WARNING - bullying, abuse and violence toward a child, racial slurs - if this offends or upsets you, please skip this chapter
sorry for the cliffhanger, but this is long enough - full day Retreat tomorrow so it may be a day or so before next update...unless, interest has fallen away...
The Coulson family was used to Skye's shrieks after midnight, but Mack and Yoyo jumped from their bed as if in answer to a claxon call. Yoyo's eyes grew wide enough to frighten a girlish scream out of a yawning Fitz as he stepped into the hall and she ran toward the little girl's room with her white robe flittering behind her. The boy was sure he had witnessed a wraith and had no problem wrapping his skinny arms and legs around Phil who made it into the hallway a minute later. The child trembled so viciously that Phil was afraid he'd be changing two children before tucking them back into bed on this night. He gave up trying to help Melinda with their youngest and took the terrorized boy back to the master bedroom to comfort him and hopefully get him back to sleep before sunrise.
Melinda did not think it was possible for a large black man to look so pale as she carried her screaming baby down the hall and into the girl's bathroom. Yoyo followed with clean clothes for Skye and patted the big man's shoulder as she walked past. "No tengas miedo, Mack. It is just a little girl with a big voice." She patted him again and followed Melinda into the bathroom.
Mack swallowed hard and suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of his friend's hallway in nothing more than his shorts and a T-shirt. He looked down at himself, then up and down the hall before making his way back to the guest room. If Phil and Melinda did this every night, he had a whole new world of respect for both of them.
Phil had told their four friends about Sr. M. Claire's almost reveal and how upset Melinda had been afterward. Each agreed to keep quiet about the situation but also to look into it in the most covert methods they could muster. In the meantime he would wait for the nun's next step and keep his wife as calm as possible.
Morning brought a large crowd to the breakfast table. Mack and Yoyo marveled at Skye's exuberance despite last night's, or early this morning's, drama. The little girl bounced on Mack's lap enjoying a serving of French Toast while alternately offering bites to the large man. Yoyo snuck a picture of him accepting the sticky offering.
Hunter moaned over Phil's 'morning after' remedy, choking down gulps of the vulgar liquid and avoiding Bobbi's glare. Fitz sat between them glancing back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. He hadn't touched his breakfast, which had Melinda worrying about his recent bout with Scarlet Fever. She casually brushed by him, placing a hand on the back of his neck in a sneaky attempt to detect a fever. As usual, in front of others, he pulled away and brushed her off quickly. Melinda also noticed that since last night, Fitz had seemed overly interested in anything Bobbi and Hunter had to say. She put it off as him just missing the familiarity of friends from the UK.
Trip had taken his plate into the family room, choosing to avoid the chatter and babble of the suddenly overcrowded kitchen. Jemma enjoyed helping Melinda serve their guests. The hustle and bustle of the morning far outweighed the party atmosphere of the day before.
"It still my birday?" Skye quipped as she used one finger to draw squiggles in the syrup left on her plate. Melinda caught her hand as she raised it to her mouth, but not before she placed the other on Mack's clean T-shirt leaving a perfect outline of her palm. She snatched the little girl off the man's lap, handing him the washcloth she was about to use to clean Skye's hands.
"I'm so sorry, Mack." She apologized as she plopped Skye on her hip that was farthest from the table.
The large man laughed as he brushed at the imprint. "No worries. I've had much worse."
Melinda caught Skye's wrist, holding it out and away from both of them. "I'm going to get this one clean." She excused herself; heading for the downstairs powder room, explaining to the still inquisitive child that it was no longer her birthday. Yoyo rose and began cleaning off the table, with Jemma's help.
"It's lovely that all of you have been able to stay and visit. I can see how much Aunt Mel and Uncle Phil enjoy having you here." The little girl smiled as she scraped a plate and handed it to Yoyo for it to be rinsed.
"Hmmm, yes," Yoyo narrowed her eyes at the girl. "I do not see a plate here from you, chica. Did I see you eat breakfast with the rest? I do not think so." She sounded as if she were scolding. Jemma lowered her gaze. She really hoped no one had noticed. It was still very hard to enjoy a meal like everyone else did. The very intelligent child knew she needed to eat, but it always brought back the memory of that last day with her parents. Yoyo placed a hand on Jemma's shoulder and directed her back to the table. "You sit here by Mack and I will get you a plate. Tienes que comer, pequeña. Eres demasiado flaca."
