“I don’tthink-”
“You’d be doing me afavor.”
She looks down at Noah, shifting him in her arms, and mumbles, “Okay.”
“Good. Do you like spaghetti andmeatballs?”
Shenods.
From the kitchen, I watch her interact with Noah as I start dicing the garlic. When the sauce is simmering on the oven, I sit down on the couch oppositethem.
“You’re good withhim.”
She shrugs. “I’m used to being aroundbabies.”
I remember Kane saying something about the foster families she’d been in, but I don’t pressher.
Silence stretches between us, and I can see pink creep into her cheeks as I studyher.
“I know what you think of me,” she says, bouncing Noah on herlap.
“What’sthat?”
“Same thing Kane does. That I’m here for hismoney.”
“Areyou?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m not a charity case, either. I can take care ofmyself.”
“I’m sure you can. But it looks like right now you could use a littlehelp.”
She winces. “Help always comes withconditions.”
I pick up the letter from the coffee table that she’d given me earlier, and turn it over in myfingers.
“You’re right. People never do things without areason.”
“Yeah.” She gives me a skepticallook.
“But sometimes that reason is that they care aboutyou.”
“If you’re talking about Kane, then you’re wrong. When I found out I had a brother, even before I knew who he was, I thought maybe…” She touches Noah’s cheek. “Maybe I could finally have afamily.”
“You can, Kiley. Youdo.”
“No.” She stands, wincing as she does, then places Noah back in his playpen. “Kane hates me. I don’t know why. But I see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want me here. Not that I blame him. He’s got this whole perfect life. And I’m just a reminder of where he comesfrom.”
“You’rewrong.”
“Am I?” She’s shaking as she stands there, a small hint of fire burning in her eyes, which gives me a small ounce of hope that she still has something left inside of her tofight.
“I think you scare him.” I stand and take a step towards her. “In a way, you scare me,too.”
Hurt fills her expression. “I’m not a thief, if that’s what you’re worriedabout.”