Page 29 of The Feud

Her face screws up as she considers the question and I can tell it’s with great reluctance she has to admit, “He’s been nice to me. All of the Blackburns have.”

I level another smile at her. “I think you understand what I’m aiming for, Sylvie. If you are in a stable home right now, there’s nothing I can do to get you out. If you are not being treated well by the Blackburns and you feel the Mardraggons treat you better, then I will do everything in my power at the end of those two months to help get you back there. I’ve got some advice for you if you want to hear it?”

There’s only a slight hesitation before she says, “Okay.”

“I’m going to suggest you give the Blackburns a chance. Sit back, evaluate and compare. And make your own determinations. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel about the Blackburns, especially because of a history that you don’t even know anything about. You’re old enough and smart enough to assess the situation for yourself. Give the Blackburns the time the judge ordered and if you are unhappy when that time is up, I’ll advocate for you to go back to the Mardraggons if that’s what you want.”

Sylvie huffs out a sigh of frustration. I know she wants instant gratification, but that’s just not going to happen. So I pull on what I’ve learned tonight. “Your mother made this choice for you. Not Lionel and Rosemund, and not Ethan. And I know you trusted and loved your mom like no other. So I’d suggest you call upon her memory and trust that she’d never send you somewhere that was bad for you. In fact, I think we have to consider that she felt this was the absolute best for you and that you need to trust in it.”

That knocks the wind out of Sylvie’s sails and she sags a little in her seat. But she also lifts her gaze to me and nods. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

CHAPTER 11

Ethan

It’s almost seven thirty p.m. when Marcie and Sylvie get back from their dinner. I made sure the family would be gone, settled into their own abodes before their return. I don’t want Sylvie feeling self-conscious about the serious discussion that will surely come on the heels of involving her school principal.

I have no clue what to expect but shore up my resolve that I’ll follow whatever direction Marcie DeLeon gives, because everything I’ve tried so far hasn’t worked.

I push up out of the recliner in the den, the only place on the first floor with what I consider livable furniture. It’s where my dad, brothers and I all congregate to watch football or my mom sometimes reads a book on the overstuffed sofa. It’s where the family gathers to watch movies, although it seems as if no one has had time to congregate in a long while.

When I make it to the front door, I see Marcie and Sylvie through the glass panes that flank the double oak entryway.

Sylvie’s face is cast downward, her expression in the shadows, but Marcie wears a light smile as I open the door.

Sylvie looks up and I’m surprised to see her expression is placid, not the normal disdain she usually bears.

I step back, inviting them inside. “Good dinner?”

“We ate at Biaggio’s.” Marcie steps just inside the threshold but doesn’t come in any farther. Sylvie walks past her but doesn’t head up the stairs. “Sylvie and I had a very good talk and she would like to speak to you as well.”

My eyebrows rise in surprise over the fact that my daughter proactively wants to have a conversation with me. The entire time she’s been living under our roof she has never once initiated such a thing.

I turn to Sylvie. “How about we talk in the kitchen over some lemonade?”

Sylvie nods, her eyes casting downward in an uncharacteristic display of shyness.

I toss my head in the direction of the hallway leading to the kitchen and suggest, “Why don’t you go pour us two glasses and I’ll be there in a minute? Miranda has some sugar cookies in the tin on the counter if you want some.”

Shockingly, Sylvie murmurs as she walks away, “Merci.”

It’s French but at least it’s a word I know and wasn’t said in such a way as to keep me in the dark. It comes as a genuine compliment.

When Sylvie is out of earshot, I turn toward Marcie. “What kind of magic did you just work?” I question incredulously.

Marcie smiles but her eyes pierce through me. Her tone is stern. “No magic. I just promised her that I would do everything I could to help her return to the Mardraggons if, at the end of the two months, she’s not happy.”

That, I don’t like. She’s supposed to be my ally, not Lionel and Rosemund’s. If Marcie knew what awful people they are, she never would’ve promised that. “I don’t know if that’s overly helpful.”

She chuckles, hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder. “No, I don’t suppose you would feel that way. It’s in direct opposition to your interests. But I am confident that Sylvie will make the right decision in the end. Assuming the judge does what he’s promised and takes her wishes into account.”

“And if she chooses wrong? Going back to the Mardraggons is not what’s best for her.”

Her eyes twinkle as she repeats. “I’m confident she will make the best decision for herself.”

I narrow my eyes on the principal, but I read something within her tone that relaxes me slightly. This woman wants the best for all of her students and, in particular, given the personal time she took tonight for Sylvie, she’s not going to do anything to hurt that little girl—that’s if she has a good understanding of what’s going on.

I can accept the ambiguity in her words. “She will not be loved over at the Mardraggons the way she will be here. I understand she might have some comfortability there, but they are not a warm family.” I wait for Marcie to affirm that she had figured that out for herself or to act affronted that I would cast such aspersions. She merely stares at me. “For fuck’s sake, they make her call them by their first names. What grandparents do that?”

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