the family to give them breathing space, let them reassimilate to life without their mother. Since the children hadn't been in my flat and hadn't called even though I'd given them my number to do so if they ever needed me—all I'd had was a note pushed through the door saying they were going away last weekend—I had assumed things were going well. Assimilation was working, life was normalizing for them. But now my reputation was under attack. And worse, I knew my reputation was under attack. If I didn't know Mrs. Eyebrows was more than likely spreading rumors about me, I'd carry on as I was, oblivious. But now … I marched up the front path and pressed the doorbell.
The bell ding-donged through the house.
“DON'T ANSWER IT DADDY!” Summer yelled. “I SAID DON'T ANSWER IT!” she continued to scream as Kyle's tall, sleek shape crinkled towards me in the mottled colored glass of the front door. He flung open the door, caught it with one hand to stop it swinging back on its hinges.
His line of sight settled on me, then he sighed a little as he said, “Hi.” Not pleased, not irritated. If anything, he was indifferent to see me. He clearly had bigger things on his mind.
“Hi,” I replied. “I was passing and… Is everything all right?” I asked, suddenly realizing that me doing this could be seen as me criticizing Kyle's parenting skills again. That I was looking down my nose at him.
“Oh, fine. Just the usual Summer meltdown hour,” he said casually. His body language was anything but casual. Every sinew in his muscular arms, exposed in his blue T-shirt, was flexed as he held open the door, making the bar code tattoos engraved on the upper parts of each of his biceps seem to stand away from the skin. His neck muscles were also tensed and a nerve in his temple was pumping rapidly. His skin was pale and clammy, the ghost of a frown puckering his forehead and the area around his eyes. He looked worse than he had when he'd been hungover. “She won't eat her dinner, wants to play with her toys, won't listen to a word I say, has a fit when I ask her to clear up the toys. Like I say, the usual.”
“Do you want me to try? A third person might take the drama out of the situation.” My voice was low and contrite, didn't want to throw petrol on this flaming situation.
He rested his head against the door frame as his body sighed in resignation. “Seeing as I'm seconds away from locking myself in the bathroom and punching the walls, at this moment, Kendra, I'll try anything. So …” He stepped aside, swept his hand before him, indicating the room on the other side of the staircase, the one I hadn't been in yet. “Be my guest.”
I stepped in and went towards the door of the other front room. My eyes fell first on Jaxon, who was in the far left-hand corner of the room half sitting, half lying on the blue carpeted floor. Around him was the large oval of a train track, and he was moving a five- carriage train behind a burgundy, gold-edged steam engine. He was wearing Superman pajamas that fitted him a lot better than his Spider-Man ones. A bubble of calm surrounded him, protecting him from the rest of the room, which was in a terrifying state of chaos. Chaos ruled by Summer Gadsborough.
She was in the middle of the room. Her legs, covered inblue jogging bottoms under pink shorts, were planted wide apart. Her arms, the color of dark opal, were exposed in her red T-shirt with a yellow unicorn on the front, and her hands were bunched into fists that rested on her hips. Atop her head, sitting like a tiara, was a padded, silky eye mask in a Pucci-style swirl of red, blue, yellow, green and orange. Her face was filled with red rage, her eyes wide and determined, her teeth gritted behind her pinched- together mouth. It was a look she must have inherited or copied from an adult. She had it down pat, had adapted it and refined it for her purposes. And her current purpose was to terrorize the playroom.
Her realm had been
The bell ding-donged through the house.
“DON'T ANSWER IT DADDY!” Summer yelled. “I SAID DON'T ANSWER IT!” she continued to scream as Kyle's tall, sleek shape crinkled towards me in the mottled colored glass of the front door. He flung open the door, caught it with one hand to stop it swinging back on its hinges.
His line of sight settled on me, then he sighed a little as he said, “Hi.” Not pleased, not irritated. If anything, he was indifferent to see me. He clearly had bigger things on his mind.
“Hi,” I replied. “I was passing and… Is everything all right?” I asked, suddenly realizing that me doing this could be seen as me criticizing Kyle's parenting skills again. That I was looking down my nose at him.
“Oh, fine. Just the usual Summer meltdown hour,” he said casually. His body language was anything but casual. Every sinew in his muscular arms, exposed in his blue T-shirt, was flexed as he held open the door, making the bar code tattoos engraved on the upper parts of each of his biceps seem to stand away from the skin. His neck muscles were also tensed and a nerve in his temple was pumping rapidly. His skin was pale and clammy, the ghost of a frown puckering his forehead and the area around his eyes. He looked worse than he had when he'd been hungover. “She won't eat her dinner, wants to play with her toys, won't listen to a word I say, has a fit when I ask her to clear up the toys. Like I say, the usual.”
“Do you want me to try? A third person might take the drama out of the situation.” My voice was low and contrite, didn't want to throw petrol on this flaming situation.
He rested his head against the door frame as his body sighed in resignation. “Seeing as I'm seconds away from locking myself in the bathroom and punching the walls, at this moment, Kendra, I'll try anything. So …” He stepped aside, swept his hand before him, indicating the room on the other side of the staircase, the one I hadn't been in yet. “Be my guest.”
I stepped in and went towards the door of the other front room. My eyes fell first on Jaxon, who was in the far left-hand corner of the room half sitting, half lying on the blue carpeted floor. Around him was the large oval of a train track, and he was moving a five- carriage train behind a burgundy, gold-edged steam engine. He was wearing Superman pajamas that fitted him a lot better than his Spider-Man ones. A bubble of calm surrounded him, protecting him from the rest of the room, which was in a terrifying state of chaos. Chaos ruled by Summer Gadsborough.
She was in the middle of the room. Her legs, covered inblue jogging bottoms under pink shorts, were planted wide apart. Her arms, the color of dark opal, were exposed in her red T-shirt with a yellow unicorn on the front, and her hands were bunched into fists that rested on her hips. Atop her head, sitting like a tiara, was a padded, silky eye mask in a Pucci-style swirl of red, blue, yellow, green and orange. Her face was filled with red rage, her eyes wide and determined, her teeth gritted behind her pinched- together mouth. It was a look she must have inherited or copied from an adult. She had it down pat, had adapted it and refined it for her purposes. And her current purpose was to terrorize the playroom.
Her realm had been
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