Page 62 of Justice

“Career day, huh?” I set my glass down. “Tell me all about it.”

“We get to dress up as what we wanna be when we grow up. It’s in two weeks.” She dropped her own bag right in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I wanna be a nurse like you. Because I wanna help people. Like you help Grandma Rita.”

My chest went warm and tight at the same time, same as it always did whenever this child looked at me and saw somebody worth becoming.

“I think that’s a beautiful thing to want to be, baby.”

“Will you help me with my costume? I need scrubs. And maybe one of those things you put on your ears.”

“A stethoscope.”

“That! Can we go get one today?”

“We’ll see. I still have to make dinner. Besides we have a little time to get everything together.”

Storie walked in behind her sister at her own pace, dropped her bag by the stairs, and didn’t even glance up from her phone.

“Skye’s not a real nurse though. She’s a CNA. A booty wiper.”

“Storie!” Rita’s voice cracked across the kitchen sharp enough to make Dream jump. “I will knock every tooth out your head, little girl. Don’t play with me.”

“So I can look like you?” Storie shot back, referring to Rita’s dentures.

“Uh oh,” Dream said, small and quiet, already backing toward the refrigerator like she was bracing for a fight.

I set my own cup down slow and looked at Storie until she finally lifted her eyes from that phone.

“I’m done with your disrespect. You hear me? Done.”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled, easy and cold at the same time. “And what are you gonna do about it? Take me to court?”

The kitchen went quiet and I had to fight back the urge to wrap my hands around her neck and strangle her.

She held my eyes while she said it, steady, deliberate, a knowing little glint behind them that had nothing to do with a teenager’s smart mouth and everything to do with something else entirely.

She knew.

Not the whole of it, maybe. But enough. Enough to mention court like she already knew the weight of it, enough to watch my face while she said it and enjoy whatever she found there.

I kept my own face still through sheer force of will, the same face I used to wear for juries who wanted to see me crack.

“Get out of my face,” I said, quiet, even. “Go to your room.”

Storie laughed, short and satisfied, like she’d gotten exactly what she had reached for with the mere mention. She turned and walked off without another word, footsteps light and unbothered on her way back up. A door clicked shut somewhere above us a second later, no slam this time, which somehow bothered me more than if she had.

Rita let out a breath and shook her head slow. “That child gets more of her mother’s mean streak every single day. Monica had that same cold little smile when she wanted to cut somebody. Justice never did see it in her.”

“He’s not gonna see it in Storie either,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“No,” Rita agreed. “He won’t.”

Dream slid over next to me and slipped her small hand into mine, still watching the empty space where her sister had been standing a minute ago.

“You okay, Skye?”

“I’m okay, baby.” I squeezed her hand and made myself smile down at her, even though my heart was still going fast enough to hear in my own ears. “How about you help me with dinner.”

Dream stayed close to me the rest of the afternoon, already talking about whether nurses wore pink or blue, whether real nurses got to carry a clipboard, whether her stuffed rabbit could be her first patient. I let her chatter fill up the space Storie’s little smile had left behind, grateful for something small and easy to hold onto.