Page 60 of Every Now and Then
“But she’ll be okay?”
“Yes, she’s young and healthy. After surgery and with some physical therapy, she’ll recover fully.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Annabelle slumps in relief, swaying slightly on her feet. “When can I see her?”
“She’s still being treated, but once she's been assigned a room, you'll be able to see her. That will probably take another hour or two.”
When the doctor leaves, I press Annabelle into my arms, running my hand up and down her back as the tension ebbs from her body.
Spotting the clock on the wall, I ask, “Do you think you’ll be okay here by yourself? I can arrange for someone else to pick up the girls or come sit with you?”
“Now that I know Laura is okay, I’ll be fine here alone. But if you could pick up the girls, I’d really appreciate it.”
We quickly work out the logistics and switch keys. Nervously, I ask, “Do Grace and Claire know who I am?”
Annabelle nods. “They’re aware I have a friend named Hayes because they’ve heard me talk about you.”
“Okay, good. Call the school and tell them I’ll be picking up the girls.”
As I park at Wesley Hall, I realize I’m nervous. I’ve done plenty of shit that would terrify most people, but meeting Annabelle’s daughters has me shaking in my boots. While I’m only meeting them now because of an emergency, it still feels like a monumental step forward in our relationship because of how fiercely protective Annabelle is of her daughters.
Upon entering the school, I spot the office to my right and head that way.
An older woman sits at a large wooden desk, and I approach her with a smile, determined to win her over with my charm. Annabelle warned me that the school secretary was a battle-ax.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m here to pick up Grace and Claire Morris. I believe their mother, Annabelle Morris, called to let you know that I’d be picking them up since their babysitter is out of town.”
“Oh, yes, she did. I’ll need to see your driver’s license,” she replies in a curt voice, pushing a clipboard across the desk towards me. Tapping the lined paper, she explains, “Fill out this information and sign on the last line.”
Digging out my ID from my wallet, I hand it to the school secretary and begin filling out the paper.
“Oh, oh. Are you…” she says in an excited, high-pitched whisper, “Are youtheRuston Hayes from Outlaw?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, glancing at the nameplate on her desk. “Mrs. Rogers.”
“It’sMs., notMrs.” Flustered, the secretary blushes and pats her silver hair. “I’ll just, I’ll just have the girls sent down to the office now, Mr. Hayes. You can take a seat over there while we wait for them.”
When two girls rush into the office in matching blue-and-white plaid uniforms, I immediately notice how much they resemble Kyle. They stumble in, dragging their backpacks and glancing around in search of a familiar face.
Hoping to ease the awkwardness, I crouch down and introduce myself. Just as I expected after hearing about her for weeks, Annabelle’s youngest, Claire, warms up quickly.
“Mr. Hayes! I heard my mama talking about you to my Aunt Laura.” She smiles shyly, and I see she inherited her mother’s dimples. Her coloring favors her father, but those dimples are all Annabelle.
Her older sister squints her eyes, watching me with a maturity that far surpasses her age. “Why are you here? Where’s our mother?”
“Your Aunt Laura fell and broke her wrist, so your mom is at the hospital with her. She’s going to be fine, but she’ll need to wear a cast for a few weeks. Your mom asked me to come pick you girls up, since she didn’t want to leave Laura alone.”
Annabelle and I didn’t talk about what to tell the kids about Laura’s injuries, so I’m playing it by ear. Given that their father died in a car accident, I don’t want to tell them that Laura was also involved in a wreck today.
“I don’t like to go to the doctor’s office by myself either. I guess Aunt Laura must be a little scared of doctors and hospitals too,” surmises Grace.
While Grace stays a little wary, Claire slips her tiny hand into mine and leads our ragtag trio out of the office. I sling both of their backpacks over my shoulder, and we amble across the school grounds.
But when I spot a few people snapping photos, I scoop Claire into my arms and take Grace’s hand, quickening our pace. I figured I might get noticed, but I didn’t expect people to take pictures—especially not when I’m with children. It’s invasive, infuriating, and completely out of line.
“Shit,” I mutter, picking up the pace.
Glancing at me, Grace chirps, “That’ll be twenty dollars for the swear jar.”
