Hate You Not

“Full of crud?”

“I can tell you’re lying or at least uncomfortable right now because your nostrils are flaring.”

“What?” Oliver leans between our seats. “Did you say no drills? Do we have to see a dentist before we go to the rodeo?”

June laughs. “What? No, you silly goose.” She ruffles his hair—dark like mine…and like my brother’s. “No dentist. I said Burke had something in his nostril. A booger.”

I make a pshh sound. “I did not. That’s crazy talk.”

“Sit back, Oliver sweetie. I don’t want that booster seat sliding around or your buckle coming undone.”

“Is that what happened to my Mom and Dad? Did they come out of their buckles?”

June leans into the back seat, and I’m amazed at how her bitchy tone gentles for the kids. “What do you mean, darlin’?”

“I heard someone at the visitation say they had a vibe on impact. What’s a vibe?”

I swallow hard. I sense more than feel June’s body tense beside me.

“Oh, a vibe? Um…like a feeling. So your parents were in the car when it happened,” she babbles. “Something happened to the car.”

“What happened?”

“Oliver, she said already,” Margot snaps. “Mom and Daddy’s car got broken. That’s what hurt them.”

“Did they have their seatbelts on?” Oliver asks in a small voice.

“I think they did, sweetheart.”

“Why didn’t they work?”

“The seat belts?” June says gently.

In the rear view, I can see him nodding. Poor kid.

“Well…sometimes something happens to the car that is a different kind of thing.”

“Did it get crunched?”

June’s shoulders rise and fall as she inhales and exhales. “It didn’t get crunched.”

“Can I see it?” Oliver asks after a minute.

“I’ll see if I can get the pictures.”

Damn. Now that’s a bad fucking idea.

“It was their time to go to heaven, Oliver,” Margot tells him.

“Shut up, Margot.”

I turn onto the county road that points us toward the farm and then pull over. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you guys help me drive?”

June sits back in her seat, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. “What?” she hisses.

“It’s a rural road. We can poke along.” I turn to look at the kids in the back seat; they both look hopeful and distracted, as intended. “You guys can sit in my lap. What do you think?”

If June had superpowers, the look she’s giving me right now would definitely kill me.

“You do see the irony of this?” she murmurs. “And not in the funny, cool way.”

“There’s a funny, cool kind of irony?”

“I don’t know that we should do that,” she says, projecting her voice toward the back seat.

But the kids protest, and she gives in when Margot’s lower lip trembles.

“We can do it on the dirt road,” she snips. “Not the highway.”

“This is hardly a highway. Isn’t it a county road?”

She gives me another glare.

I need to talk to her about giving in when the kids protest. Not that it will matter since I’m taking them home.

When we reach the dirt road, June squeezes into the back seat and Oliver sits in my lap.

“I can really steer the wheel?” He looks so happy.

“For sure.” I give him some instructions, put my foot on the pedal just a little, and he starts giggling.

That gets me laughing, too. I push the pedal more, and he screams—okay, really more a squeal.

“You’re doing it! You’re driving!”

I’m afraid one of the kids will ask which of their parents was driving at the time of the wreck, but thankfully neither of them does, and Margot is just as gleeful when it’s her turn.

I let her help me steer down the driveway. By the time I park, both kids are in better spirits than I’ve seen them yet, I think, and June is clearly furious. She won’t even lift her eyes in my direction.

She and the kids head toward the house; she’s walking in short, angry strides. I don’t know why I follow. I’m walking so slowly that by the time I get to the second porch door—the one that opens into the living room—June is heading back out to the yard with the puppies.

I’m directly in her path. She stops and blinks up at me. “Could you please move?” I do, and she steps around me. “And maybe could you go now?”

I follow her onto the lawn, where the puppies dance around her feet. I drop down, petting Peach’s head.

“Don’t bond with them,” she snaps. “You’re not getting them.”

I look up and see she’s folded her arms.

“No?”

“You should go home. The kids saw you. They had fun. Now you’re interfering with their progress here.”

I stand slowly. “Am I?”

“Yes. You are. And you’re throwing me off, too.”

It’s such an easy in—I can’t help myself. “What about me throws you off?”

I fold my arms like hers and tilt my head to one side. I know I’m not too tough on the eyes. Never had trouble getting girls or anything. I also know I’m good at being a prick—and I’m channeling that now.