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“There are so many books,” I corrected.
“How do you expect me to choose just one?” He frowned. “I want all of them,” he put his hands on his small hips.
“Well,” I bent down, keeping an eye on Ivy, “you pick one now, we read it, and then we bring it back and you get to choose another.”
His lower lip jutted out. “Can I get two? Please?”
“Yes, you can get two.” It had been relatively easy to deny him a chocolate bar, but a book? No way was I telling the kid he couldn’t have two books.
“Yay! I love you, Row,” he wrapped his tiny arms around my neck.
I squeezed him tight, inhaling the scent of his baby shampoo. I wished he could stay this little forever—naïve of all the bad in the world.
“You’re the bestest big sister,” he kissed my cheek.
&n
bsp; “Let’s get your books picked out. The library is closing early,” I told him, pulling his shirt down to cover his stomach.
I let the kids each pick two books and play in the kids’ area for a little while. I sat against a shelf with my legs brought up. I draped my arms over my knees. I watched them play and talk about their books, my heart swelling with pride. I didn’t understand how someone like my mother could birth a child and not care about them. I knew there were plenty of other parents exactly like my mom, and my heart broke for those children. A child deserves to be loved, and without it, they’ll shrivel into nothing—I think that’s what happened to me. Without the love of my mom or any parental figure, I’d missed out on some fundamental development. I was closed off and emotionless. I knew it, and yet I could do nothing to stop it. Maybe one day I could learn how to feel, but I didn’t see it happening any time soon.
I watched the clock, giving Tristan and Ivy a five-minute warning that we needed to leave. Neither was ready to go back home. Like me, they found solace in the peaceful library.
“Alright, guys,” I stood, dusting lint off my jeans, “we have to go.”
Neither gave much protest, but they did frown, their heads slightly bowed.
I let them hand their books to Mary for her to scan them. She handed them back and thrust the tin of cookies at me, lest I forget it. “Have a good Thanksgiving,” she smiled pleasantly, “and the offer’s still open if you want to come to my house.”
“Thank you,” I told her as I took Tristan’s hand. “We’ll be fine though.”
We headed straight home and I cringed when I saw my step-dad’s truck sitting in the driveway. The last thing I needed was to deal with him.
The kids helped me carry the groceries inside. When I passed Jim his hand shot out grazing the side of my butt. I cringed, bile rising in my throat. I wanted him gone from my life—him and my mom. I wanted to erase all the bad.
“You been to the grocery store?” He asked, spitting into a can and scratching his round beer belly.
I bit my tongue to keep from correcting his grammar. “Obviously,” I said instead, my tone short and clipped.
He tilted his head, his hairy brows furrowing together. “Don’t sass me,” he warned. “You know how I feel about that,” he said in his thick southern drawl. I think Jim was from Alabama—I didn’t really know, and frankly didn’t care.
I said nothing, heading into the kitchen and sitting the bags on the counter.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
I took deep breaths in and out, trying to calm myself. I felt like I was suffocating under the stress of being stuck in this house. I wanted out. I wanted to break down the walls and run away, never to return. It wasn’t that easy though, nothing ever was. I wouldn’t stop trying to get away. My eyes landed on Tristan and Ivy. They deserved more than this shitty house and life. They deserved to have toys like other kids, and chocolate bars, but most importantly they deserved a future my mom could never give them. I didn’t want them to have to work as hard as I did. I wanted them to have the chance to be kids and normal teenagers.
“Row?” I shook my head clear of my thoughts and looked down to see Tristan tugging on my sweater.
“What?” I asked.
“You did it again,” he whispered, like he was letting me in on a secret.
“Did what?” I asked puzzled.
“You left me…” He shrugged his small shoulders. “Sometimes you leave, and I’m scared you’re not coming back.”
“But I didn’t leave,” I lowered, wrapping my arms around him, “I would never leave you, Tristan.”
