Drew, this is Joe. Joe this is Drew. Can you say hi to Joe?" I ask, ruffling his red hair.
"Hi," he says quickly like it pains him.
Joe smiles and squats down, holding out his hand. "Hey, Drew. It's nice to meet you."
Drew looks up at me before he finally stretches his tiny, sticky hand out to shake Joe's.
As quick as he'd appeared, he’s off again, screaming, "Thomassss!" when his favorite show comes on. He's recently developed a love of the blue engine and all things train.
"Babysitting for your sister?" Joe asks.
I give a nod and affirmative sound. "Yeah." When he doesn't mention leaving I hesitate before finally asking. "Do you want to come in?"
"He-ck yes," he says with a wide smile.
I wave him in and then go behind him, grabbing toys and trying to pick up so it doesn't like a tornado recently blew through. Although Drew could be about as destructive.
We stand back and watch as Drew sings and dances to the show's catchy theme song, and then he finally sits down in the floor Indian-style about a foot away from the TV to watch the show.
"Is it safe for him to sit so close?" Joe asks with a laugh before taking a seat on one of the clear sections of the sofa. My heart skips a beat at his protective question, while at the same time, I cringe at the parental criticism. Stupid heart, he's only passing through.
"I've tried and the result is always the same. He throws a tantrum for twenty minutes then he's right back in the same spot. So, I give up."
Joe looks around the house, his forehead creasing in thought. "Does he stay here a lot?" he finally asks, palming a soccer ball that was sitting beside him.
"Uh-huh," I answer, sliding a few toy cars aside to take a seat beside him.
Still analyzing, Joe looks at Drew in his train pajamas and back at me. "He stays overnight?"
"Uh-huh."
"How often?"
I sigh, steeling myself to get it over with. This is one sure way to drive Joe away. "Every night."
His eyebrows shoot up, then he glances around the room. "Why?" he asks softly.
I fumble with the string ties on my pajama bottoms, searching for the words. "Because my sister Kelly…she died the night he was born," I explain quietly.
"God, Katie," he says, reaching over to rub a hand comfortingly over my leg. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
I blink back tears and nod hoping that will be the end of the conversation. I should've known better. Joe’s smart and questions people for a living to solve puzzles.
"But, wait. Where's his father?" he asks in a whisper.
I mouth the word "prison" and Joe's jaw drops. I stand up and nod toward the kitchen, and he follows.
"Why?" he asks when we were out of earshot.
"Kidnapping, rape, and ah, second degree murder," I say, letting him put it together.
His eyes widen. "Holy sh-ucks." Closing the distance between us, his arms wrap around me, holding me against his chest. A few of the tears I'd tried to fight fall down my cheeks. But the squeal of delight from the living room brings me back to reality. One where men like Joe don't settle down, especially not with women raising their dead sister and a psycho's son.
I head back to the living room, knowing from experience that it only takes about two minutes for Drew to get into some sort of trouble. Sure enough, he’s trying to stand on one of his big bouncy balls.
"No, Drew! Get down," I warn him and he hops down, kicking the ball instead, sending it ricocheting off everything in the vicinity.
I expect Joe to say he’s going to head on out, making a quick escape, but instead, he returns to his previous seat. Curious about him, Drew pulls himself up on the couch next to him and mimics his posture - a slight slouch, long legs spread wide, and hands on his thighs. It’s pretty damn adorable. Getting bored with sitting still for more than ten seconds, Drew climbs up on his knees and points at Joe's eye, so close his finger’s practically on the lid.
"Bwue like Thomas," Drew tells him, and he's right, the two are very similar
"Hi," he says quickly like it pains him.
Joe smiles and squats down, holding out his hand. "Hey, Drew. It's nice to meet you."
Drew looks up at me before he finally stretches his tiny, sticky hand out to shake Joe's.
As quick as he'd appeared, he’s off again, screaming, "Thomassss!" when his favorite show comes on. He's recently developed a love of the blue engine and all things train.
"Babysitting for your sister?" Joe asks.
I give a nod and affirmative sound. "Yeah." When he doesn't mention leaving I hesitate before finally asking. "Do you want to come in?"
"He-ck yes," he says with a wide smile.
I wave him in and then go behind him, grabbing toys and trying to pick up so it doesn't like a tornado recently blew through. Although Drew could be about as destructive.
We stand back and watch as Drew sings and dances to the show's catchy theme song, and then he finally sits down in the floor Indian-style about a foot away from the TV to watch the show.
"Is it safe for him to sit so close?" Joe asks with a laugh before taking a seat on one of the clear sections of the sofa. My heart skips a beat at his protective question, while at the same time, I cringe at the parental criticism. Stupid heart, he's only passing through.
"I've tried and the result is always the same. He throws a tantrum for twenty minutes then he's right back in the same spot. So, I give up."
Joe looks around the house, his forehead creasing in thought. "Does he stay here a lot?" he finally asks, palming a soccer ball that was sitting beside him.
"Uh-huh," I answer, sliding a few toy cars aside to take a seat beside him.
Still analyzing, Joe looks at Drew in his train pajamas and back at me. "He stays overnight?"
"Uh-huh."
"How often?"
I sigh, steeling myself to get it over with. This is one sure way to drive Joe away. "Every night."
His eyebrows shoot up, then he glances around the room. "Why?" he asks softly.
I fumble with the string ties on my pajama bottoms, searching for the words. "Because my sister Kelly…she died the night he was born," I explain quietly.
"God, Katie," he says, reaching over to rub a hand comfortingly over my leg. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
I blink back tears and nod hoping that will be the end of the conversation. I should've known better. Joe’s smart and questions people for a living to solve puzzles.
"But, wait. Where's his father?" he asks in a whisper.
I mouth the word "prison" and Joe's jaw drops. I stand up and nod toward the kitchen, and he follows.
"Why?" he asks when we were out of earshot.
"Kidnapping, rape, and ah, second degree murder," I say, letting him put it together.
His eyes widen. "Holy sh-ucks." Closing the distance between us, his arms wrap around me, holding me against his chest. A few of the tears I'd tried to fight fall down my cheeks. But the squeal of delight from the living room brings me back to reality. One where men like Joe don't settle down, especially not with women raising their dead sister and a psycho's son.
I head back to the living room, knowing from experience that it only takes about two minutes for Drew to get into some sort of trouble. Sure enough, he’s trying to stand on one of his big bouncy balls.
"No, Drew! Get down," I warn him and he hops down, kicking the ball instead, sending it ricocheting off everything in the vicinity.
I expect Joe to say he’s going to head on out, making a quick escape, but instead, he returns to his previous seat. Curious about him, Drew pulls himself up on the couch next to him and mimics his posture - a slight slouch, long legs spread wide, and hands on his thighs. It’s pretty damn adorable. Getting bored with sitting still for more than ten seconds, Drew climbs up on his knees and points at Joe's eye, so close his finger’s practically on the lid.
"Bwue like Thomas," Drew tells him, and he's right, the two are very similar
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