Jemma sat in the chair, looking defeated and unable to look at the dark skinned man smiling down at her. Bobbi sat on her opposite side and reached under the table to take her hand and squeeze it in support. "Maybe just some fruit, Elena," she suggested, using Yoyo's given name. "I did see this little girl with cake and ice cream yesterday."
Phil placed a small plate in front of Jemma. It held a small piece of toast and a few slices of orange. "We keep our girl's menu light." He grinned as he poured milk into a small glass and set it on the table then bent down to place a kiss on Jemma's head. Somehow, it wasn't that bad when Uncle Phil was there to save the day. The girl sat up, took her fork and began to pick at the food. Phil, who still stood behind her, gently took the fork and cut a piece of the toast. He poked the utensil into it and slipped it back into Jemma's hand. "You need to eat it, Jemma." He whispered and she nodded.
Jemma placed the small bite in her mouth and chewed before addressing Yoyo. "I don't know much Spanish," she told her, "but I know you said something about eating."
"I said you are too skinny, little one." Yoyo scolded again, then smiled. "You need to eat." Jemma nodded and took another small bite. The woman looked to Fitz who had remained silent during the exchange. "And what about you, niñito? You eat like the pequeño lobo and today you just sit and watch your food grow cold?"
Fitz looked down at his plate as if he just realized it was there then up at Phil standing behind Jemma's chair. He looked at Bobbi and at Hunter who had dropped his head onto his arms folded on the table in front of him.
"Something wrong, little man," Phil smiled at him. Fitz glanced quickly again at the adults surrounding him and shook his head. He picked up his fork and began shoveling food into his mouth. Phil shook his head and hoped, no prayed, another of their brood had not developed a new issue.
It took most of the day to clean up after the party and there were enough left overs to feed a house full of company and a teenaged eating machine. Skye managed to take three more spills off her new bike earning band-aids on both knees, chin and both elbows. Phil was sure the little girl would put the new vehicle aside after the last fall, but she persisted, pushing on the pedals until she was able to go the length of the driveway and back without tipping or losing her balance.
By the time the company said goodbye, the yard, garage and patio where back to normal. Fitz sat on the front porch steps and watched as Phil bid farewell to Bobbi and Hunter. Hunter looked over Phil's shoulder and waved to the boy before slipping into the rented SUV. The fact that both he and Bobbi continued to cast concerned glances his way was unnerving. He kicked at the small pebbles on the sidewalk sending them scattering in all directions. He considered picking up some of the larger stones and wiring them across the large front yard, sure he could hit that SUV before it reached the end of the street. He also knew, for a fact, that he could not run fast enough or hide long enough to avoid his mother's wrath if he did so.
Phil walked back from the curb watching as Fitz tried to hide his anger. He hadn't seen the little boy like this since the day he'd caught him with his wallet. It seemed like a lifetime ago. "Hey," he remarked as he sat down next his small son. "What's up?"
Fitz leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. He rocked left and right, turning up one side of his mouth. "Nothin," he answered through his teeth.
"You know," Phil started, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders. "You can come to me with anything, Fitz. I won't let you down, son."
Fitz pulled away and stood facing Phil. "I'm not really your son." He stated calmly. "I'm just a kid you found on the street. You don't have to care for me."
Phil swallowed the shock of the boy's reaction before responding. "I guess you're right, Fitz." He did not miss the boy's shoulders fall with that statement. "I don't have to care, but I do and in a few months you will really be my, our son, legally anyway." The man looked down at his hands that now hung between his knees. "But that's just paperwork, Fitz. As far as Melinda and I are concerned you are our son."
Fitz looked down at the toes of his shoes and kicked at the gravel on the walk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a long breath then sniffed and looked to the right, clearly avoiding Phil's gaze. "You'll not let anyone take me, then, will you?"
Again, Phil felt the shock of the boy's question, wondering where this was coming from and why now. He reached out and took Fitz by the upper arms, gently pulling him closer. "Fitz, no one is going to take you. I thought you knew that." The boy shrugged his shoulders. "You don't have to worry about that, not now or ever." The boy took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.
"I…I know why Hunter and Bobbi came here." He explained softly. "I'm sorry…I know I shouldna been listening. I didna mean to hear."
Phil shook his head unable to figure out what the boy meant. "Hear what, Fitz?"
