Page 13 of The Feud

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Rosemund replies dryly as she clasps her hands before her and turns to face me. “But that crook of a judge seems to think you belong here.”

“Let’s go,” Lionel demands, now at Sylvie’s side with her suitcase.

“I won’t,” his granddaughter says, completely unfazed by her grandfather’s commanding presence. Despite the fact she is being disobedient to an elder, I have to admire her fearlessness toward one of the most feared men in Shelby County. Lionel Mardraggon is an asshole to most everyone.

“You will, young lady.” Lionel grabs her wrist while Rosemund steps back, completely at ease with her husband taking the lead.

I, on the other hand, am infuriated as the large man starts to pull my daughter forward, even as she digs in her heels in an attempt to hold her ground. Without thought, I’m down the steps in a nanosecond, growling, “Get your hand off her.”

Lionel freezes, Sylvie blinks in wide-eyed surprise and Rosemund gasps. Todd is right there, a restraining hand on my forearm to bring me up short.

“Let’s everybody stay calm,” Todd says as if a major fight is about to break out.

I glance down to where Lionel’s large hand is wrapped around Sylvie’s wrist. “I said, get your hand off her.”

Lionel doesn’t so much as release Sylvie as she instead tugs away from her grandfather. She looks up at him though and ignores me and Todd. “You can’t make me stay here. I’ll just run away.”

Thankfully, Todd has forged some sort of respectable relationship with Sylvie over the last few months because he moves to stand in front of her. Pulling his dress pants up a bit at the thigh, he squats to get eye level with her. “Sylvie… I know how hard this is for you. And I know that you have absolutely no control, which has to make everything a hundred times worse. It’s true, you could run away because you’re smart and crafty and every bit of your mother. But I want you to remember two things. This is what your mother wanted for you and she loved you more than anybody in the entire world. But more importantly, and you need to take this to heart, if you do run away, you’re going to be caught. And when that happens, there’s nowhere to go except one place that is more horrible than the option before you.”

Sylvie lifts her stubborn little chin. “And where is that?”

“Foster care. I don’t know if you know what that means since you were raised in France, but here in the United States, wayward children who can’t be controlled and don’t follow judges’ orders go into the foster care system. That means you would be placed with people you don’t know.”

Sylvie shoots me a glare. “I don’t know him.”

Todd actually smiles, amused by her proclamation. “That is true. But I do. And I can tell you your life is going to be infinitely better here than with some random strangers who may not care about you at all. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve heard horror stories about the foster system. Trust me when I say it is not your best choice.”

I’m equal parts impressed and appalled by Todd’s words because they are designed to scare her. They clearly have an impact because Sylvie’s expression reveals she is mulling over his words.

Todd takes her hand and pats it. “Remember… the judge said he would reevaluate things in two months. He said he would take your wishes into consideration and if you want this judge to take you seriously, you have got to give this a shot. You have got to show him you tried. You have to give your father a chance.”

“He’s not my father.”

It shouldn’t hurt me to hear her say that, but it twinges. Yet I understand her for some weird reason and I hold no animosity for her denial.

“He is your father by law.” And then Todd says no more. He leaves that hanging there along with all his other advice he’d just imparted to this little girl and leaves it up to her to make her choice.

Sylvie withdraws her hand from the attorney’s grasp and to my shock, moves to me. Right past me without a glance and never looking backward to say goodbye to her grandparents, although she does call out, “Don’t do anything to my room. I’ll be back in a few months.”

And with that, Sylvie marches up the steps and through the open door into the house.

My head swivels back to where Sylvie just disappeared to Todd and back to the house again. Todd stands, garnering my attention again, and we both watch as, without a word, Lionel and Rosemund get back in their vehicle and pull away.

Todd turns to me. “Would you like me to talk to her some more?”

I rub a hand over my stubbled jaw in consternation. I hadn’t bothered to shave this morning because I didn’t have a judge to impress, but I’m wondering if I should’ve made more of an effort where my daughter is concerned. As of now, she doesn’t think much of me at all.

“No. I think I need to handle this on my own.”

We shake hands and after Todd leaves, I bend down to pick up Sylvie’s suitcase. I turn toward my house with a sigh.

As the eldest Blackburn child, I’ve faced many adversities over my lifetime. For years, I’ve been working upward of eighty hours a week. I brush off stress and pressure like it’s annoying lint on my shoulder. And at this moment, I’m not sure I’ve faced anything more daunting.

But I’m a Blackburn, so I draw my shoulders back and march up the porch steps into the house and to my daughter.

I find Sylvie standing in the foyer, her head tilted and looking up the staircase. She doesn’t move or flinch when I shut the door. Setting the suitcase down, I move around her so I’m in her line of vision. She refuses to return my gaze, instead turning toward the formal sitting room, looking through the open pocket doors. “Why is everything so old?”

While I’ll always think her French accent is beautiful, I also recognize the fight within her tone. The need for her to denigrate because she doesn’t want to accept any of this.

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