Olivia
“Quit runnin’ from me,” August bellows from the opposite side of the house. He thunders after his kid sister, shaking the cabinets until the china rattles ominously. I don’t know how he doesn’t lose his damn prosthetic in the process. Bettina tears around the living room and makes a beeline for the kitchen, shrieking all the while and ducking around August’s legs. The brush in his hand goes sailing across the room and whacks off the wall, narrowly missing the television.
“Wivvie, save me.” Bettina barrels into me, chuckling, and I settle my hands on both of her shoulders.
“Woah,” I say. “Where do you think you’re going there, little lady?”
“Auggie’s tryin’ a brush my hair. It’s hurty.”
“Okay, but you know if you brushed it every morning by yourself you could get the tangles out easier, and you wouldn’t need to run away, because it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Auggie does sucky hair.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not a word you’re supposed to use.”
“Olivia’s right. You’re not,” August says from the doorjamb. Bett squeals and attempts to burrow between my legs. I awkwardly pat her head and hold my hand out for the brush that August must have retrieved in the time that it took me to lasso the four-year-old wildling.
He stares at my outstretched hand and frowns, setting the brush in it, and following up the movement with two glittery pink baubles. “What if Olivia does your hair today?”
“Will Wivvie be gentle with the tangwles?” she asks, staring up at me.
“Of course,” I say. “I have to brush my own hair everyday too, you know.”
“Auggie isn’t gentwle.”
“You wanna know what I think?” I crouch down before her, taking her hand and tucking the shiny pink baubles into her little palms. “I think August just doesn’t know what it’s like to have princess hair. If he did know, I’m sure he’d be more careful.”
“Auggie had pwincess hair once.”
“He did?” I say with a laugh, smiling up at the man in question.
“Mamma showed me picchoose. He had long, long hair, like Rabunzel only dark.”
“Rabunzel, huh?”
“Yup. He wasn’t cwanky then,” she whispers, conspiratorially. “But I wasn’t here ’cause I wasn’t borneded yet. Mamma said I was here before, but then I left and I was waitin’ all the time up in Heawven, and then when Auggie went off to war, I came back.”
“Wow,” I stare up at August for clarification. Of course I get none. Unless the steely gaze and tight jaw are any indication of an admission, and I guess this is August, so that’s usually all the conversation I get. Life of the party he is not.
“Mamma said I was borneded in the bathroom during a big scary storm, but I wasn’t bweathing, and the angels took me back to Heawven. I was a boy then.”
My shoulders sag and I let out a deep breath. This family has been through so much.
“That’s enough, Bett.”
“You know that’s a really special story, but maybe you could tell me more some other time, because you’re going to be late and we still have to do your hair,” I say. August doesn’t look happy, but what am I supposed to do? Just ignore her? He’s doing enough of that for the both of us. I stand and move towards the living room. “Now, who’s your favorite princess?”
“Anna.”
“From Frozen?” I feign a shocked expression. “Mine too.”
“No way,” she says skeptically. “Adults dwon’t watch toons.”
“Can I tell you a secret? This one does,” I say with a smile, and she jumps up and down on the spot.
“Auggie, Wivvie’s favowrite is Anna too.”
“I heard,” he says.
“Auggie doesn’t like Fwozen. He says it’s boring.” She pushes past her brother, who promptly moves out of the doorway. “But I sawed him watch it.”
“Really?” I laugh and grin up at the big angry Marine in question. He doesn’t give anything away—surprise, surprise. I roll my eyes and follow Bett into the living room.
“Thank you,” August says, and it’s so quiet I’m not even sure I heard right. I just shrug and I sit her down on the couch as Bettina starts singing one of the songs from the movie. I brush her hair and do a braid on either side of her head as she serenades me with songs from all her favorite Disney movies. Her voice is high pitched and sweet, I have to try not to laugh, but she’s just so heartbreakingly cute. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m going to miss the Cottons once I find someplace else to live. One thing’s for sure—there’s never a dull moment at Tanglewood.
When I leave the performance going on in the living room and head back to the kitchen for coffee, August is staring blankly at the counter before him. I think he’s supposed to be preparing Bett’s lunch for daycare. He doesn’t have that glazed over look in his eyes that comes with a PTSD flashback, but there’s something not right about his expression either. He looks emotional, and all I want to do is draw him into my arms and tell him that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. But I don’t, because I never know what will set this man off. So, I quietly make myself a coffee, and I pour him one too. I don’t have to ask how he takes it. I already know. It doesn’t take long to figure out a lot about people if you pay attention, and it seems that is all I do when it comes to August Cotton. I always pay attention.
I put in two sugars, forgo the creamer, and carefully slide it across the counter between us. Then I take my own cup upstairs in order to get ready for the day. I have a set of keys to pick up and a shelter to get ready. I’ve only been here a week, but I already miss work so badly. I miss my dog, Pebbles. Hell, I miss all the dogs from the shelter. Dogs don’t know how to love with conditions or strings attached. They don’t know how to hurt, unless they are trained for it. Not like people.
Downstairs, the Cottons leave the house, file into the truck, and pull out of the drive. I watch the taillights until they turn off at the end of the road and sigh. I might not want to leave right now, but I have to get out of this house, because the longer I stay the more I fall in love with this broken, fragile family, and I’m not sure how to fix them. I’m not sure I can.