"I heard them talking…talking about him…about Jamie Grant." Fitz was close to tears.
Phil knew. He thought the kids had gone to bed. He thought it was safe to discuss his London team's reason for showing up unannounced. Jamie Grant had been granted bail until his trial began and had slipped away. He'd been on the run for the past two months. Hunter had been tracking sightings and feared the man had made his way to the States. If that was true, Fitz was in danger.
"Fitz, listen to me," Phil still held the little boy by the arms and gave him a gentle shake. "There is no way Grant can find you here, Fitz. He doesn't have anyway to do that. We will not let anything happen to you, Fitz. Not ever." The boy finally looked Phil in the eye and gave a small nod. Phil knew the kid did not believe him. "Okay, let's get inside before your mom comes looking for us." He stood and reached out a hand that Fitz took before they walked up the stairs toward the front door.
The scream that woke the family a little after midnight, did not come from a terrified preschooler but rather a traumatized little boy who had been fighting night-demons by himself far too long.
In two weeks, Melinda was more than exhausted, between Skye's night terrors and Fitz' nightmares she found herself running on less than four hours of sleep per night. Phil tried to help but neither child would accept comfort from no one but mom. He did his best to let his wife sleep in the morning while he rousted all four kids, gave them breakfast and got them off to school. He tried telling Melinda to go to bed earlier than the crew, since she'd be up throughout the night. He had no problem checking homework, supervising TV and video games and getting the older kids tubbed and scrubbed, but wrestling Skye into the tub then out of the tub and into PJ's, let alone having her stay in bed once he got her there, was a lost cause. Melinda gave up trying to sleep. It just wasn't possible.
"Mel, this has to stop," Phil whispered to her as he pulled her head to rest against his shoulder. "You can't keep going on so little sleep. It isn't healthy." He kissed her forehead as she patted his bare chest.
"Let's just take advantage of the quiet, right now." Melinda yawned as she snuggled into him. It was just ten p.m. and they were already in bed. With any luck they could get at least two hours sleep before Fitz had them wide-awake. Skye was gracious enough to keep the three o'clock shift.
"I'm calling that nun, tomorrow, Mel. We've waited long enough. If she's not going to give us something, I'll get our lawyers on it by Thursday." Phil was adamant. "Grant is a whole other issue. There's been no sightings, no reports…maybe he just took off and no one will ever hear from him again."
"Mmm hmm," Melinda answered. He looked down at her and realized she was very close to sleep. He smiled and kissed her again before closing his eyes.
Trip bounded into the house a few days later, followed by a new friend and fellow basketball enthusiast. Being teenage boys their first stop was the refrigerator and most of the kitchen cupboards foraging for any easy fix snack items to fill the void left in their bellies since lunch.
"Nice place ya got here, Triplett." The taller pale kid commented, slapping a slice of cheese on a top of the deli meat he had in his hand. He rolled it into a long strip and devoured it in two bites. "Ya got the whole place to yerself, huh."
Trip pulled the top from a bottle of cola and took a long drink before answering. "Mrs. C should be home in about an hour," he glanced at the clock. "She picks up Skye first and the kids get off the bus about twenty minutes after that." He handed the other boy a bottle and shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure when Mr. C will get in, he's got weird hours."
The boy looked at the bottle in his hand and gave a sly smirk. "This the best ya can do?"
Trip opened the refrigerator. "We don't usually have soda. It's left from Skye's party. There might be something clear in the basement." He pushed some items around in his search. "There's ice tea…but the rest is mostly juice…"
"Dude, you gonna tell me in a place like this you don't have a bar…you know with some good stuff." The kid set the bottle of cola on the counter and glared at Trip.
Trip stared for a moment, caught between the seriousness and the silliness of the situation. He chose silly and laughed out loud. The other boy laughed as well. "Man, you had me there for a minute."
"Yeah," the boy sneered.
"Yeah," Trip repeated, "let's get this mess cleaned up and I'll show you the basketball court out back."
Both boys moved, quickly dispensing of the clutter they'd created, grabbed the basketball they'd carried in and disappeared out the back door and behind the garage.
"I ride my bike!" Skye was in the front door and halfway to the back before Melinda was able to step inside and close it.
"Skye, stop right there." She ordered with quiet authority.
