” I say, hoping she meant that as a joke.
She stops in her tracks and turns to look up at me. “I am?”
“Yep. Funny and smart.”
“My daddy says I’m a handful.” She hesitates before adding in a soft, sad voice, “I get in his way a lot.”
When we reach her classroom, I pull open the door. “I’m sure he loves you and that you’re a big help on the farm.”
Andi doesn’t reply, so I step in behind her. Nicole looks at both of us and smiles. “Sorry, Mrs. Edwards. Andi was helping me for a few minutes.”
“No problem.” Nicole steps over to Andi. “We’ve just started math. Can you get your book out?”
“Yay. Math,” Andi chirps.
