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“You’re twelve. There’s nothing to be dignified about. Boy, don’t give me lip. Just do what I asked. Please?”
He looked up at the mansion, his brown eyes full of curiosity. “I can’t make any promises. This place is amazing. You think they have a library?”
“Don’t even think about wandering around. You stick by me. I mean it. We need this job. The pay is… Never mind. It’s a great opportunity, so keep it on the down low.”
She climbed out of the car, and Joseph came around to her side to stand next to her. He was small for his age, the top of his head coming only to her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Mom.” He patted his narrow chest. “Everybody loves me. You’ll see. I might even get you a raise, and you can thank me with a gift certificate.”
She eyed him with her lips pursed. “I don’t know where you get your confidence, but I’m not kidding, Joe. No nonsense, and definitely no endless questions.”
Solette lied when she said she didn’t know where Joseph got his confidence. His whole attitude came from his dad, always wanting to be the center of attention, always wanting to be seen and heard. On a kid, it was ridiculous but funny in some ways. With Joe, Sr., she often wanted to yell at him to shut up. He embarrassed her sometimes, throwing out half-truths and outright lies as if he was the leading authority on any subject.
At least Joseph didn’t do that. He read a lot but usually just his favorite subject—history. His grades were average overall, but she liked to think he hadn’t reached his full potential yet. He was her baby, and she loved him dearly, even when he reminded her of his dad.
They strode into the mansion, using the front door. That first day, Solette had asked about a servant’s entrance and was told it wasn’t necessary. She had liked the Sartoris right from the start because of it—even Cason. When her patient came to mind, her thoughts shuddered to a halt.
Above her, on the second floor landing, Cason rolled into view. The fact that he was out of his room shocked her. The presence of the man himself shook her in a different way.
“I’m out,” he growled in his usual griping tone. His gaze slid to Joseph. “Who’s he, and why is he here?”
She should have known better. Cason appeared to be absorbed by his own misery and pain, but he never missed anything. She had learned that over the last two weeks since she started working with him.
Solette stepped closer to her son and wrapped an arm about his shoulders. She took in the man at the top of the stairs, and while he was too far to see exact detail, she knew his features well. An angry red scar ran down one side of Cason’s face and disappeared beneath his shirt collar. The nerves were too damaged at the moment for doctors to do surgery, and the hope was that over the next few months, maybe a year, they would heal enough that plastic surgery wouldn’t do more harm than good. The same went for his right eye, but the prognosis for replacing the cornea was good.
After working a little with Cason, Solette felt good about strengthening his right hand to be of use to him again and especially working on his legs. That is, if she could get him over the hump of feeling sorry for himself. She was used to belligerent patients who weren’t sure they wanted what she was offering—healing.
“This is my son, Joseph Junior. I’m sorry I had to bring him today, but I promise he won’t be any trouble.”
Cason frowned. “Shouldn’t he be in school?”
“They have a professional development day.” For a moment she felt defensive, but then the emotions rolled away. “I’ll take him into the kitchen, and he can work on homework there.”
She moved out of Cason’s sight quickly, and she and Joseph ducked into the kitchen. Her son ignored the chair she pulled out and the older woman standing at the stove. He frowned at her. “Mom, he was mean. I don’t know if we should keep this job.”
She pushed him toward the chair. “Sit down. At what point did my job become our job? I’m not quitting. You’re going to behave yourself. This position is paying better than I’ve ever gotten before.”
He sank slowly into the chair. “But he seems like Dad.”
“Cason probably…isn’t like your dad.” Guilt rolled through her as it usually did because Joseph shouldn’t even know that his dad often got physical with her. He should just happily experience life, innocent of the insecurities.
“Probably?”
“Hush up, Joe. I have to get started. Buzz my phone if you need me. Don’t come upstairs. Cason is a little touchy.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Miss Clara. How are you? Is Mr. Cason’s snack ready?”
Soon Solette carried Cason’s snacks into his room and sat them on the side table. She moved about opening the bag of chips and cutting the apple. Then she opened his soda and poured it over the glass of ice. Solette wasn’t a fan of the snack choices, and she had said so to Clara. That resulted in the apple. She needed to take a firmer hand on Cason’s meals.
The wheelchair squeaked behind her, and she felt Cason’s gaze on her. Muscles in her back tensed, but she did her best to stay relaxed. After a few minutes, he spoke. “You’re too young for a boy that big. Is he adopted?” No beating around the bush for him.
“He’s mine.”
Cason grumbled. “How old are you?”
She smiled with her back to him. “Twenty-seven.”
“And the boy?”
“His name is Joseph, or you can call him Joe, but he hates that.”