The little girl stopped moving forward but continued bouncing from foot to foot and pointing toward the exit. "I gonna ride my bike, Mama." She turned and took a step forward.
"Skye…" Melinda warned as she dropped her car keys into a small dish on the table in the large foyer, "not one more step, little girl."
Skye dropped to the floor, folded her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. "I mad to you , Mama."
Melinda stepped over the sullen child, opened the closet door, dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes. "You'll get over it." She reached down and tousled the little girl's hair. Skye stuck out her bottom lip in a fine pout and spun herself around so her back was to her mother. Melinda watched and laughed under her breath at the stubborn little imp.
It was easy to see that Trip had already raided the refrigerator and had done a more than fair job at cleaning up after himself. She pulled a bottle of white grape juice out and took a small plastic cup from the cupboard. "Yum, Daddy remembered to buy these little cheesy fish crackers. They're my favorite, ooo, especially these little smiley ones." She popped a few in her mouth and exaggerated chewing them. Skye let out a loud breath and kicked her feet out in front of her, refusing to turn and look.
Melinda poured juice into the cup. "Oh, and look at this he got Skye's favorite juice, grape that doesn't make you purple. It's too bad she's being so very naughty because after she changes her clothes she might like to ride her bike." The mother had been keen to ignore the little girl who had been sitting on the hallway floor but knew she had stood up and quietly slipped into the kitchen.
Skye climbed up into her special seat and took a sip of the juice. She lined the ten fish crackers up across the napkin set for her then popped the last one into her mouth. Melinda turned from the sink and feigned a surprised look. "Skye! I did not see you there."
The little girl giggled. "You funny, mama. I heero." She crunched another cracker and took another sip of her juice. "I ride my bike?"
Melinda leaned across the table and rested her head on her hands. "We change your clothes first." She stole a cracker from the line Skye had created and crunched it in her teeth. Skye laughed again and pushed the napkin toward her mother.
"I done, mama. I have fishtails at schoowell." She rubbed her tummy and squinted at Melinda. "My belly gotz lotsa them." The little girl slid off the chair, hopped around the table and grabbed her mother's hand. "Mon, I needa change." She pulled Melinda toward the hall that lead to the stairs.
The large concrete patio just outside the kitchen was perfect. Melinda could prepare dinner for the family and watch Skye ride her bike at the same time. Phil and Trip had put up a small fence that separated the patio from the driveway and Skye was told repeatedly that she was not to go past it, either on foot or on bike. So far, she'd followed that order. It hadn't taken long to add toys to the patio either. Melinda watched as Skye sat at the small plastic picnic table pouring water from a toy teapot into little plastic cups. Pouring seemed to be the best part of the play because she also poured the water on the tabletop, the concrete and her bike.
Pouring water and peddling a bike is great fun but listening to the rhythm of a bouncing ball and the mumble of Trip talking to someone had peaked Skye's curiosity. She peddled her bike to the far end of the patio, dismounted and hung her helmet on the handlebars like she'd seen Fitz and Jemma do. She walked the length of the garage listening as the sound got louder, some of the words she heard she knew Daddy would not like and remembered when she used one with Sr. Daniel. She was going to tell Trip what happens when you use that bad word.
"Man," Trip laughed as he caught the rebound and turned to face his friend. "You gotta show me how you do that!" He tossed the ball to the other boy, who stood mid-court, bounced it twice and easily threw it through the basket with a gentle leap. Trip shook his head in wonder and hurried to snatch the ball again.
"Practice, homey, practice," the slender boy replied with a sneer. Trip stepped next to him and attempted to imitate his stance, adjusting and readjusting his pose before bouncing the ball and giving it a toss. It bounced off the backboard, hit the rim and fell to the ground. Trip shook his head as the other boy snorted out an expletive and called Trip a few names that could not be repeated in polite company.
"Hey, man," Trip scowled. "Not here, cool it with the language, dude. My m…Mrs. C takes it pretty serious, besides the little guy's heard enough of it and it's taken forever to break the habit."
"Damn straight," the taller boy laughed again. "Little Guy needs to have some power. She doesn't like it, too damn bad."
Trip shook his head. At least his new friend had toned it down a bit. All he needed was Fitz repeating some of this guy's vulgarity and there'd really be hell to pay. He might just have to live in the garage. "Yeah, well just watch it here, man." He passed the ball to the kid and excused himself saying he had to take care of some personal needs and would be right back. The kid nodded and flipped the ball over his shoulder. It sailed across the half-court and through the basket with practiced ease. Trip shook his head as he slipped around the far side of the garage.
