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He nods absently as if he’s processing my answer. “And…you’re okay now?” His voice is innocent, but his expression intent, like my answer, is the most important thing in the world to him.
So, I answer with a candor I only share with a few people. “Most of the time…yes. Life goes on. But the first thing you have to decide is whether you’re going to let grief rule you or if you’re going to fight for every morsel of joy you can squeeze out of life.”
“I want to fight,” he says with a fierce light in his big eyes. “It’s better than being a chicken,” he challenges with an up tilt of his stubborn, surprisingly strong little chin.
I raise an eyebrow in response. “Not every battle is worth fighting. It takes courage to walk away from those, too.” I hold a finger up to stop whatever rebuttal he’s prepared.
“Just trust me on this one, okay?"I know you’re smarter than everyone else in this place, but there are some things only time can teach you.” I cringe inwardly at how much I sound like my mother.
He casts me a dubious glance and nibbles the corner of his lip, but his eyes don’t lose the gleam of determination. “Can I start tonight?”
Relief courses through me, relaxing the muscles I didn’t realize I was tensing. I don’t know why this matters so much. The smart and safe thing would be to let this all go. But it’s more than him paying for what he did. This child needs someone. And I’m compelled to be that person.
“Yup. At fifteen bucks an hour it’s gonna take you a while to earn it—"
“It’ll take approximately thirty-three hours. If I work 2 hours a night, we’ll be square in as few as 17 days.”
I blink in surprise. “How did you do that so fast?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “In my head, Captain Obvious.” He taps his temple.
“Very funny. The answer only seems obvious because you’re answering the wrong question.”
He shakes his head. “You asked me how I did it. That’s a very specific question. You should have asked how I did it so quickly. But seeing how I'm 10 years old and in high school, that’s got a pretty obvious answer, too.”
I open my mouth to retort and shut it again when I realize that he’s right.
His cheeky smile widens to a grin at my deepening scowl.
Outwitted, I scowl. “No one likes a know -it -all.”
I regret my quip when his eyes fall to his shoes and mutters a barely audible, “I know.”
What is it about this kid and the way he tugs heartstrings I didn’t know I had?
“No one, but me, that is,” I add in a voice devoid of sympathy. The unexpectedly joyous smile he beams up at me feels like a trophy. I smile back and ruffle his mop of dark brown hair. I catch a glimpse of the time on my wristwatch and start backing away.
“I’ll see you tonight. Come in by the front door. I got that back door fixed,” I inform him with a meaningful look before I turn to hurry back to my car.
“Uh, Regan?” he calls. I turn to find him running toward me.
“I didn’t tell you my name.” I raise an eyebrow in suspicion. He stops a few inches shy of bringing us toe to toe and gazes up at me with hopeful eyes.
“You didn’t have to. You’re exactly like everyone describes you.” He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat. His cheeks flush flame red and he drops his gaze to the ground.
“And how’s that?” I ask, not sure if I should be flattered or concerned that “everyone” is talking about me.
He shrugs, and looks up at me through his lashes, but his gaze is direct and intense light in them.
“That you don’t look like anyone they’ve ever seen… and really pretty.” He drops his gaze again and I’m grateful.
Heat rushes up my neck and floods my cheeks and I curse my sun starved skin as my embarrassment makes itself plain as day. I’ve heard myself described that way before and I don’t understand it. I have a twin. We’re not identical. But there is no doubt that we’re siblings. And, I look just like my mother. I clear my throat and “I have to go and you’re late for study hall, I’ll see you tonight.”
“Wait.” He grabs my arm to stop me from turning away. His head remains bowed and his grip on my hand tightens as if for moral support.
“Yes, what is it?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“About the window. I was…” he rushes the words out and then comes to a sudden, stuttering stop. He lets out a long, heavy sigh, his hair sways with the baleful shake of his head that follows. “There’s no good reason for it. I’m just sorry.” Hope shines out of his remarkably clear hazel eyes. I put a hand on his shoulder and smile at him as wide as I can. “I forgive you. Thank you for apologizing.”
