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“Sounds like a job well done,” says a voice from the door.
“Hey, Frederick.”
He props his shoulder on the doorframe, tilting his head in the direction Reggie Young and his siblings just went.
“Case closed?”
“Yep. They just came in to say goodbye.”
He smirks. “Liar. They came by to thank you.”
“Eavesdropping can get you arrested around here.”
“Oh, please.” He cocks his head. “Have you thought about fostering?”
For the second time in ten minutes, I stand there, blinking like an idiot.
“Fostering what?” It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to work it out. “You mean children?”
“Yes, children. You’d almost certainly qualify. And there’s no shortage of kids who need a safe place to land.”
I couldn’t. “Kids aren’t really on the radar right now.”
He shrugs. “Shame.”
That makes me pause. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re good with them,” he says. “Empathetic. You didn’t coddle the Young siblings, and they’ve probably not talked to a single adult in the last six months who didn’t try to handle them with kid gloves.”
“Their parents died.”
He gives me a flat look. “I’m aware. But it’s a sign of respect, and they know it. You helped them handle business without treating them like children. You treated them like people.”
“How the hell else are you supposed to treat them?”
Frederick points at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. You didn’t even think about it.”
I can’t foster kids. I’ve only just gotten Finn and Natalie to talk about house shopping. Not to mention, how do you even talk about having kids with three parents? There’s no way.
Is there?
Frederick straightens up, the start of a smirk on his face. “I’ll let you get back to it. And Nic?”
“Yeah?” My mind is a million miles away.
“Good to have you back.”
The idea is ridiculous.
Never mind, I’m a generally stable, productive member of society; look at my family. My father’s a notorious cheater who takes advantage of his female employees and subordinates. My mother’s just accepted that fact in silence for years—although apparently times are changing. She seems to be sticking to her guns this time. Dad’s out on his ear and apparently isn’t taking the separation too well.
And then there’s Barry, whose gambling problem started back in college and only got worse from there. Turns out he gambled away everything he could get his hands on and more besides. He’d gotten a quarter million out of Dad alone by feeding him a story about some new investment strategy, which was a fancy way of saying back-room poker. That was how he found out I was bisexual. He’d gone through my old things at Mom’s house a couple years back, trying to find stuff to sell or pawn or maybe loose cash. Instead, he found notes from an old boyfriend. Notes that were… creative. And specific.
Barry had held on to that trump card until he thought for sure he’d get the most out of it. I didn’t pay him off, but our dad wasn’t the only one he got money from. Barry owed a lot of people a scary amount of money. Break-your-fingers-and-shoot-your-kneecaps kind of money.
Mom said Dad is still playing whack-a-mole with the loan sharks. She’s the one who got Barry into a rehab facility. He’s out of our hair for ninety days, minimum, but if she has her way, he might be there a couple extra months.
Natalie swears he never harmed her, didn’t touch her if he didn’t have to, but the minute that bastard gets out, we’re going to have a conversation. Dad got the kidnapping charges walked back to false imprisonment by somehow persuading the judge that even though Barry had a gun in his possession, he never intended to use it on Natalie, that he only carried it as self-protection against the guys who were coming after him for money. Who knows, it might even be true.