Skye stepped around the corner of the garage as Trip disappeared around the opposite side. She stood at the edge of the macadam court watching the tall, skinny boy bounce the ball and throw it through the basket. She'd seen Trip do it many times. She liked the funny sound the ball made as it bounced, but she didn't recognize this boy. It wasn't Trip. Where was Trip?
The boy threw the ball over and over, getting it into the basket every time. Sometimes Trip missed, but Daddy told him to keep trying. The boy jumped high and slammed the ball into the hoop, then caught the rim of it and hung there for a moment before he let himself fall to his feet. He raised his fists over his head and pranced around in a circle making a funny raspy sound in his throat that made it sound like a lot of people were yelling. The brown bumpy ball rolled across the ground and stopped at Skye's feet. She watched it bump against her toe.
"Well, lookie, lookie what the cat dragged outta the trash…" a sarcastic voice sneered. Skye looked at the tips of the black sneakers that stepped close to the large ball. She swallowed and stepped back. "Where ya goin' ya little spit?" The voice demanded as a hand grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly. Skye gasped with the quick pain and looked up into the pale blue eyes of the young boy who held her arm.
He shook her a little and laughed, "I don't believe it!" He slapped his leg with his other hand, then used it to push his stringy black hair from his face. "Little China Bitch! I didn't think I'd ever see your ugly little face again." He pulled her onto the blacktop and looked in all directions. "Where'd you come from anyway?" He almost whispered.
Skye recognized the laugh, the voice, the eyes of the monster that held her. Tears streamed across her cheeks as her small bottom lip quivered. She wanted to scream, to call Mama…to call anyone to make him go away. He was bad. He would hurt her…again. He wouldn't let her go…not this time.
The boy grabbed her other arm and squeezed it just as tightly. He lifted her up to his eye level and mocked her, making the same terrified expression. He stuck out his bottom lip, "gonna cry again, little chink…awww, boo hoo…." He made his voice high and pretended to cry, making fun of the little girl at his mercy. Pulling her so close to him that he spat on her as he spoke, he shook her hard causing her small head to snap back and then come forward. He purposefully struck her with his own head causing the little girl to cry out. "You made a lot of trouble for me, you little bastard." He growled through his teeth and shook her again.
Skye made soft whiny noises and wiggled her feet as they dangled above the ground. She wanted to get away from this boy. Last time she bit his arm, bit him until he started to bleed. The parents said she was bad. They said she had to go away. They said she hurt him. They didn't know that he hurt her lots of times. They didn't know he was bad. They said she hurt the other boy, too, but it was him. He was a bad boy. She kicked harder.
The boy pushed his arms away from his body, holding her far enough away from him that she could not hit him. He laughed again, squeezed her arms so tight that she cried out loud and shook her twice before releasing her.
Skye fell to the ground scraping her palms and knees on the blacktop. She struggled to stand but he pushed her down with the toe of his foot.
He rolled up his sleeve and pushed his arm toward her. She pulled back and raised her arm to protect herself. "Got your disgusting teeth marks on my arm for good, ya little foreign bitch! Had to have a tetanus shot," he kicked the bottom of her sneaker as she scooted backward away from him. "I hate shots." He still held the arm out, pointing at the raised red mark just above his wrist. "Gonna need some plastic surgery here, bitch." He pushed her down as she tried to rise again. "Ya know what that means?" Skye just stared. "Do you?" He screamed at her. "Whadya deaf now, chink? Do you know what that means?" He kicked her leg. She pulled it close to her chest and covered the spot with her hand, shaking her head. He yelled as he bent down toward her. "And ya know what that means?" She shook her head quickly. "It_means_more_shots!" He stomped at her with each word. She pulled herself back with each, until she backed into the side of the garage.
The boy turned and picked up the ball. He bounced it slowly and smiled at her. He smiled a very scary smile. She drew a quick breath and let out a series of uncontrollable sobs. Skye was used to crying quietly, secret crying she thought of it. Crying so no one would hear, crying so no would know and send her away or find her or know that she didn't like what was happening. She tried to secret cry now, so maybe he would just go away, just leave her alone, but she couldn't. She was too scared and he was not going away. He was coming closer. He wanted to hurt her, wanted her to cry. He was bad.
