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Not just tonight. In so many aspects of her life.
At seven she heard the soft sounds of Felix moving about the kitchen. Normally she would have joined him for coffee before he headed to his weekend shift at Costco, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was fine. The mask she’d been wearing for years was getting harder and harder to don.
Several minutes later, the garage door rumbled up, Felix’s car chugged out, and the door creaked down. He’d bought a battered, held-together-with-duct tape Honda Civic a year ago. She’d offered to help him buy something better, but he’d refused. His rejection had hurt. She was his mother. She should be allowed to make life easier for her children, not be condemned for it.
Speaking of condemned...
She rolled out of bed and made the trek to the basement where her two oldest children had tiny but separate spaces. The girls’ bedrooms were across the hall from her own. She didn’t expect them to make an appearance for a couple of hours. Time enough to get Cyril to Absolute Motorcycle Repair. It was only a few blocks away according to the card Big, Red, and Scary had given her.
Opening the door without knocking, she flicked on the light switch. “Time to get up, Cyril. I’ll boil eggs for you before we go.”
He screeched and scrambled to hide his bare, narrow chest with the sheet. “Mom! You’re not allowed in my room!”
“I’m not in your room.” She pointed at her toes, which hadn’t crossed the threshold. “And you lost your right to privacy last night. Now get up. You have work to do.”
He flopped back onto the mattress and covered his eyes with one scrawny arm. “I can’t go back there. That dude was so angry.”
She’d wrestled with this all night. On the one hand, the idea of Cyril spending time alone with the hard, grim man who’d dragged him home made her gut ache. On the other, he had vandalized the man’s business. He deserved punishment.
“You’re going. Now get out of bed.” As reluctant as she was to deliver him, she had to see the damage for herself. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
IT WAS WORSE.
Penta stood just inside the door and stared, aghast. Most of the front of the shop was covered in plywood, since the windows were either non-existent or so badly cracked a toddler could have finished the job. Two gleaming monster motorbikes lay toppled and an avalanche of items cascaded across the floor, everything dusted with chips of glass.
“Cyril!” At her side, he hunched his shoulders and wriggled his hips. “You did this?”
Big, Red, and Scary answered. “Him and four others at least. Needed that many to cause this much damage in so short a time. I live upstairs and came down as soon as I heard them.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She waved her hand helplessly. “He’s never done anything like this before. I’m so sorry.”
“Not looking for apologies. Not from you.” He turned his steel grey gaze on Cyril and pointed. “Go through that door there. You’ll find flattened cardboard boxes. Set up two of them and bring them back here.”
Penta swallowed down a demand he stop ordering her son around. Now she’d seen the full extent of the disaster, she could admit he had a right to be furious.
If she left Cyril alone the cleanup would take all day. She would have to stay and help. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and did her best to meet the man’s stony eyes. “I’ll help too, Mr.—” Her mind blanked. She’d seen his name on the business card but for the life of her couldn’t recall it now.
“Cash.”
“Right. Where is your broom, Mr. Cash? I can start sweeping.”
“Cash is my first name.” Dark amusement glimmered in his gruff tones, though any hint of a smile was hidden by his full beard. “Why do you think you should help?”
She blinked, figuring the answer was obvious. He said nothing, waiting. She lifted her hands, palms up. “Cyril’s my son. I’m responsible for him.”
“He’s how old?”
Her heart stuttered. Why did he want to know? Was he reconsidering his decision not to press charges? “Sixteen.” Her mouth dried with fear.
“Old enough to own his actions.” His tone was gentle but implacable. “Go home...Cyril’s mom.”
She scrambled for arguments that might change his mind as she absently answered the question indicated by his pause. “Penta. Penta Potter.” An explosive snort drew her attention back to his face.
His amusement was obvious now, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Really?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. I could have gone back to my maiden name after my divorce. It’s Wicken, which is much better. But the kids were going to keep their father’s and I thought it would be too confusing.” She was babbling, but his reaction had rattled her, set moths fluttering in her belly. His slight smile had made him seem...approachable. Friendly. Attractive.
None of which were thoughts she wanted to have.
