Then he holds Blue Rex toward me like I’m being sworn in. “Then you have to follow court rules.”
“I accept nothing without legal counsel.”
“You have to be nice to Mama.”
“That one I accept.”
“You have to not go to jail.”
Amelia looks away fast.
My chest tightens.
I deserve that.
I nod slowly. “Working on that.”
“You have to come back when you say later.”
That one hits harder.
“I will try very hard.”
August narrows his eyes. “That is not yes.”
“No,” I say. “It’s better than a yes I can’t control.”
He studies me.
Then nods like that passes.
Kids understand truth better than most adults. They just hate it too.
Janie arrives fifteen minutes later to watch August, armed with snacks, cartoons, and enough gossip in her eyes to make me want to fake a medical condition to escape. She hugs Amelia, whispers something in her ear that makes Amelia blush, then tells me if I bring her back upset, she will pour sugar in Widowmaker’s gas tank.
“You wouldn’t,” I say.
Janie smiles. “No. But I know who would.”
August waves from the couch. “Bye, Derby. Bye, Mama. Don’t forget dessert.”
Amelia kisses his head. “Be good.”
“I’m always good.”
Janie coughs.
He adds, “Mostly.”
I hold the door for Amelia because I’m apparently civilized now, and we step onto the porch together.
Widowmaker waits in the drive.
Black.
Mean.
Polished because I got up before dawn and cleaned her like a nervous idiot.