Page 61 of Sheltering You

Weird.

“Do you need something to settle your stomach?”

“I am not sick.” She crossed her arms and glanced toward the hallway. “Should I check on him?” She looked in Derrick’s direction but didn’t quite meet his eyes.

What was going on?

Was she lying? Why lie about being sick?

He wanted to press her, to demand she tell him all her secrets. But they were none of his business.

“I’ll check on Rabie.”

She agreed, and he pushed to his feet and headed for the bedroom Jasmine and Rabie had shared the night before.

He knocked. “Mind if I come in?” Getting no answer, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Rabie had pulled the curtains closed. With no lights on, the room was dim and gloomy. The boy lay curled up on the bed, only his messy hair and the top of his head showing.

Derrick sat beside him and patted the little hip sticking up beneath the covers. “How you doing, buddy?”

One little shoulder moved. “I want Basma.”

“I know.” Derrick’s heart broke for the kid. “We’re doing our best to get you back to her, I promise.”

Rabie didn’t say anything, but it was obvious by his shaking shoulders that he was crying.

“You want to tell me what happened out there. Why’d you get so mad?”

“Girls aren’t supposed to beat boys.”

“Who told you that?” When he said nothing, Derrick guessed. “Do you usually beat your sister at games?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Any chance she lets you win?”

Another shrug seemed the only answer he was going to get.

“Sometimes, men lose games. It doesn’t matter who you lose to. It matters how you lose. You can be gracious—smile and say congratulations. When you get big, you’ll even have to shake hands and say things like ‘good game.’ Even if you’re frustrated or angry, you can be polite. That’s how strong men behave. It is not mature or manly to throw a temper tantrum. Have you ever seen a strong man throw a temper tantrum?”

No response.

“It’s pretty funny to think about, isn’t it? Imagine some big, strong man lying on the floor, banging his hands and fists.” Derrick smiled as he said the words, trying to be funny.

The kid didn’t laugh, but maybe he stilled a little. Maybe he stopped crying.

“None of us is perfect,” Derrick said. “We all mess up sometimes, which makes it easy to forgive when people are honest about their mess-ups. So the solution, when you do something you shouldn’t, is just what Jasmine said. You apologize—which means saying you’re sorry and asking for forgiveness—and then, if you can, you fix the mess you made. In this case, you can.”

Again, no response.

He didn’t have enough experience with kids to know what to do next. He hadn’t been around a lot of them, just Daniel’s kids, and they’d never lived nearby.

Derrick had been fifteen when Daniel and Camilla were expecting Zoë, their oldest, and he’d spent a lot of his school breaks with them that year, helping with their fixer-upper. Though Daniel was as handy as Derrick—Dad ensured his sons knew how to take care of a house and car—Daniel hadn’t had much time away from the hospital in those days. The brothers between Daniel and Derrick had been too busy with high school and college—and the Army, in Grant’s case—and girls and sports to help.

But Derrick had been eager to spend time with his oldest brother and new sister-in-law. Those were good days, when life was simple. He knew who he was and had been confident that his life would turn out just as he planned it.

He’d earn his pilot’s license—he’d nearly earned his solo license by then—and after he finished college, he’d get a job with a charter company to gain flying hours while he saved up to buy his own plane.