“I’m not wearing a jacket.” Six-year-old Myla stomped her foot and pressed her hands against her hips.
Wes Caldwell recognized the stubborn set of her jaw. Had seen it many times on Myla’s mom. If he didn’t regain control now, all bets were off. “Then we’re not going to get a pumpkin today.”
“Oh well.” Myla gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders.
“Fine.” He took a deep breath and silently recited the state capitols until he could respond without frustration. “If you don’t want to go, then you can clean your room. I’ll call Nana and tell her we’re not going.”
“But I don’t wanna clean.” Her tiny lips started trembling. “I want to see Nana.”
Had he been too harsh? He stunk at this parenting thing. “If you want to go to the farm and choose a pumpkin, then you need to wear a jacket. It’s too cold today for only a shirt.”
He’d explained it to her already—no less than five times. Even went so far as to open the door and let the cold air blow in.
She’d still insisted she didn’t need to wear a coat.
She chewed on her bottom lip, the fight in her eyes evident. “Can I wear my princess sweatshirt?”
This is what my life has come to—negotiating with a child. A smile tugged at his lips. Myla was a handful, but he loved her to pieces. “Yes.”
The tension eased from her small body, and she ran to him and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Wes. You’re the best.”
“So are you, My.” He returned her hug then patted her shoulder. “Go on, now, get your sweatshirt on. If you’re good, we’ll eat dinner out on the way home.”
Her eyes grew wide. “From the yellow M?”
He laughed at her name for the popular fast food joint. As a toddler, she’d had her own names for different places, and over the years, they’d stuck. “I had something a little nicer in mind.”
“But what’s better than their cheeseburgers?” She scrunched her nose. “Mommy always got me extra ketchup to dip it in.” At the mention of her mom, Myla’s face fell. “When’s Mommy coming home?”
How did he answer? To a child, a year was forever. “Just as soon as she’s well enough to take care of you again.”
“I miss her.”
“Me too, squirt, but she’s in a place that will help her get better.”
“So she doesn’t sleep all the time?” Myla looked up at him with innocent fawn-brown eyes. For all she’d gone through in her short life, she’d blessedly came out unscathed.
“Yes.” His chest constricted when he thought of his niece alone in the house with her passed-out mom.
His sister.
Jenna’s battle with drugs and alcohol came to a crashing climax two weeks ago. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the image of the ambulance speeding away from her house as he pulled onto her street.
He’d found his mom inside, her arms wrapped around Myla who was crying and afraid she’d never see her mother again. Although he’d wanted to rush to the hospital, he’d stayed behind with Myla so Mom and Dad could go and be with Jenna. He’d dealt with the police reports and social worker who’d shown up.
By the next morning, once Jenna pulled through, she checked into a six-day detox facility, and Wes had accepted temporary guardianship of Myla. A week later, Jenna had been admitted to a year-long recovery facility, and Wes agreed to take Myla for the duration of that time.
What a crazy few weeks it’s been. Caring for Myla wore him out—he didn’t remember having that much energy and attitude as a child—but he didn’t regret his decision. Dad often traveled for his job as a compliance inspector, and Mom helped when she could, but her lupus flare-ups limited her. She did provide a freezer full of meals, for which he was grateful.
Too long a bachelor, he’d become accustomed to takeout meals and sandwiches. He wasn’t a parenting expert by any means, but even he knew a child couldn’t thrive on corndogs and chicken nuggets. And cheeseburgers from the yellow M, of course.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Uncle Wes?” Myla stared at him with her head tilted. Everything about her appearance took after her mom and the Caldwell side of her, from her chocolate brown eyes to her hair that matched. None of her physical qualities could be attributed to her deadbeat dad.
“Just thinking how lucky I am to have you living here with me.” He winked and grinned. “Go get your sweatshirt on so we can leave.”
She ran down the hallway and into her room. Several minutes later, after Wes was about to check on her, she emerged into the hallway wearing her prized princess sweatshirt. “Do you like princesses, Uncle Wes?”
He tweaked her nose. “You’re a princess, and I like you, so I guess so.”
“I’m not a real princess.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “I only like to dress up as one.”
His sweet, literal niece. She’d inherited that quality from her great-grandfather, though he’d died before ever meeting Myla. Wes had the same trait but had learned to tame it over the years.
They left the house, and he buckled her into her booster seat in his mom’s Camry. His Mustang didn’t lend itself to children in the rear, so he’d switched cars with his mom temporarily. Mom hadn’t complained—she’d been thrilled to drive the Mustang. And while he wouldn’t admit it to any of his single buddies—maybe, to his minivan-driving dad friends—but he liked his mom’s car. If he ever had to give up his sporty car for a family vehicle, he wouldn’t mind a Camry.
He drove to his mom’s house to pick her up. The house’s exterior looked bare without her usual fall decorations. Usually, they were up no later than the first weekend in October, but here they were on the second Saturday of the month with nothing to show. He made a mental note to stop by this week and help her out. Depending on how long pumpkin picking and dinner took, maybe he could do it tonight.
Myla unbuckled her seatbelt as soon as Wes parked the car. She jumped out and ran to the front door before he had his door open. He swallowed a breath and hurried to follow her, deciding to choose his battles. Myla had a bad habit of hurrying out of the car without waiting for him. At his mom’s it wasn’t a big deal, but in public it could become dangerous. He often showed her grace since Jenna had given Myla a loose rein with very little discipline, but when it came to his niece’s wellbeing, he would do his best to instill safe behaviors in her.
As he walked along the cement path from the driveway to the house, his mom opened the door. Myla jumped on her and gave her an enthusiastic hug.
He saw his mom struggle with the weight of Myla hanging on her, but she kept a smile, the love for her granddaughter shining through. She gently set Myla down. “Go look on my counter. There’s a cookie waiting just for you.”
Wes started to follow his niece into the house, but Mom stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let her go. There’s only one cookie set out so she can’t overindulge.”
“What’s going on?” he asked, concerned by the expression in her eyes.
“Jenna called me a few minutes ago.”
“Oh.” He drew out the word, guarding his response. “How is she?”
“Hard to tell.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Despair lurked in the depths of her eyes. “Jenna’s always been a hard one to read.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You and Dad are great parents.” Though it seemed too insignificant of a gesture, he offered her a smile. “I turned out well, didn’t I?”
Mom laughed. “By the grace of God.”
“Jenna’s going to be okay.” He had to believe it, for the sake of them all. “We’ll keep praying.”
“She did ask about Myla, and I told her Myla’s in great hands with you.” She glanced into the house, to the direction Myla had run. “I’m proud of you for stepping up.”
“It’s the least I could do.” He heard the pitter-patter of young footsteps, and Myla appeared seconds later. “Ready for a fun day of fall activities?”
Myla broke out in a wide grin. “I’m gonna find the biggest pumpkin they have.”
He raised a brow and sent a teasing smile her way. “How do you plan on getting it back to the car?”
“You’re gonna carry it for me.” She stared at him as though the question needn’t have been asked.
Her matter-of-fact response made him laugh but also swelled his heart. Myla trusted him to take care of her, and that spoke volumes coming from a little girl who’d been neglected far too often.