Wynter had one request before settling me into my new room—my new home. Keep details away from little ears. She didn’t want Nessie getting night terrors; she wanted her to believe in magic and love and the beauty that was wrapped around it. She deserved that—blissful unawareness.
They both deserved peace for allowing me into their lives when I had nothing or no one.
“Do you want to play with us?” Nessie asked, not waiting for an answer as she tossed a doll through the air.
The unexpected gift dropped to my lap before I could pick it up to examine it. The doll wasn’t the same one she’d offered yesterday. There was no pretty tail and pearls—a treasure from the homeland of mermaids. This doll was battered, her skin marked more than mine, and age had faded her once-painted-to-perfection face.
“She’s my favorite.” Nessie’s smile grew, her shoulders bunching as she watched my eyes rove over the doll.
“She’s beautiful,” I lied, feeling over the matted hair—blonde, like her owner’s. Over her pink dress, also like her owner’s.
Woodrow turned to face me, his whole body shifting to reveal an outfit nowhere near as special as his sister’s—not that I was expecting to find him out here in a dress and frilly ankle socks.
He shook off wet fingers that had been dipped in the water at his side. I couldn’t see whatever it was he’d been playing with.
Water droplets splashed my thigh, and his fingers, with such a delicate touch, followed in their shadow. He wiped away the water, and my heart stopped beating for a second, before rushing to catch up with the lost beats.
“He’s sorry.” Nessie’s eyes were on her brother; their warm tones burning into him, reading his thoughts. “His hands are wet because he was helping a fish. It got trapped in some of the weeds.” Her little fingers rubbed his leg, chipped polish, similar to mine, caught the sun and shined harder than ever as her hand moved. “He’d have told you himself, but. . .”
“You’re not shy?” I asked him, wondering how he managed to speak to me last night. Unable to keep my gaze on Nessie while his was burning into me hotter than the sun, I turned to him.
Woodrow blinked, but he didn’t say a word.
“Liar.” Nessie laughed, both hands moving to her mouth to conceal it. “He says he’s not shy, but he’s a little shy around you when it’s just us.”
“Just me? You spoke to me last night?” I was confused.
Woodrow blinked again, twice.
“Two blinks. That’s a yes,” Nessie clarified. “Sometimes, his throat hurts, so he has to talk with his eyes. Today is one of those days.” Nessie’s tone lost its pitch, speaking much quieter, she whispered, “Daddy grabbed him this morning, and he said some bad words. He had moreconfidencelast night because Momma and Daddy were in good moods. But now, they are mad at him.”
I brushed off the slight giggle over Nessie’s attempt at the word confidence as soon as she said Woodrow’s parents were mad at him, and I found myself edging into his private business. “Why?”
Woodrow’s pretty eyes lowered to the doll in his lap—an action figure stripped to the waist. The bruises on his pained throat waved a sad greeting to me as he took a deep breath through hisnose.
“They don’t want Woody here.”
I assumed Woody was her nickname for her brother, as she looked over at him with sympathetic eyes, taking his larger hand in hers and brushing his skin with her tiny fingers.
Her words hurt me, but a part of me believed they couldn’t be true. Then, I saw the bruises again and remembered the pain they caused stopped him from speaking.
I shifted closer, only inches, settling between the pair. I hurt for him—for a boy I barely knew. My hand dropped to his knee, right below the cut-off of his shorts. “You don’t have to apologize for the splashes. Was the fish okay?”
Woodrow lifted his eyes, his lips lifted in a light smile. He blinked twice.
“He saved him! He likes animals. Woodrow does, too.”
My head spun to Nessie, who at the most convenient time, had given her attention back to her toys.
“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering why she’d basically dropped a bomb and run. I had so many questions but I couldn’t force them on a child and a mute teenage boy couldn’t answer them. So, I voiced only one more, “This is Woodrow, isn’t it?”
“Woody. We call him Woody. He comes out to play while Woodrow rests. When Woodrow is stressed.”
“I’m not sure what that means?” I had no clue!
“They’re body buddies.”
“What’s a body buddy?” I wondered, looking around to anyone who could or couldn’t answer me.
