Unexpected Family. Molly O'Keefe
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She filled Jack and Mia in on Walter’s sprained ankle.
“How long was he sitting there?” Jack asked.
“Doctors said according to the amount of fluid in his foot at least two hours.”
“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Jack muttered.
“Well, he’s on an air cast and is supposed to stay off it for at least three weeks. And that’s best-case scenario. And now Mom is talking about staying until Walter gets on his feet.”
“Well, that’s handy, isn’t it?” Jack blinked at Mia and then Lucy, as if the problem were solved.
Men are so dense.
“I’m not going to let our mom care for your dad. Not after what he did,” Lucy said.
“I agree with Lucy,” Mia said when it looked like Jack was going to argue. “We should just move back to the house,” Mia said. “I can—”
“No!” Jack said quickly. “I mean, I will move back if we have to, but…”
Mia ran a hand down his arm. That house didn’t have a whole lot of happy memories for Jack.
God, what a mess. Lucy didn’t want to go home and she didn’t want to stay. She didn’t want Mom taking care of Walter, but it was utterly unfair to ask these two to do it.
Mom wants to do it, she reminded herself.
“Mia,” Lucy said. “You guys deserve a little time alone. You’ve been caring for that man for five years.”
Jack and Mia shared a look and then Jack nodded. “We were just talking about this. Getting a ‘housekeeper’ who could act as a nurse.”
Mia pushed away from the white door frame to cup her husband’s cheek. It was too bad they were going to move out of this little house. It looked pretty on her sister. Sweet.
“It won’t be easy to find someone to take Walter on, much less get Walter to agree to it,” Mia pointed out.
“Well, Mom seems to think she knows how to get him to agree to a caregiver sooner rather than later.”
“How?” Mia asked.
“I have no idea, but Mom wants to stay for three weeks. By then he’s off the cast and the worst of it should be over. If I can’t get Mom to leave after three weeks, then I’m never going to get her leave.”
And three weeks should be enough time for me to figure out a plan for the rest of my life.
“You know,” Mia said, “if you need to get back to Los Angeles, you can. It’s not like Mom needs a babysitter.”
“You’ve done your time, Mia.” She smiled over at Jack, hoping she sounded convincing. “The two of you are building a house, starting a life. You don’t need to play referee between Mom and Walter.”
Mia sighed and put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder as if she could discern what was wrong just by touch. And she probably could. Lucy felt uncomfortable being so naked to anyone—even her sister. She fought the urge to shake off Mia’s fingers.
“Hey, Lucy?” Jack asked, his eyes focused on something past her head. “Who’s the kid in your car?”
She whirled in time to see Ben climbing out of the backseat of Reese’s car into the driver’s seat. The boy barely saw over the steering wheel, not that he was looking at them. Nope, the kid was focused on the steering wheel. The ignition key.
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered, running down the steps of the porch just as Ben started the car.
The engine roared to life and she heard Jack and Mia charge down the steps after her.
“Stop!” she screamed, her heartbeat deafening in her ears. “Ben!”
The boy looked up, his dark eyes barely clearing the steering wheel. And then the car rocketed into Reverse and spun out, kicking up clouds of dust that choked and blinded her.
Frantic, she waved the dust away but it didn’t do any good, so she simply ran after the sound of the engine.
Oh, God, please don’t let him hit anything big.
Just as she sent the prayer skyward there was a sickening crunch and the terrifying sound of breaking glass. The dust cleared and she stopped at the sight of the back end of the car buried in the green roses on the side of the house.
She skid to a halt just as Jack ran past her and threw open the driver’s side door. She was a coward but she knew her heart couldn’t take seeing that boy hurt in the driver’s seat of that car. The blood and broken little bones.
Please, please let him be okay. Please.
“He’s fine,” Jack said, glancing at her over the roof of the car. “A little banged up, but fine.”
“I’m going to go see if the inside of the house is okay,” Mia said, and she ran back inside.
Ben, looking so small, so fragile, walked around the car and stopped in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She laughed, a wild gust of breath. It was impossible to process what had just happened in…had it even been ten seconds? Ten seconds of terror and relief. She was light-headed. “I think maybe you need to save that apology for Reese. Look at what you did to his car.”
He glanced over his shoulder and hung his head, the black curls along his thin neck damp with sweat.
So small, so terrifyingly small.
“He scraped through a big patch of paint, but the structure of the house is fine,” Jack said as he came up. “The roses, however, are toast. You dodged a bullet, son.” Jack propped his hands on his hips and managed to look so disappointed even Lucy felt like apologizing.
“Does your uncle know where you are?” Lucy asked. She reached out to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder but he jerked away before she made contact.
“No.”
“Well, we’re going to have to call him. He’s probably freaking out.”
“He’s always freaking out.”
“Doesn’t make what you did okay,” Lucy said.
“Not by a long shot,” Jack said. “You could have been hurt. Or you could have hurt someone else. Badly. You should know better, Ben.”
Ben’s jaw, remarkably similar to his uncle’s, set like concrete.
“I’ll go call Jeremiah,” Jack said, and stepped back toward the house.
“Do you have to tell my uncle?” Ben asked when Jack was gone. For the first time in the few hours she’d known him, the little boy looked his age.
“Uh, yeah.”
Ben stared down at his boots, which were beat up and dusty.
“What were you thinking, Ben?” she whispered.
He jerked a shoulder, trying so hard to be cool. An instinct she understood all too well, and she applauded his effort. Hard to act cool when you’ve just plowed a hundred-thousand-dollar sports car into someone’s house, but he was giving it his best shot.
Things were bad at Stone Hollow, she thought, if a nine-year-old boy had to pretend to be so hard. Worse than she’d thought and she wondered if anyone knew it.
“He hates me,” Ben whispered.
“Who?”
“Uncle J.”
Lucy gaped at the boy, at the heartbreak and anger. This was bad, really bad. And she had no idea what the boundaries were. Or the rules. Jeremiah wouldn’t like her interfering but Ben was a nine-year-old boy in a lot of pain who needed all the help he could get. “Oh, honey,