Jamie

 

“Miss Jamie?”

 

“Jamie,” I corrected, mumbling as I rolled over in bed. I didn’t usually sleep well in strange beds, but this was different. Maybe I was just exhausted from being so worried about Gigi, meeting so many new people. Spending half the night thinking about Lance and the scars on his back. I had spent untold hours thinking about him, imagining what it must have been like to be that little boy. No wonder he turned out the way he did.

 

“Jamie,” Gigi corrected herself. “Good morning.”

 

I opened one eye, teasing her. She giggled, standing at the edge of the bed. I grabbed her, pulling her in with me. She giggled helplessly.

 

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

 

She sat up. “Good. It was kinda noisy downstairs, though.”

 

I nodded. “Yeah, it did get noisy sometimes. I’m sorry. I tried to keep everybody quiet. I’ll make sure to do a better job tonight.”

 

“It’s okay.” She shrugged it off philosophically. “I’m used to it.”

 

There was no hatred in her voice, no anger or pain. That was just the way it was for her. She was used to living with noise coming from downstairs.

 

I took a chance, feeling my way into the conversation. “Did your mommy always have a lot of people over?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, not every night. But a lot of nights.”

 

“And you would always stay upstairs in your room when that happened?”

 

“Yeah. I had my toys up there, and a TV and movies to watch. It wasn’t so bad. Then I would go to bed. Sometimes I would leave the TV on so I didn’t have to hear downstairs.”

 

“That’s pretty smart,” I said mildly. “Did anybody ever come upstairs? I mean, did you hear people in the hallway, outside your door?”

 

“Sometimes.” She traced the floral pattern of the bedspread with one finger. Her hair was a mess, total bedhead. I smiled at her when she wasn’t looking.

 

“Did anybody ever come into your room?” I said it as calmly as I could, like it was normal for it to happen. I didn’t want to scare her off.

 

“No. I was always alone.” She shrugged. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

 

“What do you think about Lance?” I asked, propping up on one elbow.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, is he nice to you?”

 

“Yeah. I guess so. I mean, he wasn’t always. When I first got here, he pointed a gun at me.” She linked her hands in the shape of a gun and pointed it at my face.

 

“What?” I didn’t mean to shout it, but she’d shocked me.

 

“Yeah. He didn’t mean it, though. He told me he thought somebody left something bad at the front door. It was just me.” She shrugged, laughing it off like it was nothing. “But I cried when he did it. It was scary.”

 

“I bet it was!” I wondered how Lance would feel if I stuck a gun in his face, then reminded myself he’d probably already had that happen more than once in the past.

 

“After that, it was okay. He asked me lots of questions about my mommy, and where I live. He asked me for my address, but I didn’t remember it.” She avoided my eyes when she said that. The kid who could bluff her way through how many hands of poker didn’t remember her address?

 

“Why didn’t you remember it?”

 

“I was too scared.”

 

I looked at her in my best teacherly way. I had to assert authority again. “Gigi. I know you know your address. Why don’t you tell me the truth? Remember what I always say about the truth? It’s always better to be honest. Right?”

 

She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Is it wrong that I lied?”

 

“In this case, sweetie, I don’t think so. But why did you?”

 

“Because Mommy told me not to tell him. She didn’t want him to go there.”

 

I frowned. It made sense to an extent. “Did she say why?”

 

Gigi shook her head, tousled hair bouncing on her shoulders. “No. Just that I shouldn’t tell him, no matter what.”

 

Rae might have been afraid of Lance taking Gigi back to her. Or maybe something was scheduled to go down there that she didn’t want anybody else to be part of. Whatever it was, it was over by the end of the week. The house looked dark and deserted when I checked it out. Rae had most likely fled somewhere.

 

“So if Mommy told me to lie, is it okay that I did?”

 

“Yes, it’s okay. You did it because Mommy asked you to.” I patted her on the back, then hugged her when I saw how upset she looked. “Don’t you worry about it even one little bit. You’re a very good girl.” Then I pulled away. “Though you did trick everybody you played cards with last night.”

 

She grinned. “That’s not lying. That’s bluffing.”

