“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 out of 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.” Lucy 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 fought the urge to shake off her sister’s fingers, uncomfortable being so naked to anyone—even Mia.
“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, hear heart deafening in her ears. “Ben!”
The boy looked up, his dark eyes barely cleared the steering wheel. And then he disappeared and the car rocketed into reverse and spun out, kicking up clouds of dust that choked her, blinded her.
Frantic she waved the dust away but it didn’t do any good. She 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 rosebushes on the side of the house.
She skidded 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 little boy hurt in that car. Blood, 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, had it even been ten seconds? Ten seconds of terror and relief. She was lightheaded. “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 damp with sweat along his thin neck.
So small, she thought. So terrifyingly small.
“He scraped off 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 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.
“Ah...yeah.”
Ben stared down at his boots, 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 ploughed a hundred thousand dollar sports car into someone’s house, but he was giving it his best shot.
Things were bad at Stone’s 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.