Lost in the Moment and Found (Wayward Children #8)(6)

Her mother nodded and let her go, and she didn’t realize that by telling Antsy to keep a secret from two of the people she trusted most in the world, she had just broken something small, and fragile, and irreparable. When Antsy made the lists of things she’d lost, to justify being Lost herself, she didn’t include her belief that adults could be trusted. That thing, out of everything, had been so small and fundamental that she couldn’t even see that it was gone.

But ah, narrative can be confusing at times. It carries forward, regardless of the reader, action creating consequence, consequence creating story, and you may have forgotten that two things happened this weekend. You can’t be blamed if you did. Some things are better to forget.

That night, after dinner had been eaten and the dishes washed and put away, snug in their clean, closed cupboards, Antsy went to her room to sit on the floor and play Barbies, as she so often did in the evenings. But unlike most nights, she had been in there for less than an hour before there was a knock at her bedroom door. She looked up, curious, and called, “Come in, Mom!”

But when the door opened, it wasn’t her mother on the other side. Instead, Tyler slipped into her room, which had previously been a sort of sacred space for her, the one place in the house not yet impacted by his implacable presence. Antsy recoiled before she could stop herself, every muscle in her body tensing and remaining tense as he closed the door behind himself and walked over to the bed, settling on the edge of the mattress.

“Your mother told me she told you that we’re expecting a baby,” he said, without attempt at preamble. “I know this all has to be a lot, and very quickly, for you. I’m sorry about that. Change is always hard. At least all the change is happening at once? I handle things better when they don’t draw themselves out.”

“I don’t,” said Antsy. She was starting to feel that change was like cookies. One a night would be wonderful, but if you ate too many at one time, you’d wind up making yourself sick and not getting any cookies for a week.

She felt a little sick. Having Tyler in her room, sitting on her bed, didn’t help. She quietly decided that she’d be sleeping in the upper bunk tonight, and every night until it was time to change her sheets again. She didn’t want to sleep where he’d been sitting.

Slow horror grew in her belly when he patted the mattress beside himself. “Come over here,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

Antsy didn’t move. Tyler frowned, just a little, and patted the mattress again.

“I don’t bite, Antoinette,” he said. “Come over here.”

Antsy didn’t like him. She didn’t like the way he touched her mother or the way he looked at Antsy herself, or the way he insisted on using her full name all the time, like everything he said was too important to be anchored to a nickname. But she knew she was supposed to get along with people and be fair to them, even when she didn’t like them, and since it wasn’t Tyler’s fault that her daddy was gone, it didn’t seem fair to keep on punishing him being there and loving her mother when her daddy couldn’t. She was supposed to be a good girl. She was supposed to be nice, and kind, and all the other things little girls are told to be.

And her daddy was never coming back, not ever, and her mother hadn’t been as sad since Tyler came to live with them. He wasn’t helping Antsy the same way, but he wasn’t hurting her, either. It would hurt her mother if she didn’t at least try to get along with him, since he was a part of their family now and was always going to be.

Antsy pushed herself off the floor and approached the bed with the cautious hesitancy of a wounded animal, finally settling next to Tyler on the mattress. He put his hand on her leg, keeping her from pulling away.

“This baby is going to be your little brother or sister,” he said gravely. “It’s a very big responsibility to be a big sister, and I know you’re going to do a wonderful job.”

“How is it a responsibility?” asked Antsy warily. She knew girls her own age who had little brothers and sisters at home, who were expected to spend all their time taking care of babies when they weren’t in school, feeding them and changing their diapers and making sure they didn’t hurt themselves on a world that seemed designed entirely of things meant for hurting babies. She liked playing with her dolls. She found the idea of playing with a living doll that screamed and peed and spit up and couldn’t be left face-down in the yard when she got tired of it a lot less appealing.

“You’re going to have to be the one who teaches them what’s right and wrong, and how to take care of their toys and what ice cream is.”

“Oh.” Antsy liked that better than she liked the idea of diapers and bottles. “I guess I can do that.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re on board with this.” He squeezed her leg before finally taking his hand away. Antsy was almost ashamed of how relieved she was. “Your mother’s very excited about this baby, and so am I. It would be wonderful if you could find it in you to be excited with us.”

“I’ll try,” said Antsy honestly. “It’s still very new. I didn’t know there would be a baby.”

“Neither did your mother,” said Tyler, and put his hand back on her leg, squeezing it again before standing, a smile on his mustachioed face.

The place where his hand had been felt hot, like she’d been pressing a heated towel against it. Antsy stayed where she was and watched as Tyler made his way to the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob to smile indulgently back at her.