Page 11 of The Chad Next Door
She couldn’t have had better aim if she tried, and the sting of that insult is so much sharper than anything that just happened here in the store. She’s not the first person to tell me that, but her words have no less weight to them than they did eighteen years ago.
“You’re just a kid,” the judge told me. “You don’t know what goes into being a parent or how much sacrifice you have to make.”
But I did know. I did my homework behind the counter at the drugstore where I worked after school until I realized I wasn’t making enough to pay for new clothes for the twins, who were going through growth spurts. So I dropped out of high school and worked two different jobs, getting paid under the counter. I checked out cooking books from the library and learned to make meals that were more than boxed pasta full of preservatives. I took up sewing. Forged my dad’s signature to let the twins go on field trips. Went to every baseball game that I could. Helped with homework. Barely slept some nights because I worked late and wanted to be up in time to help Houston and Brooklyn get ready for school. I held Brook when she cried of loneliness and taught Houston what it meant to be a man when I didn’t know how myself and gave up any dreams I might have had so I could make sure my brother and sister were relatively happy and cared for.
But in the eyes of the judge, I was just a kid who was in over his head. Why should I get custody of my siblings after my dad went to jail?
Grunting, I struggle to my feet and become acutely aware of how much bigger I am than both of these women. I’m fairly tall as it is, six foot three, but Hope’s head barely reaches my chin. June is a similar height, and neither woman can claim anything beyond petite. June may have some muscle on her, but they’re both making me feel like a giant as I stand between them.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say, even if I can’t really claim fault for it. Nor can I bring myself to stick around and help clean it up. I need some distance from my neighbor, preferably forever, so I head for the door.
“Do you know if anyone around here can light my furnace?”
I stop dead. Hope wasn’t talking to me, but she doesn’t have heat in her house? Last night it got below freezing, and there’s that hole in her window. Were they shivering all night?
June hums a little. “I’m sure there’s someone. I’ve never done that, but one of the older men in town might know—”
“I can light it.” I wince when Hope immediately glares at me across the store.
“I think I can figure it out,” she says, rolling her eyes.
June, on the other hand, doesn’t look so convinced. “It might be a good idea to—”
“I’ve got it covered.”
I fold my arms, though I should have guessed she would be as stubborn as she is destructive. I glance outside, giving myself a moment to take a breath before I say something else I regret, but that glance gives me a perfect argument. “Feel free to let those kids freeze,” I say and jerk my head toward the street, where light snow has started to fall.
Hope’s eyes go wide, her face losing some of its color as she watches the white flakes fall lazily to the ground. “Is that…is thatsnow? But it’s October!”
Where in the world did she move from if she has to ask? I clench my hand into a fist instead of grabbing my phone, telling myself I don’t need to know. Then again, I just have to look outside at her license plate.
Florida. What brings someone from the opposite end of the country to a place like Laketown, Colorado?
Ido notneed to know.
“We’ve had snow in July here,” June says with a shrug. “October is pretty normal.”
“Okay, fine,” Hope says with a sigh. “You can light my furnace for me.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” I growl. Is it really so difficult for her to accept help? Or is it just accepting help from me?
She narrows her eyes at me, and I don’t like the way this is heading. Needing to rescue her is one thing. Needing to rescue her when she doesn’t want it is going to be another thing entirely. I don’t have the patience for this.
Right as I step outside to head back home and grab the tools I need, I hear Hope ask one more question that makes me wonder how the kids have survived this long with their clearly incompetent mother: “Is there anywhere I can buy some coats or something?”
There is no way I can in good conscience ignore those kids when they clearly need some help, which means I’m going to have to start playing nice with my neighbor. And that is not going to be easy.
Chapter Six
Hope
The snow only lasts forabout an hour, and it doesn’t stick to the ground, for which we are all thankful. Well, everyone except Zelda, who apparently has never wanted to do anything more than she wants to build a snowman. She threw a tantrum when she realized there wasn’t enough—read: any—snow with which to build. That tantrum in turn led to Link bursting into tears and locking himself in the bathroom for two hours. I had to beg Zelda to let me into her room so I could use the master bathroom, and there’s nothing like a screaming seven-year-old to make you wonder how long a full bladder can be held before it starts to cause complications. I may start squatting in the woods if things don’t improve.
Needless to say, when Grizz knocks on my door just before dinner time, I am not in the mood for his beautiful, grumpy scowl.
“Took you long enough,” I say, even though we never decided upon a time for him to come over and light the furnace. Zelda’s screaming has me on edge, and apparently I get snippy when I’m stressed. That’s new. And it only seems to happen around him…
I did some more Googling and seriously thought about lighting the furnace myself, but there is still that real fear of making the house explode, so I swallowed my pride on this one and left it alone. Itiscold, though, and that’s not helping the sobbing children situation. We bought some coats before heading home, but we can’t feasibly wear them 24/7.
