Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

“What’s wrong?” Every nerve in my body stands on end.

“Starlee, you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Of course I’m out here. The whole town will be in a minute. What’s going on. Why is the sheriff here? Ms. DeLange?”

The muscle in his jaw flexes and I feel the slow boil of rage under the surface. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it, but I recognize it, and instantly I reach out and touch his arm. “Hey, talk to me.”

His eyes dart at my face then back to the porch. “When we gave our names to the police at the cabin, they entered it into the system. Mine got flagged because I’m on probation. The others because they’re in state custody and foster care. It triggered a shitstorm.”

I lean forward. “Your probation. Are you in trouble?”

“It’s worse than that, Starlee. It’s not us that’s in trouble.” His hand rakes through his hair. I reach for him, trying to calm his agitation.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Sierra. There have been complaints—probably from the twins’ dad. Maybe from whoever called the police when we were at the cabin. They’re questioning her ability to provide an appropriate home.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Nothing he just said makes sense.

“Any complaint is a bad thing. It doesn’t take much, and now her foster care license is under investigation. It gave Mr. Evans the leverage he needed to make the request not just for visitation but ask for custody again.”

I look back at the porch—at the boys—and for the first time notice the luggage in the yard. “This can’t be happening.”

“It sure as hell can.” His teeth grind. “This is what happens when you’ve got no control over your life. When one call can shatter your home, your family, your existence.”

“We’ll tell them everything’s okay. I can talk. Like last time, at your hearing.” I start to walk over but he yanks me back, pulling hard on my arm.

“You can’t help with this one—if anything, it’ll make it worse.” There’s something under his tone. An accusation. “Honestly, you should go back home.”

“You don’t want me here?”

His eyes dart to the ground and his jaw clenches beneath the layer of stubble. He says nothing. He doesn’t ask me to stay. He doesn’t reach for me. There’s nothing.

The fighting continues on the porch but even I can tell the twins won’t win. Sierra’s voice sounds defeated—lost—and if Dexter’s right, my involvement could make things worse. I do stop at the fence because I feel eyes on me—familiar ones, and I glance up at the rooftop and see Jake watching me. That’s all though. Watching. No movement. No acknowledgement. No calling out for me.

Something’s shifted. Something happened. The Wayward Sons are falling apart, and as I walk back home alone it becomes clearer that they’ve turned their back on me. We’re not in the same world. Not really a family. I was never one of them in the first place.

43

Starlee

“Honey, do you think you could go over and get the pies I ordered?” Leelee asks me the next morning. With school out, I’d stayed busy at the office. I drank my morning coffee from home. Ate cereal, then checked in thirty-six people with the last name Robinson.

“Uh…” I’m not sure what to say. Frankly, I’m shocked Leelee doesn’t know what went on next door. I think it’s a testament to whatever swoony situation is going on between her and Tom. I still have no real idea what happened after I left—it’s been quiet all morning—no sign of the fight from last night. No sheriff cars or social workers. Just a steady stream of customers most likely buying their holiday pies.

“My brother, your great Uncle Bob, adores Dexter’s glazed pecan pie.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

She looks at me over the computer. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” I force a smile. “Nope. No problem.”

She sighs and pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “Is this about your mother?”

“Um…no?”

“It’s understandable since it’s your first holiday without her. I know you must feel a little wistful.”