Page 62 of Dream House
Her screams reach a pitch I’ve never heard, but I know instinctively she’s just scared—terrified, maybe—but unharmed.
“I’ve got you,” I say, snuggling her into me. Then I home in on the laughing, fleeing boys and wish I had slingshot or boomerang skills. “THAT WAS UNCOOL, YOU—”
FUCKERS?
DOUCHEBAGS?
ASSHOLES?
“MISCREANTS!”
You know you’re an adult when you have to clean up your put-downs so you don’t tarnish your four-year-old’s vocabulary.
But thefucker-douchebag-asshole-miscreantsjust laugh harder at my scolding.
I sigh and rub Maisy’s hot little back.
“You’re okay.”
She pulls back, the lenses of her glasses fogged with tears and outrage. “Th-Th-They was mean, Mama.”
I nod. “What they did was mean, Maiz. They shouldn’t have done that.”
She nods, mirroring me and swipes her nose with her arm. “Th-They scared all the lil’ ducks.”
“They scared you and me too,” I say, inviting her to acknowledge her feelings.
Maisy looks over her shoulder at the pond. Most of the ducks have reconvened on the opposite bank, their ruffled feathers already unruffling.
But I see it the moment she does.
Maisy’s bag of bread is floating on the pond's surface a good six feet out of reach.
Shit.
“MAMA, NO!” Her howl echoes across the water, startling a few of the closer ducks. And the tears start all over again.
As she sags on me in distress, I check my watch. Maisy really just needs a nap, but Tyler’s appointment won’t wrap up for another half hour.
I let her rage at the universe for a while, feeling a healthy dose of empathy, but by the time she lets me carry her to the car, her head is heavy on my shoulder, and we’re both sweating.
We wind up waiting in the parking lot of the clinic with the engine running and the AC stirring my frizzed hair. At the top of the hour, I call the OT office to send Tyler out. I usually go in and follow up with the therapist, but I’m not waking Maisy again.
Tod walks Tyler out, and as soon as I clap eyes on my brother, I know the session wasn’t great.
He makes his way into the front seat as I roll down the window to check in with Tod.
“Hey Stella.” He smiles at me with practiced charm. Tod has a butt chin, but that’s not why Tyler doesn’t like him.
“Hey.”
His eyes cut to Tyler, and his smile atrophies into a lip curl. “Today was tough,” he says.
I nod. “Looks like it.”
“Taylor was super frustrated when we worked on small motor.”
My brows leap. “You mean Tyler.”
