Lynnette Kent - Single with Kids

The hesitation in Grace’s face was easy to read, and Valerie felt sure Ginny saw it. But after a long moment, the door opened all the way.

“Sure,” her daughter said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Come in.”

Valerie stepped to the side, giving Ginny room to pass. She could practically feel the temperature drop below freezing. “I’m going to help Connor unpack his room,” she told them. “He’s been waiting all week. So, you two…um…have fun.”

The two girls stared at her, their expressions a similar mix of impatience, resentment and uncertainty. Valerie turned her back and escaped to the simple world of the seven-year-old male. Maybe there she could establish a position of authority.

As she reached Connor’s door, a foam missile hit her in the face.

Then again, maybe not.

GRACE RETREATED to her bed, leaving the other girl the rest of the room. After a couple of minutes, the girl came in—you couldn’t call it walking, exactly, with the crutches. She stopped in the middle of the rug, looked around but didn’t say anything.

“What do you want to play?” Grace said at last, just to end the silence.

“I don’t care,” the girl said without looking at Grace.

“Do you like dolls?”

“Dolls are for babies.”

Grace glanced at her favorites, all lined up on the bed. She hoped they hadn’t heard. “Um…I have puzzles.”

“Boring.”

She didn’t see how they could play dress up. And she didn’t want to play dress up with the girl, anyway. “We could build with Lego’s. Or play Life.”

The girl sighed, went to the chair at the desk and sat down. Grace gasped when she remembered that she’d left her diary there, open. She started to jump up and grab it out from under the girl’s face.

But the girl didn’t seem to notice the diary. “So what happened last night? Did some guy really try to break down your door?”

“Yes.” She shivered when she thought about it.

“Did he make a lot of noise?”

“N-not at first. It got louder, the more he tried.”

“Were you awake the whole time?” The girl seemed really excited. She hadn’t said this much in the entire first week of school.

“I don’t think so. Mom came to get us and took us to her room, then called the police.”

“And you just sat and listened until they came?”

Grace nodded, then swallowed the lump in her throat at the memory.

“Scary, huh? What were you going to do if he got in before the cops came?”

“My mother—” She remembered just in time. Tell nobody. Absolutely no one. “I don’t know.”

But the girl didn’t believe her. “What were you going to say? Your mother…?”

“My mother locked the bedroom door. We were safe enough until the police came.”

The girl’s pale eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s what you meant. I think you were going to say something else.”

She gripped her bedspread with both hands. “No, I wasn’t. That’s all.”

Now the girl did turn to the desk, and she picked up the diary. “I could keep this and give it to your little brother.”

Grace jumped to her feet. “You can’t do that. It’s mine.”

“And if you try to take it away, I’ll tell your mother you were hitting me.” The girl gave a fake smile. “Nobody likes it when you beat up on a cripple.”

“Please, give it back.”

“Tell me what you started to say.”

“I—I can’t. I promised not to.”

“Okay.” She shrugged and then wiggled to her feet, with the diary caught in her hand next to the crutch. “I’ll go see your little brother.”

“Wait. Stop.” Grace took a deep breath. It wouldn’t hurt to tell what. She wouldn’t say where. “I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I—” She glanced at the door, as if her mother could hear.

“Well?”

“My mother has a gun.” Grace dragged in a deep breath. “We sat on the bed facing the door, and she loaded and cocked the gun. If the guy had come in, she was going to blow his head off.”

“Could she do that?”

“She took shooting lessons. I think she could.”

“Wow.” The girl set the diary on the desk. “That’s cool.”

Grace reached out and grabbed the little book, hugging it close to her chest and ran back to her bed.

“But she didn’t get to shoot him, did she?”

“No.” She finished stuffing the book under the mattress, then turned and sat down on top of it. “The police came.”

“Can I see it? The gun?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

This time, she had an answer ready. “My mom hides it. I don’t know where she keeps it.”

“We could look for it.”

“She’d figure out pretty fast what we were looking for. And then we’d get in trouble.” Major trouble, since Grace wasn’t supposed to have said anything in the first place.

“Too bad.” The girl sighed. “That would have been fun.” They both sat and did nothing for a few minutes. “Does your boom box work?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any decent music?”

“What do you think is decent?”

“Canned Tin?”

Grace couldn’t help releasing a smile of relief. “Have you heard their latest CD? It’s awesome.”

“I know. And my dad won’t get me the disk—he says it’s not good music.”

“Your dad’s crazy out of his mind.” She expected to be slapped for the words.

But the girl smiled again—a real smile, this time. “I know.”

DIXON AND ADAM got the doors hung around midafternoon, and shared a glass of iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies with Valerie and the kids before going back to their own families. Then Rob went to work on the locks.

After only a few minutes, he felt eyes boring into the back of his head. A glance to the rear showed Connor standing behind him. “Hey. Want to watch?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Rob turned back to his work, but the sensation of being observed didn’t go away. “Since the other door was about twenty years old,” he said conversationally, “the lock hole on a new door wouldn’t have been in the right place. So we got a door without a pre-drilled hole and I’m gonna make one that matches the old door.” He picked up his router and set the point on the door. “This’ll be loud.” The high-pitched roar of the tool took over for a few minutes.

With the hole drilled, Rob popped out the plug of wood. “That’s all there is to it.” He set the plug to his side and a little behind him, where a small hand promptly snatched it up. “Now I need another, smaller hole for the tongue to go through.”

Step by step, he talked his way through the dead-bolt installation, without ever seeing Connor face-to-face. “All that’s left is to tighten these screws.” He suited actions to words, then stepped back. “Now there’s a good strong bolt on this door, at least.” With the door shut, he locked both the dead bolt and the knob. “I bet nobody’s gonna get that door open without a key any time soon.” Gathering up his tools, he headed for the kitchen without a glance around.

But he paused in the dining room and grinned as he heard the distinct sound of a little boy rattling a doorknob.

By dinnertime, both the front and back doors of the Manion house boasted state-of-the art brass doorknobs, plus heavy-duty dead bolts.

“That’s a start.” Rob surveyed the finished back door from inside the kitchen. “No junkie’s gonna get through steel and brass before the cops get here.”

“Fantastic.” Valerie stood beside him, her dark, curly hair barely level with his shoulder. “I miss the windows in the door, though. I liked looking out onto the backyard while the kids played.”

“You still can—that’s why we’ve got the storm door, here.” He reached around her shoulder to open the inner panel. “When you’re home, you can leave the door open and look through the glass. Come nighttime, or when you’re away, this thick metal door will keep you safe.”