Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

“Yay!” Izzie shouts, running toward Amelia and inspecting them. “They’re good, nice and clean.”

Amelia chuckles and shakes her head as I step forward, taking the jars out of her hands.

“Go on then,” I tell Izzie. “Go and get ready.”

She huffs out a breath and spins around, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Do you know what they’re for?” Amelia asks.

“Nope,” I reply, popping the p as I walk into the main entrance and add the jars to the box by the front door. “All I know is they need them for the art class.”

“Ahhh,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face as we listen to both Clay and Izzie run around upstairs as they rush to get ready. “They really love this art class.”

“They do. I never thought something so simple would have such an effect on them.”

“Yeah, me too.” She worries her lip and looks away before catching my gaze again. “Especially with Clay.”

“Yeah.” I nod in reply, my eyes wandering up to the stairs as my mind drifts off to somewhere else.

He’s coming out of his shell more, I don’t know what happens in that class but whatever it is, it’s a good thing; a really good thing.

“Who’s ready for art class?” I ask when they start running down the stairs.

“Me!” Izzie screams, running right past us and opening the door with Clay on her tail.

“Have a good time!” Amelia shouts out the door as I spin around and pick up the box, following them out to the car. “I’ll see you later,” she says to me.

“Later.” I smile, attempting to shut the door.

“I’ve got it,” she chuckles, taking a couple of steps forward and gripping the door handle.

“Thanks.”

I press the button on the fob, unlocking the car as I walk over. Placing the box of jars on the floor of the passenger side of the car, I check they’re both strapped in before sliding into the driver's side and starting the engine.

They both talk nonstop on the way to the studio, and their back-and-forth banter has me laughing the whole way. One thing is for sure, I never get bored around either of them.

They’re still bickering as we walk up the cobblestone path to the art studio, Izzie barging through the doors first, followed by Clay.

I balance the box under one arm as I hang their coats up on the rack and watch Izzie skip into the main area.

“Dad?” Clay asks, his voice unsure. I turn to face him, seeing his gaze fixated on something across the room before he turns his face toward the floor.

I narrow my eyes and turn to see what he was staring at and watch as a little boy gives his mother a hug and she kisses him on the cheek. Both with big smiles on their faces.

A lump forms in my throat as I crouch down, placing the box on the floor next to me and ask, “Yes?” trying to gain his attention.

“Will I ever have a mom again?” His voice is so sad as he brings his gaze back up to mine. I almost can’t look at the heartbreak shining through his gray eyes. My stomach bottoms out but I pull my shoulders back, determined to give him an answer.

“I… erm…” My words get caught in my throat, I don’t know what to say—what to do. My eyes flit about the room while my mouth opens and closes, trying to form words but none of them seem like a good enough answer. “Why don’t you go and set up and we can talk about it later?” I say instead, picking out one of the glass jars and handing it to him.

He stares at me for several seconds before he whispers, “Okay,” his voice a mere croak as he takes it from me and clutches it to his chest, hanging his head and walking over to the tables.

I stare after him, astounded by his question and the randomness of it as guilt consume

s me for not being able to answer him.

Shaking my head, I try to distract myself by lifting the box up off the floor and walking over to where Izzie sits. “There you go, pumpkin. Five jars, just for you.”