The Forgotten Child by Lorhainne Eckhart (best e ink reader for manga txt) đź“•
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He laughed with such genuine warmth, for an instant Emily wondered if he was the same difficult man she’d met yesterday. Trevor bounced on Brad’s shoulders reciting a “Blib, blib...” until Brad put him down. He wandered to the wide rock path that led up to the front steps.
“Is this Trevor?”
“Yes, that’s my boy.” Brad shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched over his son.
“Hi Trevor, I’m Emily…” The little boy never turned toward her, he had no interest in her or Katy.
“How old is Trevor?” The hardness was back in Brad’s face. He didn’t look at her.
“Three.” He cleared his throat roughly.
Trevor stopped in the middle of the rock path and dropped to his knees. He started digging with his tiny little fingers around a rock. “No, Trevor.” Brad lunged and swooped Trevor up.
“No, no, no.” Trevor screamed over and over, flailing at Brad. His tiny-fisted hands smacked Brad on the nose.
“Stop it, Trevor. Emily’s here, remember I told you she’s going to look after you.” But he didn’t stop his screeching. In fact, he changed the words to a, “whee, whee, whee” thing as Brad held his hand. “He must be tired, all this newness, with you here is throwing him off.” Brad shouted over his stiffened shoulder.
His anxiety was back, but of course, what an awkward moment. Was the kid always like this?
“Come inside Emily, I’ll get Trevor some crackers, and then you can get started.”
Katy remained quiet and still in Emily’s arms, as they both watched Trevor at a safe distance. Emily shifted Katy in her arms, and followed a tense and ill at ease Brad into the house.
What a difference the house was today. The neat and tidy living room with upscale leather furniture and hardwood flooring that would showcase in any home and garden magazine was a complete mess today. Emily stepped over plastic toys, puzzle boxes and pieces scattered from one end of the room to the far wall by the kitchen. There were wool blankets and two afghans hanging over the sofa and scattered on the floor—a rough night or morning, or something. The kitchen wasn’t much better. Brad yanked open the lovely white cupboard door, the one with the tempered glass center, and grabbed a box of cheese crackers with a cartoon character on the bright red box. Katy tightened her hold around Emily’s neck, as the kid screeched louder.
But Emily couldn’t get past the dirty dishes, cereal boxes, and discarded food packaging filling the sink and covering every bit of counter space. And the odor, what was that smell?
She turned in a circle and had to lift her foot off the sticky floor. Even though it appeared this kitchen had been recently remodeled with upscale appliances, cupboards and maybe a really nice teal green slate countertop, she wouldn’t swear to it, considering the state it was in.
His eyes were on her, watching her, as a frown deepened those tired lines around his eyes. She sensed him pulling back, the way men do when they think you’re judging them, which she wasn’t, or maybe he half expected her to turn and run out the door. “Well, I better get started; if anyone’s planning on having lunch, it’s going to take me a good hour or two, with the kids to look after, to clean this mess up.”
Brad flushed. “Look, I’m sorry about this...” He gestured with a hand that held the boxed crackers. “If this is too much for you to do and look after both kids…” He didn’t finish the sentence as gravel spewed from the sound of a heavy truck pulling in followed by a short blast of a horn. Emily faced the narrow hallway that led out of the kitchen, and to a back door. What sounded like a large man stomped up, what she presumed were, the back steps, the hinges squealed on the screen door right before the inside door, with the curtained tiny glass window, was pushed opened. “Hey Brad, Dudley’s here with the feed for the cattle, we need you out here.” The big man hovering in the doorway, who must have been six feet tall, was wearing a plaid wool shirt with an orange baseball cap. It looked like it had been several days since he’d last shaved.
Emily turned to look at Brad who closed his eyes and shook his head. “Shit. Sorry, Emily—you’re on your own. I’ve got to take care of this.” He held Trevor out to her as he shoved a handful of crackers in his mouth. Emily put Katy down beside her and Katy, being unsure, promptly gripped her mother’s black jeans just below the knee.
