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I can’t help but think of the irony. Battle wears a suit of armor around his heart for protection. Will I ever tame him, and win his surrender?
He also tells me Stacy came with Tucker this trip, and they had a long, much needed talk. It appears both Tucker and Battle have agreed to forgive and forget. I’m not sure I could be as forgiving if a person intentionally tried to ruin my friendship with Marty or Ginger. I add compassion to the long list of qualities that make Battle the amazing man he is.
We reach a point where I can barely keep my eyes open, and I try to say goodnight. He insists on staying on the line until I fall asleep, and he does. For how long, I have no idea, but as I drift away, I hear his breathing.
For a man who once made it clear, he doesn’t do love or relationships, he’s incredibly romantic.
I wake in the morning with a smile as my excitement builds, knowing Battle will be home tonight. I’ve missed him, and phone calls aren’t nearly as satisfying as being near him. I can’t erase the smile as I drive to work, hoping the day sails by. Once at the office, I keep myself busy and help a co-worker with one of her projects. Time isn’t passing as quickly as I’d hoped. Before lunch, I answer my phone
.
“Faye,” Battle says, his voice frantic.
My first thought is Evelyn. A deep, internal sense of dread wraps around me like dense clouds.
Not today. Please, not today.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, holding my breath for his reply.
“Can you pick up Erinn from school?” he asks, and I exhale in relief. “My mom’s at the hospital and James can’t leave her. Henry’s on vacation, and I won’t be home until after five.”
“Of course. Will they let me?”
“I’ll call and tell them,” he says. A pause fills the line before he continues. “I’m sorry to put this on you, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. I’m happy he trusted me enough to call me. “Battle, I adore Erinn. It’s not a problem, and work is dead slow anyway.”
“You’re amazing,” he says, only I hear, ‘You’re an amazing friend.’
“She has the key to my place. I told James I would bring her home.” He rattles off instructions, and after the third one, I interrupt.
“Battle. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I know Erinn, remember?”
“Thank you and I’ll see you tonight.”
I end the call and stroll to Mr. Fenton’s office to let him know I’m taking the afternoon off before I leave to pick up Erinn. On the drive, worries about what to expect when I get to the school creep into my thoughts. Battle didn’t explain why she needed to be picked up in the middle of the day, but I’m guessing she had another altercation with one of the girls I’ve come to believe bully her relentlessly.
She’s such a sweet kid. How the girls at her school can’t see that is beyond me. Why they can’t be kind infuriates me.
As I enter the building, Mrs. Jacoby walks out of her office behind a very distraught Erinn. The look on the Vice-Principal’s face concerns me as it reflects a sense that she’s giving up on Erinn.
I smile at Erinn as I place my hand on her shoulder. She ducks away. Her eyebrows draw together at the same time she purses her lips. She breathes noisily through her nose with her belongings held tightly to her body.
“What happened?”
“I hate this school. I hate it. I hate mean girls.” How much she hates them reflects in her brown eyes glossed with tears. “They’re mean girls.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jacoby says. “I’m not at liberty to discuss what happened with you, but Mr. McCoy is aware of the circumstances.”
“I was speaking to Erinn,” I say, my voice full of agitation, as I wrap my arm around Erinn, guiding her to the door. She doesn’t back away this time, which tells me she needs to feel supported.
Battle’s right; why keep her in a school that clearly struggles to understand her?
Erinn climbs into the front seat of my Mustang. The car shakes as she rocks, still clinging to her belongings. I take a deep breath as I make my way around back, questioning if I’m prepared to handle Erinn alone. She has these meltdowns frequently when she’s reached her threshold for frustration, but Battle usually calms her down easily. Or easier than I can.
As I sit in the driver’s seat, her beautiful eyes peer over at me, full of innocence and confusion. I can be here for her. I have to be. She hugs her backpack close to her chest, tears still raining down her cheeks. Why does life have to be so hard to figure out? Why do some children have to be so cruel?
Maybe I didn’t grow up with a diagnosis, but I was still different. I was the kid who stayed in and studied, who read books because I love the written word, not because a teacher forced me to. Kids made fun of me. The difference is, Marty and Ginger had my back. I had friends; two girls who accepted me and loved me for who I was, not who they expected me to be.
