Heart of Glass (Fostering Love 3)

“We can’t just stay here.”

“Why not? He freaking invited us.”

“Just leave it, Ranna, okay?”

“No. This is crap. I like it here, and I’m not in a hurry to go tell Dad why I’m dropping out of school.”

“You know he’ll understand. You can finish up at a school in Sacramento.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“I’m sorry that you don’t want to go home yet,” Morgan said. “But I don’t want to stay here anymore. Maybe we can find a hotel on the way down and stop for a couple days or something.”

“Why don’t you want to stay here? God, you’re so annoying. Trevor practically worships you—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Morgan cut in flatly.

“And we don’t have the cash to just hang out in a hotel,” Miranda continued like her sister hadn’t spoken.

“Just let it go, please.”

“This is bullshit,” Miranda mumbled so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. “You’re treating that guy like crap.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, Morgan,” she snapped. “You are.”

Everything went silent then.

“Twevo,” Etta called. “Twevo, Koda potty.”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, walking over to pick her up so she wouldn’t follow the peeing puppy. “He’s not very good at it yet.”

We watched as he peed all over himself, refusing to stop in his exploration of the side of the house long enough to pause and lift his leg.

“I think he needs a bath,” I told Etta.

“Koda no like baths.”

“I’m pretty sure he will. Don’t you like baths?”

“Me no like baths,” Etta replied, shaking her head.

“Let’s put him back in his pen for now,” I said, my lips twitching.

We spent the next few minutes calling and cajoling Koda over to the fence, and a few after that praising him for listening. Then, before I was ready, Morgan came out the back door to get Etta.

“Time to go, baby,” she said.

“Me no go,” Etta argued.

“Don’t you want to see Grandpa?”

“No.”

Morgan sighed. “Sorry, toots. We have to go home.”

“No,” Etta said, scrunching up her face in annoyance.

“Yep,” Morgan replied, coming over to pull an unhappy Etta from my arm. “But Auntie Ranna is coming with us. Maybe we can get some snacks, what do you think?”

“No,” Etta said again, though a little less adamantly this time.

“Can you say good-bye to Uncle Trevor?” Morgan asked.

I was startled, but I didn’t let it show. She’d never referred to me as “uncle” before.

“Bye,” Etta said mutinously.

“Bye, Henrietta,” I replied, I leaned forward and gave her cheek a kiss, making sure that my beard tickled along her jawline.

Etta giggled, giving me the response I was hoping for.

“I’ll walk you out front,” I told Morgan.

So many things ran through my head as we made our way around the side of the house. I wanted to ask her why she was in such a rush to leave. I wanted to know if I would hear from her or if my phone was going to go silent once again, if the fact that she’d called when she’d needed me had actually meant anything. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for siding with my mom the night before, that I knew I’d messed up, that I loved her, that I missed her already and she hadn’t even left yet, that I could no longer imagine my life without her and Etta in it.

Instead, I walked her to the car and opened Etta’s door so Morgan could buckle her into her seat. I rested my knuckles against Miranda’s window in a silent good-bye, and smiled when she fist-bumped me through the glass. Finally, as Morgan climbed into her car, I said the only thing I could. The only thing that was safe. Two words that I hoped encompassed everything I was feeling and everything I knew she wasn’t ready to hear.

“Drive safe,” I ordered, stepping back from the car.

With a nod, she threw the car into reverse and turned around, leaving me standing there in the driveway.

* * *

“Has she called?” Bram asked at Friday night dinner a week later.

“No,” I replied shortly. “Not since she texted to let me know that they made it safely.”

“Well at least she did that.”

“I guess.”

“Man, you need to figure that shit out,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment.

“You think I’m not trying?” I spit back. “I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.”

“Well,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Just step on them.”

“What?”

“If you feel like you’re pussyfooting around her, stop doing it.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I ground out, popping the top of my beer. I took a long swallow and leaned against my parents’ back porch railing. “If I play it wrong, she disappears and it’s my fault that we can’t see Etta.”

“Oh, come on, Trev,” he replied. “That’s weak.”

“No, it’s practical.”

“No. It’s weak.” He shook his head at me. “Trev, if she was like that? You wouldn’t be all strung out over her. You’re using that as an excuse, man. A lame one.”