Page 15 of Shield and Savior
When we pull up to Joseph’s main office, I survey the damage done to the car. Ugh. “Um, can you…?”
My question is pointless. Champ is already grabbing the wrappers as he heads toward the front of the car. Mama raised him right.
Nessie sits at the front desk, her hair in a bun with two pencils sticking out. Everything about her lights up when we walk through the door. Tiny tingles build in my stomach. Well, that’s new. Why do I like that so much? Is she happy to see me?
She throws her arms around her son. Right. Him. The whole reason why I’m here. I’m not disappointed. Why would I be disappointed? I’ve known this woman for like a minute.
Still, if this is going to be my life for the foreseeable future, it could be way worse.
ChapterEight
Izzy
“Do I need to feed you?” I ask Lance as he drives us home.
He laughs. “I think it’s a human rights violation if you don’t. But I can feed myself.”
I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this. “Do you eat when we eat?”
“Sometimes. It depends on the situation.”
Drew pipes in from the back seat. “First day of school rule!”
Fast food. Burgers, fries, and milkshakes, assuming the machine is working. “Do you like burgers? Or are you one of those guys who only cares about his health and eats air?”
His lips curl. “I don’t eat crappy burgers. But if you want, since it’s the first day of your new life, I’ll take you to a good place. It opened up about a year ago.”
A few minutes later, the car smells like well-seasoned-and-seared dead cow, and I’m munching on some crinkle-cut fries. I get some people like curly fries, but crinkle-cut fries are the best. There’s a built-in spot for your teeth to bite in, the crinkles hold extra salt, and they have the best crunch. It’s impossible to screw up.
When we get back to the apartment, Lance opens the door and cases the joint—nope, wrong phrase, checks it out before he allows us in. While I appreciate his attention to detail, I kinda hate waiting. It forces me to observe my surroundings. Every other door on this floor has a cute wreath or a welcome mat. We live at the end of the hallway behind a naked, unwelcoming door. But whatever, all of this is temporary. Drew and I will go home. Or find a new one. Maybe some place out west. Maybe we’ll live on a farm, and I’ll learn how to ride a horse.
As a kid, I wanted to be a horse girl. You know the type—obsessed with horses, braiding the manes, knowing everything about saddles. But I lived in the city, and the only horses around belonged to the cops, so it was a hard pass from Dad.
Speaking/thinking of which, my phone buzzes with a text from him.
Dad: 4 Families Friday dinner. You’re coming. No excuses.
My shoulders deflate as I exhale. The only Four Families functions I’ve been to in the last decade are Four Families funerals.
Lance gives us the all-clear and is already putting burgers on the plates for us by the time I pull myself from the memory. Drew and I sit on the stools at the breakfast bar while Lance stands on the other side, an unobstructed view of the door.
Drew shovels the food down his throat, burps, and keeps going. “Excuse me.” Being a boy mom means getting used to body fluids, weird smells, and constant mayhem. But nothing about this fazes Lance.
Dinner, homework, shower, I try to continue the routine I built before. But here things are different.
Lance helps me unpack a bit more of our chaos, trying to fit our old life onto new shelves.
“OH MY GOD!” He lifts a framed picture. “Is this Joseph wearing Mickey Mouse ears and hugging Stitch?”
I take the frame from him. It was taken last summer. Dad was always focused on the Life. The Job. But he is a pretty excellent grandfather. Mom organized everything—the tickets, the hotel, and even what days we went to each park. She was a taskmaster, and with military precision she insisted that Drew meet every character. Dad stood next to us the whole time, not checking his phone, not barking orders, smiling and taking pictures with people in cartoon animal costumes.
There were plenty of nights where I felt like a failure, that there was a whole life I couldn’t give my son. But that trip, the one time I swallowed my pride and accepted help I didn’t realize they were offering, was pretty perfect. I sort of felt we were on the road to recovery.
When it came to money and Drew, I didn’t ask anything from my parents. But we struck a deal. Dad had budgets for my prom, a new car, and a graduation party. But since that wasn’t going to happen, he cut me a check. We had all convinced ourselves that it wasn’t a handout or a loan. It was a redistribution of allocated funds from one project to another.
I was careful with the money. I didn’t use it until I had hit that milestone on my own terms. Instead of a car worthy of an underlord’s offspring, I bought the Geo Metro for five hundred dollars. The rest of the money I used on gas and repairs. Hell, I still had some cash left over from my dad’s check. I took night classes to pass my GED before Drew was born, and my graduation money paid for daycare and food. My prom budget was for Drew’s baby clothes. I lived and died off of secondhand shops and freebie websites. When I worked at the Waffle House, all my tips were used for Drew’s toys and books.
Last year I started working at a tax firm, doing basic paperwork stuff, preparing taxes for six months of the year. That job had healthcare, good staff, and Bagel Mondays. There was a real glass conference table and everything. I felt like an adult…I already missed Bagel Mondays.