Page 65 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
I thought of Dallas driving down last weekend to check on me, and yeah, I got it. “He is doing okay,” I said. “Hit a few speed bumps at the start of the school year, but what parent doesn’t?” I nodded in the direction of the back door. “And he’s mastered the art of middle-naming, which, let’s be real, is one of the most important parenting skills.”
Jane laughed softly and handed me a beer. “Yeah, he’s got that locked down all right. I’m glad to hear he’s figuring it out. He didn’t hesitate to step up when Cassidy got that scholarship, but I’ll admit I was worried. It’s a lot, taking on a five-year-old.”
“Well, he’s doing great now,” I said. “He even came on the class trip to the Adventurama.”
Jane laughed. “Are theystilltaking the kids there?”
“It’s a unique experience,” I said, watching as the twins abandoned their water pistols in favor of running away from the goose.
The back door creaked as it opened, and Wilder came out with Gracie holding his hand as she dragged him over to where we were standing. “I have to go to bed now,” she said with a sigh, “and I’m not even allowed more cake.” She turned wide blue eyes on me. “Can you read me a story, Mr. Smith?”
“It’s Avery when we’re at home,” I reminded her. “And what about your dad? He’s great at reading stories.”
“But I wantyouto,” Gracie said with a note of stubborn determination that reminded me a lot of her father when he blurted out things like “Fingering.”
I glanced over at Wilder to check in with him. He shruggedand said, “Fine by me.” He gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I guess I can,” I said, “as long as you go right to sleep afterwards.”
Gracie beamed at me, then grabbed my hand and led me inside as though she thought I might try to back out.
Gracie’s room had all the hallmarks of belonging to a five-year-old. There was a hot pink scatter rug, a couple of purple throws draped over a chair, and a collection of stuffed toys that took up half the bed. The small dresser had a stack of kids’ books on top of it, and her backpack sat in the corner next to a couple pairs of shoes. Her comforter had unicorns on it, and someone had put up a string of fairy lights that twinkled softly, giving a magical, cozy air.
“I like your room,” I said as I stepped inside.
“The lights were Cassidy’s idea,” Wilder said, following me into the room, “and the quilt was a present from Jane.”
Gracie let go of my hand and went over and grabbed the first book on the pile and held it out to me. I took it and smiled at the cover.Where the Wild Things Are.“This is one of my favorites,” I said, moving the chair closer to the bed and sitting down while Gracie scrambled under the blankets.
“Mine too,” Wilder said quietly, perching on the end of Gracie’s bed. I opened the book to the first page.
Gracie settled against her pillow, and her eyes fluttered closed as I read the familiar words of the story. By the time we were halfway through the book—complete with all the voices, obviously—she was fighting to stay awake. Suddenly, though, she sat bolt upright. “Where’s Mr. Peanut Butter? Daddy, I need him!” Her bottom lip quivered.
“When did you have him last?” Wilder asked, and I had to admire how calm he was in the face of potential disaster.
Gracie’s brow creased. “Um, I had him outside. I was sharing him with Uncle Cash.”
“Why don’t I go and get him while you finish the story?” Wilder said, and he was out the door before I could blink.
I kept reading, but Gracie’s gaze kept drifting to the open door. I hoped Wilder hadn’t been cornered by the goose. I’d just reached the last page when Wilder reappeared holding a stuffed frog.
“Mr. Peanut Butter!” Gracie reached out and grabbed the toy, clutching him to her chest.
“Think you can sleep now, pumpkin?” Wilder asked.
Gracie nodded and he pulled the quilt up over her, tucked her in, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes were closed before we’d even made it out the door.
“Thanks for that,” Wilder said, and the smile he gave me was genuine this time.
I didn’t stay too much later, but by the time I left it felt like things between Wilder and me were back to normal. At least, that was what I thought.
And I kept thinking that, right until I was back at school next week, and Mrs. Freeman told me I’d had a complaint put in against me—by John Wilder.
CHAPTER 17
WILDER