 

***

 

When we went downstairs, teeth and hair brushed, both of us dressed, we were the only people there. I knew more than a few people had spent the night—I remembered watching them stumble upstairs. Lance was one of them. It was already past eight o’clock, but I guessed that was practically pre-dawn to the people sleeping it off in the upstairs rooms.

 

“It’s so quiet down here right now,” Gigi whispered. “It’s always quiet like this in the morning.”

 

“Are you always alone like this when you first wake up?”

 

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I watch TV and play games until people get up. I don’t have to wait too long.” She was the most patient child I had ever known. I guessed a lifetime of waiting made a person more patient.

 

“What do you say we make breakfast for everybody?”

 

Her eyes lit up. “You know how?”

 

“Are you kidding? I know how to do lots of things.” We went to the kitchen, which was fully stocked. I guessed once Gigi came along, it became important to be sure there was plenty of food available. I looked around.

 

“What will we make?” Gigi tagged along behind me, watching as I pulled out ingredients.

 

“I think this is a good day for pancakes. What do you think?”

 

“Pancakes are my favorite!”

 

I smirked. “Have you been eating them every day this week?”

 

“No. Yesterday we had eggs, and the day before that, we had cereal.”

 

“Okay. Pancakes it is.” I didn’t want to serve something they’d been eating for days on end, like the spaghetti.

 

“Gee,” I said, looking at the ingredients. “I’ve never cooked them for this many people at once before.”

 

“You can do it.” Gigi smiled at me in that way only a totally trusting child could smile at an adult.

 

“You’re right. I can do it.” I pulled up a recipe on my phone and multiplied the ingredients to make more servings. Flour, milk, eggs, sugar, salt, butter, baking soda. They even had vanilla extract.

 

“What are you doing?” Gigi asked as I poured a splash of white vinegar in a measuring cup full of milk.

 

“I’m making buttermilk. It’s science. See, when I add the vinegar, watch how the milk clumps up.” She watched closely as the milk separated. “It makes it very tangy. I’ll leave it there for a while, until it gets thick. When I mix it in with the baking soda, it’ll make the baking soda foam up a little bit, too. That makes the pancakes fluffy.”

 

“I didn’t know cooking was science!” She giggled. “I feel like I’m in school with you and it’s only Saturday.”

 

We laughed together over that. Then I went to the large griddle pan and turned it on.

 

“I think I saw bacon in here somewhere…” I found a large package and laid the slices on sheet trays.

 

“You’re cooking it in the oven?” She sounded amazed.

 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s easy to do it that way when you’re cooking a lot at once. My mom used to do that when she made big breakfasts at home.” My heart clenched a little and tears squeezed my throat. How many Christmas mornings had I spent in the kitchen with her? I used to watch the milk turn to buttermilk, just the way Gigi did.

 

“You had a mommy, too?”

 

I smiled through the threatening tears. “Sure, I did. Everybody has a mommy.”

 

“Not everybody. Some people have two daddies, the way Evan does.” Evan was one of Gigi’s classmates.

 

“That’s true. He has two daddies. Some people have two mommies, too. Some people only have their mommy or their daddy. You’re very right. I had a mommy and a daddy.”

 

“Did your mommy teach you how to cook?”

 

“She sure did, kiddo.” Again, it was tough to fight back the tears. I turned away, putting the bacon in the oven, then tested the griddle for readiness.

 

“Okay! Let’s put some pancakes on the griddle.” Gigi watched in fascination as I poured batter onto the pan, and explained how the batter got hot and cooked. “This is science, too,” I explained. “It’s all science.”

 

“And it’s yummy,” she added.

 

“Yes. Science can be yummy.” I left her to watch the pancakes under strict orders not to touch the pan, and turned to the coffee machine. It didn’t take long before a large pot was brewing, and I flipped the pancakes when I finished getting it set up.

 

We repeated this process through four batches, keeping the pancakes warm under foil. By that time, I heard noise coming from the lounge.

