Not that I was trying to be a father figure. But it took surprisingly little effort just to be kind and decent.
I pulled another chair up in front of Ollie and opened the first-aid kit. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.”
We started with the antiseptic wipes. Ollie flinched a few times, one tear rolling free. “You’re doing great,” I said. “That’s the hardest part.”
“I know.” He sniffled, dabbing at the cuts.
Ollie spread too much ointment over the scrapes, making a mess, and I held back a smile. I asked, “Why don’t you want your mom to see you crying? If you can cry in front of anyone, it should be your mom, right?”
He was quiet, and the hum of conversation between Piper and Rina filled the space along with the hiss of the espresso machine. “My mom has enough to deal with already. I don’t want to make her more sad or worried than she already is.”
I didn’t like hearing that. “Your mom’s been sad?”
“She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.” He stared at the smears of ointment on his fingers, and I held out a tissue for him to wipe off the excess. “My dad doesn’t come around that much anymore. He makes promises and then breaks them. It sucks. But the worst part is how my mom gets this look in her eyes.”
I nodded slowly, unwrapping a bandage and helping Ollie position it. “I know a few things about dads who don’t keep promises.”
“You do?”
“Sadly. It hurts, doesn’t it? It always hurt me, even though I tried not to show it. And then I got mad, and that didn’t feel so good either. In the end.”
Ollie stared at his bandaged palms. “Did it get better?”
“Eventually,” I said with a sigh. “When I accepted that my dad’s problems weren’t about me at all. Or about my brothers or my sister. It was all on him.”
After a breath, Ollie mumbled, “Sorry for bein’ rude and stuff when we were having dinner at Hearthstone. I wasn’t trying to.” He flinched. “Maybe I was. But I just didn’t know if you were a bad guy or not. My mom says you’re not. I guess I believe her.”
I replaced the supplies in the first-aid kit, glad to have at least a slight vote of confidence from the kid.
“You asked what I did to wind up in prison, and that’s a valid question. I would’ve told you that night, but I wasn’t sure if your mom wanted me talking about it in front of you.”
Ollie perked up. “I can handle it. I read all kinds of bloody stuff in my comic books. I’m really mature.”
I smiled. “Seems like it.”
“Except for crying when I fall.” He slumped a little. “That’s kind of babyish.”
“Nah,” I said smoothly. “Everybody cries. Including me. Cried plenty of times when I was in prison. I missed my family a lot. Wished things hadn’t turned out the way they did.”
Ollie tilted his head, studying me with those serious eyes. “My mom told me you didn’t really hurt anyone, but that I shouldn’t talk about that with anybody else. Like Maisie. Because it’s not my story to tell.”
I sat on the edge of the desk. “I confessed to a crime because I thought I was protecting someone.”
“Was it the right thing to do?”
I wished I knew the true answer. Had it been right? Noble? Or just stupid? Until it went completely sideways, of course, and I couldn’t take it back.
I’d turned those questions over in my head a thousand times during my years inside, and I still wasn’t sure.
“I thought so. At first. By the time I realized what was really going to happen to me, it was too late to tell the truth.”
“My mom says it’s never too late to tell the truth.”
“No, she’s right. Telling the truth is important, and it’s never truly too late. But sometimes, things get complicated.”
His brow furrowed, and he picked at the edge of the bandage. “I don’t like when stuff is complicated.”
“Yeah, Ollie. Me neither.”
