"Well?" Alan prods his wife when she puts her phone away with a sigh.
"He says he'll be here in an hour at most. He's going to talk with his shift manager and drive here first thing."
Well, that's a weight off his shoulders. To say he grew concerned when Zoe and Emma came back so soon after heading out, and with another kid in tow, would be a severe understatement. It took him a second or two to realise just who the albino is, clued in not only by the girl's milk-white skin and long braid of the same color, but also the wildly animated way about her and Emma as they talked. That and the creeps. Zoe mentioned those, although Alan himself would describe locking eyes with her reddish own as more reminiscent of the brief moment of panic at not feeling his phone inside his pocket.
Not completely dissimilar to being told she made it half the way across the city on her lonesome to play with Emma, really.
"I'm just glad he picked up," his wife continues. "I'm getting second-hand anxiety just imagining him not finding Taylor home."
Alan hums non committedly. Zoe's caring nature is a part of why he loves her, but sometimes he wishes she would think things through a little more. He's well aware it's his lawyer side speaking, but what if Taylor's father accused them of kidnapping his daughter? He could. It wouldn't stick, but he could and it would be a pain in the ass to say the least.
That is not to say he's advocating for just leaving the girl there without supervision. The best thing to do would've been simply staying on the playground until Mr. Hebert came to pick his wayward daughter up. The problem would've been resolved, and the girls could have played there as they had wanted to.
It doesn't appear as if such fears are warranted in this instance, not with the thanks so profuse Alan has heard Taylor's father a meter away from the phone. However, he's dealt with too many obstinate, and, frankly, unhinged people to assume the best of strangers. Better safe than sorry. Especially since there was no need to bring the girl to their house.
Well. Nothing for it now. At least Emma is busy, and entirely without his or Zoe's involvement. After a week of dealing with her constant fussing, Alan will count his blessings wherever he may find them.
The both of them make their way back to the porch in the backyard - from where they can see the girls playing in the sandpit Alan had built for Emma's last birthday. Not a very good present in hindsight, what with how quickly she grew bored with it and how rarely it's now put to use - mostly, like now, when she has friends over.
In the two minutes they've left the girls to play on their lonesome, the two have heaped up all the sand onto their mound with a shovel they'd commandeered prior, unveiling the foil stapled to the wood as floor of the pit. They have since also procured the garden hose, which Emma is now watering their creation with while Taylor, shoes off, has busied herself bailing the excess water with Emma's plastic bucket. They're watering the sand to stick, at a guess. Been a while since it's rained.
He exchanges a look with Zoe, deigning not to interrupt them when his wife gives him a small shrug. After all, he's not the one doing the laundry. If she's fine with it, then so is he. Plus, he hasn't seen Emma look this… carefree - now that he sees it - for longer than minutes at a time this whole week. That is well worth some dirt stains, isn't it?
"Well," he starts. "If you've got this covered, I suppose I'll be getting back to the clean-up detail."
"You still haven't finished?" Zoe frowns. As if getting the paint stains off plywood is such an easy task.
"It's going. Actually, do you know if we have any bleach?"
""Bleach?"
"Or something like it? I can't scrub the stain out."
"...maybe you just stay with the kids and I'll take care of that?"
Alan rolls his eyes, having them land on said kids, who have finished their watering and now began shaping their heap. "Oh come on, I can handle a little st- Taylor!"
Mind empty sans the sense of urgency, he rushes over to the girls, the both of them frozen in place and staring at him in alarm; Emma mid-step into the pit, Taylor leaning over their building project, and in her hands - a knife. From their kitchen, specifically, he recognises as he closes the distance.
"Give me that! Where did you get that?" he demands, not waiting for the girl to comply and simply taking the thing out of her hand.
The albino draws in on herself, looking to Emma, then down.
"W-we took it from the kitchen." Emma interjects on her friend's behalf.
"Why? What for? You know you can't play with knives, they're not toys!"
"It wasn't for playing." Emma pouts, crossing her hands.
"It's for the tower," Taylor finally, carefully, speaks up. "To shape the sand."
"You don't use a knife for that! You use a-" he stops himself for a deep breath, and to remind himself he's dealing with children. Children who should know better, yes, Emma especially, but still only children. A familiar touch to his arm grounds him further, until he can continue more calmly. "You use a spade for things like that."
"A-" Taylor's golden eyes snap to his own, seeming to lose focus for a split second, before settling on the ground again. "Oh. Okay. I'm sorry Mr. Barnes."
Alan isn't mad. Not really. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the girl holding the blade, and fueled up with adrenaline he raised his voice at her, but it wasn't in anger, no. Though if it were, he doubts it would've lasted at the sight.
"It's fine." Zoe takes over as he rubs his ringing ear with a thumb, his tinnitus acting up in accord with his blood pressure. "Just promise us you won't be playing with anything dangerous. Ask if you're not sure? I trusted Emma would've known, but apparently I was wrong," she adds, sending their daughter a stern look, who at least has the good grace to look ashamed at the admonishment. Good. Maybe she'll remember this moment the next time she's about to do something she knows she's not supposed to.
"I promise Miss Barnes."
"Can we play now?" Emma butts in, having clearly already gotten over her momentary bout of guilt and now back to glaring at her parents.
"That goes for you too, Emma." Alan points out to her. "Promise you won't be playing with anything dangerous."
"I promise. So can we play now?"
To be honest, he's of half mind to say no because of the tone she just took, giving him a distinct feeling she's not taken their words to heart the same way Taylor seems to have. However, they can always come back to this lesson, and it would be unfair to their guest if they punish her by proxy.
He looks Zoe's way, a silent conversation passing between them contained within his shrug and her grimace-like smile.
"Stay with them?" the woman asks, gently taking the knife out of his hand. "I'll go clean up that stain before it sinks in for good."
As ever, Alan can't say if she knows what she's doing, taking the choice out of his hand along with the blade. If he didn't learn for sure that is not the case over the years, he'd have thought himself married to a devious mastermind. It's not like he's going to rip the offending tool back out of her hand now, and one of them has to carry it back.
As is, all he can do is nod, and turn back to the two kids still waiting for their answer.
"Alright. What are you two troublemakers building anyway?"