Chapter Twelve

Trig

Jane makes a huge deal out Christmas. You’d think she did all sorts of Christmas things because of the boys and… well, now Maggie too, but she’s always been this way. The front lawn is filled with a Santa’s Workshop scene. The boys made gingerbread houses. Even Maggie made one, but the most surprising thing of all is that she bought presents for the boys.

Jane’s been going full-steam with cooking, craft projects and Christmas outings, so when she asks me if I’ll keep the boys for an evening between Christmas and New Year’s, I agree. I’ve had them over before, but not since Maggie’s come to live with them. I tell Wes I want Maggie to come over too, to help me with the boys. It’s not that I can’t handle them, but I like the idea of her coming too.

When she arrives, I can tell she’s not too pleased to be roped into babysitting. She gets out of the van and the boys spill out, all four of them run off to play with the dogs. She stands in the drive way, a wary expression on her face. She hasn’t been here since the day I picked her up on the highway. I can tell she’s reliving the memory.

It’s cold. She wears the coat I got her and the sight of her makes something inside my chest soften. It seems strange to see her here. With her big, startled eyes she looks younger than her nineteen years.

Wes worries about her going to college and being around older kids and adults. He and Jane go to support meetings for foster parents and the stories they come back with make me wonder why anyone would ever agree to foster. Especially the older kids.

Maggie’s an adult now, but they don’t know if she’s experienced trauma. If she goes to college she could be vulnerable to people with bad intentions. When she was in high school, they stayed in contact with teachers. They had a sense of control. Now that she’s done with school, they won’t have that link. She’ll be on her own.

I walk down my porch steps and close the distance between us.

“Wes thinks you might turn into a wild child now that you’re a college student.”

She purses her lips and gets about half-way through an eye roll when she stops herself. “I haven’t been admitted yet. I’m still waiting to hear back from the registrar.”

“I’m sure you’ll get in.”

“I will, Trig. And I’m not going to turn into some wild-child. You and Wes don’t need to worry.”

I nod and usher her into the house. I grill some hamburgers and we eat in the kitchen. The boys chatter about their new toys and what we’re going to be doing this evening.

“Going down to the basement,” I tell them.

Maggie flinches and she stares at me wide-eyed.

I keep from smiling back. Barely.

The boys have been in my basement plenty of times because Wes and me and the boys built a small model railroad for them there. The model occupies a large table in the corner of the basement. Michael was the biggest help on planning and constructing, but I’m sure all four boys think they helped equally.

They’ve also camped in the basement. I set up tents, made a little fake campfire and served baked beans and hot dogs. Each boy slept in a sleeping bag. We did that a few times so Wes and Jane could have some time to themselves.

So, when they hear the news that we’re going downstairs, the boys erupt in cheers, talking about what movie we can watch on the big screen and having a fire in the fireplace. They want to do all the things Wes and me did when we were kids growing up here.

The moment I say a word about going to the basement, all four boys stampede down the wooden stairs, whooping and hollering like the basement is some sort of amusement park. Wes and me used to tell the boys it was a guy’s only place. That Jane wasn’t allowed down there.

I’m sure Jane was pretty happy to be excluded because she’d pour herself a glass of white wine and sit on the porch. She’d read. Talk on the phone. Pet the dogs. She’d do anything and everything for a few hours, happy to have some quiet time.

Maggie and I sit at the table. Alone. She keeps her gaze down but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. Downstairs all hell’s breaking loose. If she had worries or misgivings about what I hid down there, my cover’s blown now. The boy’s laughter and shrieks give me away. I’m sure she’s just a few seconds away from some smart-mouthed comment.

“I’m not sure if I want to go downstairs,” she says softly. “I might end up getting handed off to your contact in Cleveland.”

This is how it is with Maggie. One moment she’s scowling at me, blaming me for who-knows-what, and the next she’s giving me shit. It should make me mad. Her moods whip-saw from one extreme to the next, but right now, sitting here in my kitchen with Maggie, I feel anything but mad. I want to wrap her up in a big protective wad of bubble wrap to keep her safe from everything dangerous in the world.

“You’re sassy and a lot of trouble. They’d probably bring you back in less than a minute, Maggie. Dump you the first chance they got.”

I’m trying to tease her because I love to make her a little mad. Not too mad, of course. Mostly I like to make her laugh.

She blinks several times and lets out a small huff of air. Her smile fades. It’s like watching a candle flicker and go out. “Maybe.”

I was just giving her a bad time but she’s taking my comment to heart. I can see the wall going up. Fast.

“I’m hard to handle. Only a saint like Jane really wants me.” She shrugs a shoulder and for a moment says nothing. Then she lifts her chin and gives me a hard look. “Story of my life. I’m used to it.”