 

“See who’s out there,” I whispered. “Tell them breakfast is almost ready.” She marched out proudly to announce that it was almost time to eat. I heard cheers, and chants of “Gigi! Gigi!” I smiled from ear to ear, admitting that it was extremely sweet to hear her treated that way.

 

“I can’t believe you did all this!” Erica walked in, still in her pajamas. I waved a hand, showing it was nothing. She helped me finish up, getting the syrup, plates and such. By the time the last batch was finished, the bacon was also ready. I put it out on a big platter, and Erica called the troops in for breakfast.

 

What I saw nearly stopped my heart, it was so sweet. Lance carried Gigi on his hip, and she told him all about the science of cooking. There was something incredibly adorable and natural about them, like he’d been carrying her that way all her life. I wondered if he even realized he was doing it, or if he did it without thinking.

 

It was incredibly sexy, too. I couldn’t deny it even to myself that the sight of him taking care of her, listening very closely as she told him how buttermilk is made from milk and an acid, made my heart skip a beat. I smiled, turning my head away so he wouldn’t notice. I didn’t want to break the spell.

 

After we sat down, picking seats at random throughout the clubhouse, Lance sat beside me.

 

“What made you do this?” he asked, motioning to the food.

 

“I was hungry.” I shrugged.

 

“But breakfast for everybody?”

 

I shrugged again. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

 

He nodded thoughtfully before digging in. “Well, I’m glad you did,” he said before shoving in another mouthful of pancake. I had to chuckle at how eager he was.

 

“I have to say, you and Gigi seem like you’re getting closer.”

 

He looked at his plate, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. It was a risk, getting personal like that. He seemed to let it roll off his back, though, replying, “Yeah, we’re pretty good friends already. She’s an easy kid to like. I’m glad she’s not one of those whiney brats you see in stores and places like that. Begging for a toy or a treat.”

 

“I have to admit, I can’t stand that either,” I murmured. We laughed together.

 

“I once saw a kid begging his mom for a candy bar at the drugstore. He was a pudgy little guy, too. So Mom was like ‘No chocolate. You already had dessert.’ Something like that. The kid burst into tears—fake tears, of course. He kept begging, ‘Please, Mama. Please, can I have the chocolate? Please?’ I thought it was pretty funny, actually, the way he wouldn’t let it go. Finally, what does he do? He picks up the damn thing and tries to hide it behind his back.”

 

“No!” I burst out laughing.

 

“Yeah, right? And his mom didn’t notice, actually. She had a bunch of things to carry. The guy behind her in line gave her the heads up before they left the store. She didn’t say anything at first, just took it from him and put it on the counter. But you could hear her screaming from inside once she got to the parking lot.”

 

“I bet. I don’t know, though. In that case, it sounds like the kid’s an addict or something. I’ve seen more spoiled kids in the five years I’ve been teaching…you have no idea. Kids who just come into school swinging their arms, trying to hit somebody. They don’t stop swinging until they leave. Then there are the kids who expect everything done for them. Or the ones who can’t be held responsible for anything, even if they lie or cheat. Their parents get up in arms if I dare call their snowflake out for being anything less than perfect. It’s really frustrating.”

 

“It sounds that way,” Lance murmured. “I don’t know how you do it.”

 

“I love kids. It sounds funny, maybe a little corny, but I do.” I smiled at him, and his smile lit up the room.

 

“Thanks for loving mine.” It was so quiet, only I could hear it—and even then, barely. I did hear it, though, and my heart skipped another beat. If I spent much more time around him, I would need a pacemaker.

 

“And another thing,” I said, thinking things over while I ate, “there’s something we have to keep in mind. Both of us.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

I looked over at Gigi, who ate her pancakes with Erica and one of the guys she massacred at poker. “Kids like her aren’t just born. They’re raised.” I turned back to Lance. “We have to remember that Rae raised her with the respect she has, the patience, the kindness. She’s the sweetest kid I know. Always trying to help the other kids in class with their work, even when they’re all dressed better than she is. Even when she comes to school with no lunch. She doesn’t cower in the corner. She still puts herself out there. Rae did that. She raised a good kid.”

 

We sat in silence, watching Gigi take over the room as she talked about the way science makes pancakes fluffy.