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Ellie glanced across the room at me.
I didn’t move or change my expression. She had to know I’d tell the truth even if she didn’t.
“I wanted to watch Kawi paint, too,” she finally started. “But Ewi wouldn’t wet me. So, I painted, too. But then he pushed me over and frew paint on me.”
“Did not!”
“Let me get this straight,” a now-paint-covered Brantley said. “You disobeyed me in coming upstairs, you lied to me, and you deliberately ruined your brother’s wall because you didn’t get your own way, although you already spent the morning upstairs with Kali while he helped me in the kitchen.”
Ellie looked, for a second, as if she was going to deny it. Instead, her bottom lip trembled, she dropped her chin, and she nodded.
Brantley put a finger under her chin and met her eyes. “Don’t fake cry. It’s not going to work this time, Eleanor. What you did was very cruel. I suggest you go and sit in the corner of the bathroom and think about what you’ve done while I put Eli under the shower. You can have one when he’s clean.” He pointed in the direction of the bathroom.
She sniffed, but she went, trudging across the hall to the bathroom.
Eli tugged on Brantley’s shirt. “Daddy, are you mad I pushed her over?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not angry about it, Eli, but I’m not happy. You shouldn’t do it again. I know she upset you, but you could have really hurt her, okay? Plus, now there’s paint everywhere. Maybe next time you shout for me instead of hurting her, okay?”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding his head. “Can I had a shower now?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” He stopped and looked at me. “Kawi, are you mad at the walls?”
Much like Brantley had done, I inhaled deeply, and looked at the walls. I was frustrated, annoyed, feeling helpless, but not angry. The extra few hours I’d now need to cover it up, not to mention repaint the baseboards, were totting up in my head, but I was more resigned to it than anything.
“We need to get you in the shower, buddy.” Brantley stood and, taking hold of Eli’s shoulders, directed him toward the bathroom.
“I sowwy, Kawi,” I heard Eli say before Brantley shut the bedroom door behind him.
I let go of a long, shaky breath, slumping down as I was able to fully take in the sight of the mess that had been created by Ellie’s tantrum.
Then, I turned, and forgetting—or maybe just not caring—that the red paint was still wet, pressed my forehead against the wall.
Ground rules.
No. More. Kids. Near. Paint.
Chapter Sixteen
Five p.m. rolled around before I knew it. I was pretty sure I still had paint on my head. I sure as hell had it just about everywhere else. I was all dry and crusty and gross.
I’d barely been able to fix the mess caused by the kids when they fought. I’d managed to wipe the surplus paint off, but other than that… Let’s just say I had a couple more coats of white paint to do tomorrow.
I finished cleaning the rollers and trays off in the bathtub. The mix of blue and red as it swirled through the water before draining away was almost headache-inducing. It was much brighter wet, and mixed with water… Ugh.
I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a complete mess. Red paint in my hair and over my forehead. There were streaks of blue and pink across my neck and chest. The same happened when I looked down. I was a walking art exhibition.
One day, I would be able to paint a wall and not cover myself in it.
It was amazing. I could install a kitchen without getting a splinter, but painting a wall without getting covered in paint?
Not a chance in hell.
I glanced around for a cloth to wipe my face with. I didn’t see one, so I switched on the tap and did the best I could with my fingers. It wasn’t great, but I managed to get the majority of it off, and a scrub with a towel did the rest. There wasn’t much I could do about my hair.
I gripped the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. I was exhausted. I could feel it as it snaked its way through the body. The last few hours of today had been hell, and Ellie had essentially wiped out everything I’d done in Eli’s room.
For that, I wanted to do Eli’s room first. To make her wait. But that was spiteful, too, and it didn’t make me, as a twenty-six-year-old adult any better than her at four-years-old.
I huffed and straightened up, then grabbed my stuff from the tub. Shaking off the excess water, I put one tray inside the other, then stacked the rollers and the brushes inside to pick up easily.
