Page 40 of Broken Blood Ties

There’s a short entryway with stairs to the left. A grand parlor, or what used to be, sits to the right, which is now a cozy living room. A white brick fireplace stands as the focal point of the room with a rustic wooden mantel above it displaying a few black and white baby photos. Across from it is a forest-green plush couch that looks like it’s made from down. With deep cushions, the thing looks heavenly. A live edge coffee table hovers over a bearskin rug. Between the three dominating windows, covered with cream curtains, sits sturdy built-in bookcases, covering the wall.

I’m not sure what I pictured Kieran’s house to look like, if I pictured it at all—but this is not it.

Aoife’s tiny cold hand grabs mine and leads me to the couch where I sit and swipe through some of her classmates’ drawings of what they want to be when they grow up.

“You have one of these sheets in the folder for when you feel up to it,” I say. Aoife nods, then yawns, and when I look up, Allie is struggling to stay awake in a tufted chair in the corner.

“Allie?” I say. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh. No, Miss Smi—” She coughs, loudly, hand patting her chest.

“Let me get you some water.” I stand, looking at where Aoife has nuzzled down into the crack of the couch cushions, and venture through the doorway in a hunt for the kitchen.

It isn’t long before I find it. It’s grand and sweeping. A stout island sits proudly in the center of the room, immediately grabbing my attention. But almost as quickly, my gaze snags on the back door and the wall mounted hook beside it. A puffy pink coat sits between two larger black coats that look almost identical. There’s one empty hook, and I can’t help but wonder if Kieran is wearing it.

It’s silly.You’re being silly.

I glide my fingertips along the cool countertops as I walk to the fridge in search of water. I pass a deep basin-style sink that looks out over the back patio made of the same cobblestone as the wide driveway, and I wash my hands.

Opening the fridge, I’m impressed with how organized everything is. Canned drinks are in a special holder that pushes the next one up front when a can is removed. There’s a pull-out snack drawer with cheese sticks, yogurt pouches, and prepackaged sliced apples. I snort thinking how my fridge has leftover chow mein containers from the Chinese restaurant around the corner several nights ago.

Water bottles line the top shelf of the refrigerator and I grab one, along with one of the apple juice boxes lining the door shelves.

When I hand Allie the water, she shakes trying to open it.

“Here. Let me,” I say, taking the bottle and cracking the top.

“Th-thank you.” Her teeth chatter and I can practically feel the heat radiating off her body from fever.

She takes a sip and tries to set the bottle down.

“You should drink some more.”

Shaking her head, she says, “I need to make dinner”—she coughs for a decent spell—“for Aoife.”

I look at Aoife, then back at Allie, who’s slumped over in the chair. Would it be inappropriate to ask if she needs help? There’s no one else here, and I hate the idea of Aoife being here without her dad while her nanny is also struggling.

How horrible she looks wins out over being the random teacher asking to stay and help. Honestly, I’m kind of shocked the words come out of my mouth. “Is there something I can do to help? Get you guys dinner or anything? You really need to rest.”

I’m already here. I might as well help.

Allie lets out a sigh of relief and nods. “I have ch-chicken soup ingredients in the fridge. I-I bought with the intention of making it for Aoife. One of her favorites.”

I’m no cook. Hadn’t had to do much of it until a few years ago, but I’ve learned fast. I made homemade chicken soup last year when I had the flu, so I can give it a shot.

Helping Allie to her feet, I take her bottle of water and follow as she shuffles out of the living room to a door across the main hallway. It’s right before the stairs.

She opens the door, and instead of a room I enter a massive suite. A compact entryway gives way to a bedroom with a small kitchenette and couch seating area. It’s bigger than my place. I notice two other closed doors, which I assume to be a closet and bathroom.

Allie continues toward the bed and practically face-plants on it, pulling a crocheted blanket up around her.

I set her water bottle on the gray nightstand beside her bed.

“You don’t mind I’m in the kitchen, right?” She would’ve kicked me out by now if she was uncomfortable, right? Jeez … it sounds like I’m a creep.

She smiles. “A-Aoife talks about you all the time. She says you’re her favorite teacher of all time.”

I huff out a modest laugh considering I’m the only teacher Aoife’s had. She still has kindergarten through high school to go, but at this point I’ll take the compliment.

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