“Okay, I’m not really...” Brad paid no attention at all, as he hurriedly passed Trevor to her, along with the cracker box. He didn’t spare her a passing glance.
“See you at lunch.” And then he was gone out the back, past the whitewashed, dated paneling that filled the narrow hall, pulling the back door closed behind him. Emily couldn’t believe it. She stood there holding a quiet child who had no interest in her. He should have been big eyed, maybe even scared of the stranger holding him. The only interest he had was the box of crackers.
“Mama.” Katy tugged on her jeans then shoved her thumb in her mouth and reached her arms up. “Oh, Katy bug, I can’t hold you both.” Emily squatted down and sat Trevor on the floor. When she tried to stand with the cracker box, Trevor screeched, “na, na, na.” Holy crap, was he loud.
“Here you go, no need to act like that. Use your words.” Emily handed him the box of crackers. Again, he wouldn’t look at her. For a minute, she worried he’d choke, he was cramming them in his mouth so fast. Katy tapped her leg and pointed to the box. Of course, she wanted some. “Katy, how about a banana instead?” She dropped her bag on the sticky cluttered table, and pulled out a banana leaving Katy’s box of organic rice crackers out of sight. She slid a wooden chair out and sat Katy down. “I should have brought your booster seat. I knew I forgot something.” Emily slipped her coat off and rolled up her sleeves, scanning the rectangular, neglected, kitchen filled with unfinished food, a sink overflowing with cups, and dishes with slimy, dirty dishwater. The large white propane stove was grease covered and littered with dirty pots. She shot a harried glance at the back door, where Brad had escaped. So he’s not infallible; that thought put them on even ground.
She’d made good time. As she glanced at the clock she saw it had only taken two hours to scrub every pot, load the dishwasher, and run it twice; but that was after she’d soaked and scraped off the dried food. Did he have to dirty every dish in the house?
Trevor was a different story; she’d never seen a child so happy to play alone. Katy tried twice to share her dolly and even picked up one of his toy cars and played beside him on the carpet. He’d ignored her, until she’d picked up the green car he lined up in a straight line across the coffee table. He screamed a high pitched, shrill cry as if he’d been hurt; Katy, of course, started crying and dropped the car. Trevor, without looking at her, grabbed the car and put it back in its specific spot, in line. Except now, he was making a “whop, whop” sound. Emily hugged Katy and took her into the kitchen, then set her up with her Dolly away from Trevor. Emily asked Trevor what was wrong and asked him not to scream but to use his words. He ignored her. She’d need to talk to Brad; it seemed odd for a child to act this way. Maybe he had abandonment issues. She pondered that while she cleaned and searched the sparse pantry for something edible to feed everyone for lunch.
Emily was stirring the soup on the stove when someone knocked on the front door. She turned off the propane, and hurried to the door, glancing at Trevor and Katy watching Dora on the big screen TV; actually, Katy sat on the sofa and watched, Trevor was bouncing on both feet two inches from the TV screen.
Emily opened the door to a short guy wearing a brown hat. “Delivery for Brad Friessen.”
“He’s out back, do you need a signature?”
“Yes, ma’am, but you can sign for him if you swear he lives here and you’ll give it to him.” The guy chomped on a piece of gum and grinned. Guess that was his sense of humor.
Emily signed for the package and closed the door. A loud crash and what sounded like glass shattering echoed from the kitchen.
“Oh, shit!” Emily dropped the box and hustled across the worn wooden floor. Katy stood in the archway wide-eyed.
“Mama, Trevor bad.” Katy pointed to the tiny little dark-haired boy, wearing blue cotton pants and a striped T-shirt, barefoot, sitting in an orange, sticky puddle beside an open fridge door. The lower plastic side bar stuck out like a partially detached thumb and dangled
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