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“Oh, awesome. I love you already.” The girl takes my hand, leading me past a thoroughly entertained Penelope, and into the main living space.
“Name’s Mable, by the way. I’m six years old, my favorite color is midnight purple unicorn, and I lost my first tooth yesterday. Stheee? It bled for like, two hundred hours or something.”
“Funny, that’s my favorite color, too,” I say, smirking at her tongue darting out of the gap in her front teeth.
Mable comes to an abrupt halt, and I narrowly avoid crashing into her.
Her big eyes flit from Penelope to me, then back again before she says, “Dibs.”
“Mable,” Pen scolds.
Next to a shadowed staircase, a group of ten or so children pop their heads up from the table they’re gathered around with Carrie. By the looks of them, I’d guess they’re anywhere from five to seventeen years of age.
“Check it out, you guys,” Mable singsongs while yanking me closer to them. “Nellie brought us a new friend.”
Sweat breaks across my skin as ten pairs of eyes size me up. Hell, I’d be less intimidated to confront her father than these guys. “It’s, uh… it’s an honor to meet you all.”
A copper-haired girl with unruly pigtails makes a pfft sound. “He talks funny.”
“Don’t be so uptight,” Penelope murmurs from behind me. Raising on her tiptoes, she places her chin on my shoulder, and says, “You can be whoever you want to be here. You’re safe.”
My body instantly relaxes.
Satisfied, she winks before sorting through the construction paper and glitter scattered across the table. “Whatcha working on?”
“Dream jars,” an older boy with thick-framed glasses and acne mumbles. He points at Penelope’s sister, sitting at the other end of the table. “It was Carrie’s idea.”
I’m half prepared for a vicious remark, but unlike the night we went to Azúcar—when she all but threatened the safety of my manhood—the searing hatred is gone. In its place is something closer to gratitude, and I find her acceptance of me oddly… moving.
“We were actually about to go gather sand and seashells for our jars,” she says, standing to push her chair in. She hooks her thumb toward the back door. “You guys wanna come?”
“Duh,” Mable answers for us. She spins, tugging on my shirt. “You’re going to make a dream jar with us, right, Loggie?”
The others watch me with guarded curiosity while they stand and collect their empty glasses. “Of course.”
“Yee! I’m gonna put a crab in mine cause they’re ‘apposed to be good luck.”
Carrie guides the others down the back hall to the door that leads outside while I slip my shoes off.
“Crabs are not good luck,” a pre-teen boy with a splotchy red birthmark covering his face snarks. “And if you put it in there, it’ll suffocate and die.”
Mable’s smile gradually falls into a pout. “You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“Brantly,” Penelope says, gently spinning him toward the narrow hallway. “Be nice.”
Mable’s lip trembles, and she ducks her chin, embarrassed.
“Unfortunately, he’s right. We can’t put a real crab in your jar.” Her bright green eyes shimmer with unshed tears when crouch to her level.
She sniffles. “Because he’ll die?”
“Well, because he might get hungry and eat your dream.”
Her mouth twitches when I pinch her sides with pretend claws. “That would be bad.”
“It sure would.” The tin cap makes a ticking sound when I tap its center. “But I bet that me, you, and Nellie can find enough seashells to glue the shape of a crab right here on top.”
