Page 79 of Dream House
I give my daughter a gimlet-eyed stare. “No?”
She tilts her gaze down so that when she looks at me, I know her thick lenses distort my image. Classic avoidance behavior. “No,” she says again, but I know better than to buy this denial.
“What did you do in there?”
“We wanted—” Grayson starts.
“Nothing,” Maisy interrupts.
I press my lips into a firm line and pin my daughter with unblinking focus. “Try again, Maisy.”
She stares back, also unblinking. No four-year-old in human history has gone so long without blinking.
That’s it. She’s going to become a spy. My child is immune to interrogation tactics.
I shift my efforts to Grayson. He’s younger. He’ll sing like a canary.
“What’d y’all do up there, Grayson?”
He eyes Maisy and shrugs unconvincingly. “We just sha-wing.”
“Sharing?”
He nods. “Unca Lawk said to play nice. Dat means to shawe.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Share what?”
“Toys,” Maisy announces. The unspokenduhis implied.
“Tone, young lady.” I run my gaze over both children who are clearly not toting any toys. “What toys?”
Maisy folds her arms across her chest in a damn good imitation of me. “My princess crown and sector.”
“Scepter?” I ask.
“Sssepter,” she enunciated. Beside her Grayson slowly and silently mouths the word.
I’ve got to give it to the kid, he’s an adorable little nugget. I bite down on my laugh.
“You put your toys in Lark’s room?”
Both kids smile and nod. Okay, so this must be true. I smother my snickers. I should probably go up and grab them, but I can’t help but laugh at the thought of Lark going to bed later and finding himself in possession of a pink plastic crown and a bedazzled staff.
I wipe the smile off my face and give my daughter a stern look. “You need to stay out of other people’s rooms.”
She blinks up at me, all innocence, her bottom lip plumping into abourder. “Even your room?”
I sigh. I want her to feel welcome in my room. Now and always. When she has a bad dream. When she misses Nanna. Even when she’s sixteen and gets buzzed off a stolen six-pack of White Claw, I want her to know she can come to me.
“That’s different,” I say. “We’re family.”
Her pout vanishes. “Uncle T is family too!”
Grayson beams. “Unca Lawk is my fambly!”
“Can Grayson meet Uncle Tyler? I met his uncle.”
I’ve officially lost control of this conversation. And I need to get back to my soup before it boils over. “Go find Tyler,” I say, surrendering.
