Emma puts her sticky fingers on my cheeks and pulls my face until I’m looking at her. “He hit me.”
“Jack, did you hit your sister?”
His scowl would put a teenager to shame. “This is stupid.”
He turns to walk out of the room, but I catch his arm and point to a chair at the table.
“Sit. I’m not done talking with you.” I look at Emma. Her cheeks are smeared with an unknown substance and when she smiles, revealing two rows of her itty-bitty baby teeth, my heart melts. “Can you do me a big, huge favor?”
Her little head bobs. “Yes.”
“I want you to go in the living room and draw me a picture of a rainbow. Can you do that?”
“Wif a pot of gold?”
“That would be even better.” I put her down and watch her run off, her blond curls bouncing, and then I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the fight that’s inevitably about to begin.
Jack is my first born and a tiny replica of his mother. Everything about him is like Lorelei—his dark eyes and hair, his voice, and his stubborn personality. I love the kid to death, but he has a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, and a mouth to go with it. And he’s only six. I can’t imagine how he’s gonna be as a teenager.
“What happened, buddy?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and closes in on himself. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not gonna believe me anyway.”
“That’s not true.” I sit next to him at the table and prop one arm on the back of his chair.
“Yes, it is. You always believe Emma because you love her more.”
“Jack—”
“It’s true.” He finally looks at me. Unshed tears fill his chocolate-colored eyes. “You spend all of your time with Emma and Henry. You’re always feeding them and changing Henry’s diaper or giving them baths and reading them stories.”
“All things I’ve done for you.” I ruffle his hair, but Jack jerks his head away. Why is this parenting gig so hard? “They’re younger than you, and sometimes they require a little more care. You’re a big boy now and can do some things on your own that they can’t.”
He looks less than pleased with my answer. He huffs and stares at a spot on the table.
“How about you and I do something this weekend?”
“Like what?” He broods.
“We could take the four-wheeler for a ride. Maybe go fishing or go to the park and play catch.”
“Without Emma and Henry?”
“Sure.” No clue what I’m going to do with the rugrats while we go, but I’m sure I can figure something out. I have to, because it’s clear Jack needs some extra attention.
He’s always been my wild card, fiercely independent and a little over the top, but his behavior took a turn for the worse when Lorelei left. He’s the oldest and had spent the most time with her, so he remembers her being here. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good thing or bad.
I love that he has memories of his mom that the other two won’t, but I hate that he remembers what it was like when she fell apart. He remembers her lashing out and throwing things, but the thing that haunts me the most is that he remembers finding her passed out on the bathroom floor—the lifeless look in her eyes and a needle sticking out of her arm.
The counselor says I need to give him time, but I just want my happy-go-lucky little boy back.
“You promise?” he asks.
“I pinky swear.” I hold out my pinky.
Jack stares at it for a second, but eventually hooks his little finger around mine.
“Maybe we can talk about what you want to do for you birthday this year.”