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“Come on, Tobey, you don’t like Wheels on the Bus anymore?” I called, glancing in the rearview mirror of my car at the eight-year-old as I turned the music down.
It was clear that it had been a while since I’d driven my car because the dash was covered in a thin layer of dust when I’d gotten into it this morning. There had almost never been a need to drive the dark green sedan—before my pack I would drive with Brynn or hitch a ride with Penelope on her way out.
And truthfully I probably could have asked one of the guys to take me to pick Tobey up, but I missed having one-on-one auntie dates with the little guy.
Or, I guess, not so little anymore.
“That’s for babies,” Tobey muttered, his stormy mood from school still hanging on tight.
I thought I’d had it bad with the nightmare that was child pickup at his elementary school, but apparently Tobey’s day had been much, much worse than mine.
“Tobe-ster, what’s going on with you? You look like a veritable thundercloud back there.”
“I don’t know what veritable means.”
At least some things never changed with the little boy.
“Are people being mean to you? Do I need to go and beat up some children?” I asked, half-serious.
“No, Aunt Ciara.” Tobey rolled his eyes and I had to do mental calculations, thinking I maybe had miscounted his age and I was actually driving a teenager rather than an eight-year-old. “No one is mean to me. I just gotta grow up.”
“Oh,” I said dramatically, slamming a hand into my chest like I was about to faint as we came to a stop at a light. “I can’t believe my Tobey thinks he needs to grow up.”
Eyeing the light in order to make sure it wasn’t going to turn green anytime soon, I wheeled around to face Tobey fully. “You have your whole life to grow up, Tobey. Don’t be in such a rush. Hell, I’m almost thirty and sometimes I think I’m still a little kid.”
“That’s just ’cause you act like it.” Tobey’s words were a bit harsh, but his face was already pulling up into his trademark grin.
“And proud of it too, kiddo.” The car behind us honked, making me realize the light had turned green.
Turning to face the front, I pressed on the gas and we were off again. “People pay good money in therapy to heal their inner child, Tobe-ster. My best advice is to have fun and don’t let anyone tell you that what you like is a baby thing.”
There was a beat of silence from the back of the car and I thought I’d lost the little boy completely with our conversation… and then: “Can you put Wheels on the Bus back on?”
A satisfied smile was already filling my face. “Sure thing…”
I reached for the knob to turn the music back on when the screen on the dash lit up with a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize.
I hit the green answer button on my steering wheel. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Ciara Callaghan?” A woman with a thick Irish accent said on the other end of the line.
A thread of unease filled my gut. “Yes, this is she.”
“Oh, good! I’ve been trying different numbers all morning and have gotten hung up on more than I’d care to admit. My name is Orla and I work at St. Agatha’s hospice in Dublin and I have been your father’s nurse for going on six months now—”
I cut her off, nausea filling me. “Ma’am I don’t speak with my father. Ever.”
“He’s told me that, but you must care at least a little bit that he’s dying.”
I slammed on the brakes, making Tobey cry out as I jerked to a stop, nearly hopping the curb as the car behind me honked yet again. The guy in the car flipped me off as he passed me by, but my mind was a thousand miles away as I stared at the active call on the screen.
“Why would I care if he was dying?” My voice sounded odd even to my own ears.
“Because he’s your father?” Orla sounded confused, like it should have been obvious to me.
“My father is a drunk who drove his wife to an early grave and did nothing for me aside from giving me years of trauma and commitment issues. I do not give a rat’s ass if he’s dying.”
There was a beat of silence. “He has changed. The man you’re describing is nothing like the one who—”
