Maybe teens should manage campaigns. Or at the very least, be the ones knocking on doors.
Hmm. That wouldn’t be a terrible idea… But would I get slandered for forced child labor?
Probably. If Mr. Loveless had anything to say about it.
He’s slandered my marriage, calling it a political sham and a hoax among the people over the past month. Some people are listening, but surprisingly, we’ve gained support and he’s been touted as a racist. I don’t condone using that word lightly, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t help my campaign. It’s when I catch Hayden meandering around our kitchen with puffy eyes, reddened skin, and mumbling over articles she’s read about our interracial marriage that makes me want to go kill the idiot politician with my bare hands.
“Mr. Marshall! You came!” Keegan, Keisha’s twin brother, is like a bear running toward me because of his thick frame. He pummels me to the black and white tiled floor of the group home and puts me in a headlock before I can get a word in.
“You’ve been practicing, huh?”
He grins down at me, his gap tooth showing proudly. “You betcha. I’ve been waiting all week to show you this.”
“Okay, big guy. You’ve shown me, now why don’t you assist this old man off the ground?” I tap the floor three times, and he releases his grip before helping me to my feet. This is why I changed into jeans and a t-shirt before coming here.
Landon, an eleven-year-old boy whose growth spurt seems to keep getting the best of him, bumps Keegan with his shoulder. “Keegan! Move. He’s mine today. He hung out with you last week.”
“Like Mr. Marshall wants to spend time with a kid like you. He wants to hang out with men like me.” Keegan puffs his chest while Landon’s shoulders droop, bringing his height down closer to Keegan’s.
My heart goes out to both kids. Though I’ve always been more of a Landon-type, passive and quiet, I can also understand Keegan, the angry and protective type. “Why don’t we all hang out together today, huh? I may have brought something you’ll both like.”
The boys look at each other and then back at me with wide eyes and a hint of a smile. Keegan nods his head at me. “Whatcha got?”
“Follow me.”
We head through the lobby and out the midnight blue double doors to my Mustang where I have all the supplies tucked away. Maybe I should have gotten permission, but sometimes, the most fun happens when you ask for forgiveness later.
“Mr. Marshall! I told you to wait.” Keisha runs out of the three story building, taking long strides until she’s by our side. She holds out a pink scrunchie. “Wear this on your wrist.”
“Don’t make him wear that,” Keegan swats Keisha’s wrist. “He’s a man.”
I grab his wrist. “And men don’t hit ladies, Keegan.” I receive the scrunchie from her and tell her thank you. “Men can wear pink, too.”
“She’s not a lady,” Keegan mumbles, but goes on about his business opening my trunk. “Whoa…”
“What is it?” Landon rushes to Keegan’s side and peers into the trunk. I watch his face light up. “Are we going shooting?”
Chuckling, I correct him. “There is no way I can take pre-teens and teens shooting, Landon. But I can suit you all up for a thrilling game of paintball.”
The boys whoop and holler, and even Keisha checks out the gear. They call the rest of their friends—their family, basically—over.
While they haul the gear out of the trunk, I try to speak over their excited chatter. “I hope you all don’t mind, but I have a friend coming to join us today. He’s been my buddy since I was around your age. He should be getting here shortly.”
As if right on cue, the decked-out black Toyota Tundra that belongs to Ren powers down the gravel road. The man spends his money on three things: clothes, travel, and his truck. His home? It’s basically a shack that he frequents every now and then.
The kids don’t notice the vehicle approaching because they’re too busy bickering over who gets which paintball gun. Ren pulls up beside me and rolls the window down. I’m about to tell him where to park when I notice a person in the passenger seat.
“You brought a frie—” The question cuts short when the person pulls down her sunglasses.
“Hey, husband!” Hayden’s cheerful voice and bright smile send coursing waves of annoyance through me. I attempt a smile in her direction, then glare at the menace in the driver’s seat.
Ren grins ear to ear. “Hayden wanted to know what youreallydo on Wednesdays, so she tagged along.” Oh, Ren.If looks could kill…
Hayden is already sliding out of the passenger door before I have a chance to tell him to take her home. Instead, I give him directions on where to park and mentally condemn him to solitary confinement for the rest of his life. He’s clearly lost his mind.
Closing my eyes, I begin to count to ten.This guy. If he is going to continue dragging Hayden to places she doesn’t belong, I will—
An arm loops through mine. I smell her—sunshine and lemon—before I see her. “Happy to see me?” Her voice sounds like all things yellow—dandelions, honey, and fire. I open my eyes and examine the woman who has attached herself to my side. If I actually believed in auras, hers would be canary gold.
