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“Holy fucking shit,” she whispered again, her eyes on Rhett.
“Mama, up,” Rhett whispered, his body practically vibrating with tension.
I hefted my son onto my hip, but that was the only movement in the front of the house until someone else poked his head over Mrs. Hawthorne’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” the teenage boy said flatly, his eyes on me.
It took a moment to realize who it was. “Otto?” I stuttered in disbelief. He was huge, even bigger than Michael had been at his age. “What are they feeding you?” I asked stupidly.
“Literally everything,” Myla said dryly, sidestepping as Otto tried to swat at her from behind his mother.
“Mama go? Rhett go?” Rhett asked. He pressed his face against my neck.
“Holy fucking shit,” Mrs. Hawthorne said one last time as she came down the steps. Within seconds, she’d wrapped her arms around me and Rhett both, pulling us in for a tight hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I was so worried about you.”
I shuddered at the feel of her arms around me. I’d been waiting years for that particular feeling.
“Looks like she’s just fine to me,” Otto said from the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Shut up, Otto,” Myla hissed.
“You’re okay?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked, leaning back to look in my face.
“I’m okay,” I said quietly.
“And who’s this?” she asked, taking a step back.
“This is Rhett,” I said, my voice wobbling just a little.
“Who’s the dad?” Otto asked sarcastically.
“Otto William,” Mrs. Hawthorne snapped, swinging her head around to glare at her son. “If you don’t go inside right now, I’m going to letyour brotherdeal with you when he gets here.”
“He’s not gonna—” Otto’s mouth snapped shut at whatever he saw on his mom’s face. Without another word, he spun and disappeared inside.
“Ignore Otto,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, her voice soft as she spoke to Rhett. “He’s like a grumpy bear with a thorn in his paw.”
“Bear?” Rhett asked, his head turning just a little so he could look at her with his forehead still tucked into my neck.
“Yep, he’s just like a bear.” Mrs. Hawthorne said. “A stinky, grumpy bear.”
“Huh,” Myla mused from the porch. “That’s a good description of Otto.”
“You guys want to come inside?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked tentatively, taking her eyes off Rhett for only a second to glance at me. “We’ve got snacks and drinks.”
She grimaced at me and spoke to Rhett. “You thirsty? Want some juice?”
“I bet he’d love some,” I said, smiling at her. Rhett rarely got anything except water or milk. “You want some juice, Rhett?”
“Yes,” he said, lifting his head up.
“Come on in,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, leading the way. “We have all different kinds.”
I followed her into the house and got a flash of déjà vu as we walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Everything was the same. They had a new couch, but it was in the same place. The blankets were different colors, but they were still draped messily over the furniture. The photos on the walls had been added to, but the old ones were still there. The table in the entryway had been painted, but the shape was familiar. There were backpacks stacked on the bench near the door, and for an instant, I could see my purple one from high school in the pile.
“Myla, can you get Rhett some juice?” she asked. “Use one of the sippy cups, okay?” She glanced at me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” Myla said, heading for the kitchen door. “What kind do you guys like? We’ve got everything.”