"Maybe…no, not maybe…no, I think I owe you, chinky girl. You gave me a scar." He traced it with one finger while he held the basketball under his arm. "My teeth are a lot bigger than yours." He grinned, showing them. "I bet I could just snap off one of those scrawny little worthless fingers." He laughed as Skye quickly shoved her hands behind her back and pushed herself up against the garage.
Her eyes darted from side to side. She knew she couldn't run as fast as he could but she could get around the corner. She took a step in that direction and pulled back quickly as the basketball struck the wall a few inches in front of her. She retreated in the opposite direction only to be stopped again by the ball bouncing off the wall. Skye's little hands covered her face. She stopped and pressed herself against the side of the wall as the boy continued to bounce the ball off the garage, alternating either side of the child.
"You've got a beany little head, Mary Sue and this is a very hard ball. I bet it could smash your little slanty eyed skull like a rotten melon." He bounced the ball in front of him a few times. "Wanna find out?" He slammed the ball against the garage just above her head.
Skye slid back to the ground, letting out a scream that rivaled those she bellowed on any night. The boy threw his head back and laughed even louder as he continued bouncing the ball ever closer to her.
Trip charged around the side of the garage, eyes wide with his own terror. He had no idea Skye was home and had never heard her scream like that. The sight before him took only seconds to register. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He demanded, stopping dead.
The other boy caught the ball as it came back to him. He looked at Trip and smiled wide. "Look at the little commie. Just teaching the little bitch a lesson." He spiked the ball again.
Trip moved faster than even he thought was possible, knocking the ball off course and out of the other boy's reach. Before the taller boy could react, Trip was on him, knocking him to the ground and pummeling him. He'd never been as angry as he was right now, never knew he could hate anyone so much in a single second.
Melinda dropped the bowl she held when Skye's scream pierced the quiet of the late afternoon. Running to the patio, she looked once at the girl's small bike against the wall and ran to the gate that bordered the driveway. She looked in both directions intending to head for the street, but was stopped by a second claxon call from her youngest child. Melinda turned on her heels and ran for the basketball court behind the garage. She grabbed the siding of the building to steady herself as she made the corner. It took only a few seconds for her to take in the sight before her.
Skye was pulled into a tight ball against the backside of the building. Her hands covered her face but her screaming was not muffled by any means. Blood ran down the side of her leg that was visible and seemed to be either on her face or hand as well.
Trip was struggling on the ground with another young boy. They were fighting, throwing punches, the language was almost unintelligible. The taller boy rolled away and stood, throwing up his fists as Trip quickly pulled himself up to face him. The boy swiped the blood from under his nose and tossed his head back spurring Trip to come on. Trip threw up his own fists and swiped at the boy, who dodged away.
"TRIP!" Melinda commanded as she moved around the boys to get to Skye. "Trip! Stop it!"
Trip looked at Melinda once, relieved that she would take Skye away from this, then turned back to the other boy and landed a punch to his midsection. The other boy doubled over giving Trip the opportunity to land a second shot to his chin effectively knocking him to the ground. The boy held his stomach and groaned as he rolled to his back and let out a loud breath. Trip looked at him, then at Melinda and then back to the kid groaning on the ground. He relaxed his fists, dropping his arms to his sides.
Trip knew there would be hell to pay. He knew Phil would not be happy, no he would be pissed and he'd only seen him that angry once. This time Phil would be angry with him, but it was worth it. What the hell was wrong with this guy, attacking a little kid? Trip had brought Harris Radcliffe to their home. He had put Skye in danger. Whatever the punishment he deserved it and if he had to do it again he would not just sock that jerk's face he'd make sure his nose was broken. In fact, he hoped it was. His grandmother would be pretty angry, too, but he'd take it. He'd take it for that little girl who cowered against the garage. Trip didn't realize until that moment that he was crying. He rubbed his hand across his cheeks then pulled up the hem of his T-shirt and wiped the sweat and tears away. He turned to see Melinda on her knees quietly talking to Skye, gently rubbing her hand on the little girl's back.
He dreaded the dressing down he'd receive from Phil but never wished so much that the man would step around the corner and take charge. That wasn't to be, for now he was in charge. He took a deep breath and ran to Melinda who had pulled a distraught Skye into her arms, rocking gentling and whispering soft words of comfort.
