Henry would be crushed when Grant left, but the time had come to trust my BSB. He’d proven himself worthy of it tonight, and I could use his help with Henry.
I shivered. What I was about to do terrified me. Once I got used to leaning on Grant, his departure might crush me too. And then where would my family be? “I accept,” I said. “Thank you.”
His lips twisted. “You’re welcome.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He raised his head to look at the stars. “I was reflecting on how consistently grateful you are.”
Ouch. “I didn’t know consistency was a problem.”
“It isn’t. That was a compliment.” His gaze returned to my face, although his expression was impossible to read in the dark. “ Thank you is not something I’ve heard very often. In my experience, human masters limit our conversations either to their demands or to criticism of my results.”
Had I ever criticized the quality of his work? My brain was too tired to think it through. “I guess I should head to bed now.”
He walked me to the porch and stayed at the bottom of the steps. As I entered the house, though, his voice halted me.
“Lacey, why haven’t you used a wish for your mother?”
“It would violate your guidelines,” I said, unable to hide the resignation in my voice. “It’s not humanly possible to help her get better.”
Update to Status Report #9
Dear Boss,
What is happening with this case? It is unprecedented in the challenges it brings.
My previous assignments were focused on specific, personal goals. I learned discipline beside a mistress training for a cross-country race. I observed passion in a master pursuing an acting career.
I cannot recall working for a teen who wished so desperately to tend to the other people in her life, and not herself.
Why have I been assigned here? I am only an apprentice. Surely the severity of their problems deserves a Being with more experience in helping families.
Although I acknowledge Chief’s concerns about her brother, I don’t believe her fears are well-founded. Surely the local government would not separate Henry from his family when he is so clearly cared for.
Chief underestimates the depth of her mother’s illness. Crystal Jones requires professional mental health care. Her need is urgent.
For the first time since the League instituted the revised rules, I find myself fretting under their restrictions. This family could use so much more than the guidelines permit.
I have never asked for an exception before, but I wonder if it might not be warranted for them. May I use my powers on their behalf?
Humbly submitted,
Grant
10
Disconnected Images
M om didn’t come out of her room in the morning, not even for coffee. Henry, who had recovered from his ordeal, was begging me for an extra slice of toast before racing out the back door to kick around a soccer ball.
Time for chores. I cleaned up our breakfast things, made a quick harvesting foray into the vegetable garden, and started a pot of soup.
I was too fogged over to remember what today’s wish was supposed to be, so requesting it would have to wait. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Grant. I’d had enough discussion about my mom to last me a while.
With my brother out of the way, I would take on his bedroom. It desperately needed its monthly airing-out. Almost mindlessly, I opened the windows, swept the hardwoods, and changed the sheets on the bed. It was already smelling fresher when I noticed the bottom drawer of his dresser was ajar. I plopped down, prepared to refold the dresser’s contents.
Sleep deprivation must’ve dulled my thinking because I sat on the floor for a full minute, staring at his things, before I could absorb the condition of Henry’s clothes. His old shorts lay next to his soccer uniform shorts, which were not only newer—but also wider and longer. I gave my head a hard shake and refocused.
Henry’s regular clothes were a mess. They were either faded, torn,
I shivered. What I was about to do terrified me. Once I got used to leaning on Grant, his departure might crush me too. And then where would my family be? “I accept,” I said. “Thank you.”
His lips twisted. “You’re welcome.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He raised his head to look at the stars. “I was reflecting on how consistently grateful you are.”
Ouch. “I didn’t know consistency was a problem.”
“It isn’t. That was a compliment.” His gaze returned to my face, although his expression was impossible to read in the dark. “ Thank you is not something I’ve heard very often. In my experience, human masters limit our conversations either to their demands or to criticism of my results.”
Had I ever criticized the quality of his work? My brain was too tired to think it through. “I guess I should head to bed now.”
He walked me to the porch and stayed at the bottom of the steps. As I entered the house, though, his voice halted me.
“Lacey, why haven’t you used a wish for your mother?”
“It would violate your guidelines,” I said, unable to hide the resignation in my voice. “It’s not humanly possible to help her get better.”
Update to Status Report #9
Dear Boss,
What is happening with this case? It is unprecedented in the challenges it brings.
My previous assignments were focused on specific, personal goals. I learned discipline beside a mistress training for a cross-country race. I observed passion in a master pursuing an acting career.
I cannot recall working for a teen who wished so desperately to tend to the other people in her life, and not herself.
Why have I been assigned here? I am only an apprentice. Surely the severity of their problems deserves a Being with more experience in helping families.
Although I acknowledge Chief’s concerns about her brother, I don’t believe her fears are well-founded. Surely the local government would not separate Henry from his family when he is so clearly cared for.
Chief underestimates the depth of her mother’s illness. Crystal Jones requires professional mental health care. Her need is urgent.
For the first time since the League instituted the revised rules, I find myself fretting under their restrictions. This family could use so much more than the guidelines permit.
I have never asked for an exception before, but I wonder if it might not be warranted for them. May I use my powers on their behalf?
Humbly submitted,
Grant
10
Disconnected Images
M om didn’t come out of her room in the morning, not even for coffee. Henry, who had recovered from his ordeal, was begging me for an extra slice of toast before racing out the back door to kick around a soccer ball.
Time for chores. I cleaned up our breakfast things, made a quick harvesting foray into the vegetable garden, and started a pot of soup.
I was too fogged over to remember what today’s wish was supposed to be, so requesting it would have to wait. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Grant. I’d had enough discussion about my mom to last me a while.
With my brother out of the way, I would take on his bedroom. It desperately needed its monthly airing-out. Almost mindlessly, I opened the windows, swept the hardwoods, and changed the sheets on the bed. It was already smelling fresher when I noticed the bottom drawer of his dresser was ajar. I plopped down, prepared to refold the dresser’s contents.
Sleep deprivation must’ve dulled my thinking because I sat on the floor for a full minute, staring at his things, before I could absorb the condition of Henry’s clothes. His old shorts lay next to his soccer uniform shorts, which were not only newer—but also wider and longer. I gave my head a hard shake and refocused.
Henry’s regular clothes were a mess. They were either faded, torn,
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