AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Lights,” says my four-year-old, calming down immediately when he sees so much sparkle.
I wipe his wet cheeks and then Blair’s. Her gaze turns to Nomad. She watches him in an overly direct way. I worry she trusts him completely. He’s the one who killed the monster who broke her arm. He’s offering us a new start. His words are unbreakable.
“Let’s get inside,” Nomad says and opens the SUV’s trunk. “We’ll get everyone calmed down and ready for bed. Tomorrow, we can figure stuff out.”
“What stuff?” Blair asks, sounding panicked.
“What needs to be brought from the old house?” Nomad says calmly as if oblivious to her worry. “Where will that stuff go? Do you like your rooms? What stuff might need to change in the house? I’ve only had two kids here before. They touched everything. I was testing to see if my place was safe.”
My tongue feels frozen. I don’t know what’s really happening. Nomad is in charge. I only hope to survive the evening without more chaos.
When Rosemary tries to take Brooklyn’s hand, my daughter runs over and wraps her arms around my right leg. I blurt out to no one in particular how she’s shy. That’s not really a lie, but I still feel like Rosemary doesn’t believe me.
Woodrow carries the bags inside. Blair tugs at Beau’s hand, but he doesn’t want to leave the lights.
“There are more inside,” Nomad tells my boy.
Beau doesn’t react to his words, but he doesn’t fight Blair tugging him along.
We walk up the wide, wooden steps to the front of the massive house.
“This is where you live?” Blair asks Nomad.
“It’s your house now, too.”
“Why is it so big?”
“I planned for a future that didn’t happen,” he says, walking behind me as if afraid I might run if he didn’t keep watch. “Woodrow and Rosemary live in a place out back.”
The two-story foyer leads to a massive family room with two long couches and several chairs facing a fireplace with a TV mounted above it.
Ropes of sparkling lights wrap around the room, inspiring an excited Beau to clap.
The kids stand in the family room, looking around. Brooklyn asks me to pick her up. Though I can barely hold Beckett, I know she’s overwhelmed. I sit on the couch and have her join me. Beau circles the room, staring up at the lights.
“What happened to your arm?” Woodrow asks Blair in a quiet rumbly voice.
“My dad broke it.”
“I broke my arm when I was around your age. I cried and whined a lot. How about you?”
Blair smiles at his question. “I’m tough. Barely any tears at all.”
When Rosemary leans forward in front of me, her expression seems so patient. Her brown eyes hold warmth I could swim in, but I don’t dare trust my instincts. Aunt Darlie effortlessly fakes a good heart, too.
“It’s late, and they probably want to sleep,” she says softly. “How do we settle them down?”
“Warm milk,” I mumble as Beckett uses my bump as his pillow.
“I’ll show her,” Blair tells me.
I admire my firstborn as she takes charge. Beautiful and strong, she’s so much like I was back at her age. Sometimes, I worry Blair will bolt from our house like I did my parents’. Will she end up with a long line of violent men, too?
In my dreams, Blair goes to college and accomplishes what I hoped for myself. But the reality is we are what we know, and Blair’s been surrounded by abuse and inadequacy all her life.
Tears burn my eyes when I imagine a painful future for my babies. I still so vividly recall how hopeful I’d been as a child. My slow but steady slide into mediocrity felt predestined.
“Will they sleep in their own beds?” Nomad asks.
