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“I’ve never seen you do math.” Evie shrugs. “But if you’re sure—”
“I’m sure, baby,” I say, giving her a wink. “Trust me.”
Evie twists her lips and sits back down, focusing on wrestling her apple pieces away from her brother. Penelope raises an eyebrow at me the second I glance at her. I know her thoughts are only seconds away from coming out of her mouth. She never even considers filtering her opinions, which I’ve grown accustomed.
“What?” I ask because it’s better to just get it over with. She’ll say it eventually anyway.
“You’re not a teacher,” Penelope states matter-of-factly. I groan, rolling my head along my neck to ease the tension. “Don’t make that face. You’re not qualified to homeschool.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I tell her defensively. “I graduated from high school.”
“And then you became a contractor, and now you’re, what? A lumberjack? A professional hermit?” Penelope asks with attitude. “You think you can teach them everything they need to know? Give them everything public schooling would offer? What about meeting kids there own age? They’ve never socialized with other people before. Just you, and me, and whatever squirrels they trap while you’re not looking.”
“They have each other,” I say. “To socialize with. That’s enough.”
“It’s not,” Penelope argues. “Not really.”
I look at Penelope, and she stares right back at me with a determined glare. She’s only older than me by three years, but ever since our parents died when I was only fifteen, she’s been very protective over me. Even now, when I’m twenty-nine years old, six-foot-four, and strong enough to lift her over my head if I decided to, she still has that same urge to protect me from everything.
Including myself.
“They’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “I’ll read them books. Teach them math. It’ll be great.”
“Do you actually remember anything from being six?” Penelope asks me pointedly. I frown at her.
“What’s that matter?” I ask. “I was a kid.”
“Oh my God,” Penelope says, dropping her face into her hands. “You really don’t know what you’re doing. Parker, you’re not a teacher. You’re not even, like trained to teach or anything. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” I agree. “I know that.” I look over at Evie and Jackson, the two of them sitting with their heads bent together, carefully rearranging apple slices to make faces on the tabletop. Jackson glances up at me and grins when he notices he’s being watched. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to either of them. “It’s for the best though. I need to protect them, Pen.”
Penelope throws her hands up and lets them smack against the table in frustration.
“You’re so dramatic,” I tell her. Penelope playfully whacks the back of my head. “Hey, watch it—”
“You’re so dramatic,” Penelope repeats. “If you want to homeschool them so badly, maybe you should just hire someone. A tutor, or something.”
“I don’t know any tutors.” She looks at me like she’s well aware of that fact.
“You’d be hiring someone,” Penelope says. “You don’t need to know them. Put out an ad for a private tutor or a homeschool teacher or nanny.”
“I don’t need one,” I repeat slowly. Penelope rolls her eyes in disagreement.
“You really do,” she fires back, and I glare at her persistence. I know I’d be better off hiring someone. I know logically my kids should be going to school, or at least having a trained professional teach them, but it’s hard to subject them to strangers. Logic, however, is one thing, and emotions are entirely another. I know I won’t be a good teacher, and I know between work and managing the land that lessons would be sporadic. I also know there’s pain, violence, and fear in the world too. Anything could happen at any time. I don’t want to send my two children out into that alone, unprepared to defend themselves. And letting just anyone into my home is out of the question. I’m nowhere near ready to invite someone into our lives. Plus, tutors and nannies are usually women. If I hired a man, I wouldn’t trust him, not after what happened to Rebecca, and if I hired a woman, I’m afraid my kids would get too attached.
My strongest fear, the one that holds me tight when I try to sleep at night is that I might forget or unintentionally replace Rebecca. Evie and Jackson were so young when she died that they don’t remember her. The kids were just infants at the time. Evie only has fleeting memories of her face. I’ve shown them both pictures and told them a couple stories, but it’ll never be enough to express how much she loved them and how I loved her. Rebecca’s family was a non-presence in her life. If I forgot her, that’s it— her memory is gone forever. So, I’m hesitant to do anything to disrupt my life, to invite anyone in who might occupy any sliver of space she once had.
“They need school and tutoring,” I say. “And they need food and shelter, and they need a father, and I’m going to do it all myself.”
“Come hell or high water?” Penelope asks, unconvinced.
I clap her on the back. “That’s the spirit,” I say. “By God, I’m a jack-of-all-trades,” I quip.
“Well, don’t come crying to me when they can’t add two plus two by the time they’re sixteen,” Penelope teases. Evie looks up at her, her brow creased.
“Is it seven?” she asks.
Penelope motions to her, as if this proves her point. “See?” Penelope says. “Look, just consider it.”
