Page 101 of Sheltering You

Rabie blinked.

“Go ahead. Say it again.”

“Derrick, it is okay.” She stood behind him, her voice somehow kind despite what the kid had said.

“It’s not okay.”

The starch went out of Rabie’s spine. His bottom lip trembled. He was scared and sad and…and maybe Derrick had overreacted.

Jasmine slipped her hand around his arm. “He is only parroting what he’s been told. And I should not have⁠—”

“Don’t.” Derrick straightened and took a step back and a breath, needing a little calm. “Don’t act like you did anything wrong, Jasmine.” To Rabie, he said, “Jasmine and I are friends. We were talking, and we fell asleep. And we don’t owe you an explanation or a defense. Apologize to her. Now.”

He muttered something in Arabic.

“That will not do,” she said.

Good for her.

“Try again,” Derrick said. “In English.”

The kid stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Look her in the eyes. And don’t forget the second part, the part where you ask her to forgive you.”

Rabie glared at Derrick, then turned to Jasmine. “I am sorry. Will you please forgive me?”

That was as close to a real apology as a red Skittle was to a fresh strawberry.

But Jasmine said, “I will.”

Derrick crossed his arms. “It’s fine if you’re still mad at me, kid. Don’t take it out on her, got it?”

He shrugged.

“Uh-uh,” Derrick said. “I want to hear, ‘Yes, sir.’”

He parroted the words. “Yes, sir.”

“You will be kind whether you feel like it or not. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Amazing how much vitriol a nine-year-old could put into two syllables.

Derrick turned to Jasmine. “You okay?”

“Of course.” But by the sadness in her expression, she wasn’t, not even close. She moved past them into the bathroom.

Great way to start a day.

It was after ten—a good thing. They’d all needed the sleep.

They didn’t talk much as they got cleaned up. Derrick was running out of fresh clothes and suspected Jasmine was as well. She’d changed into a dark gray dress that reached to her ankles and could double as a single-man tent. At least she wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money on maternity clothes.

Oh. Huh. Maybe that explained her fashion choices.

She’d apparently grabbed a few things for Rabie at the store the night before. He wore a navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. Not exactly haute couture, but they would keep him warm, anyway. The kid didn’t even have a coat.