Page 23 of Bone Dust

“SHH!”

I freeze as Gigi jumps up and clamps a hand over my mouth.

“E-ban you has to be quiet,” Gigi scolds in a whisper-shout. “It’s time for Bandit to go to seep.”

Muffled laughs drift past my ears, proof of Sam and Savannah’s amusement. I’m at the mercy of Gigi’s piercing lapis-colored eyes. They’re filled with a mix of admonishment and affection as she pulls her hand away from my mouth. A peaceful hush settles in the room, enveloping us as we watch Bandit’s chest rise and fall. The dog drifts off to sleep with an occasional snore.

As quickly as Gigi stood, she returns to sitting, this time scooting closer to me. She rests her small, delicate hand atop mine, the warmth of her palm seeping through my skin and into my veins. Leaning her head back against the wall, she lowers her eyelids in a peaceful way. Memories of my own insecure childhood flood my mind as I gaze down at our intertwined fingers. Her simple, sweet gesture causes an unexpected swell in my chest. I’m not sure exactly what I’m feeling in this moment. Her trust is both surprising and overwhelming. She knows nothing of me or my past but appears to accept me without judgment and I feel something unfamiliar squeeze my heart. I don’t know if I should fight it or embrace it.

The answer eludes me, and I take this moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of holding a child’s hand.

CHAPTER TEN

Savannah

“G

igi, please don’t fiddle with your food,” I plead with a soft sigh, trying to maintain a calm tone.

“I don’t want a ‘poon, Momma. I want a folk like you.”

Gigi pouts and pushes her plate away refusing to use the spoon I’ve given her. Her cheeks are rosy with defiance, but her eyes hold a touch of mischief. Her relentless energy and current antics aren’t making it any better. Despite my frustration, a smile tugs at my lips as I listen with smothered amusement to the way my daughter mispronounces “fork” as “folk.”

“Why can’t I hab a folk, Momma? I wanna folk!”

Gigi’s independent streak is on full display today. She pokes her fingers in the spaghetti as I bite back a “because I said so” response. Lately, I feel she wants me to provide a dissertation to reason everything I tell her to do. The use of a utensil shouldn’t be a battle. I’d give in but the idea of cleaning tomato stains off her new outfit chafes me. I exhale an exasperated sigh.

In moments like these, I desperately crave a glass of wine.

“Spaghetti’s messy, baby. Just use the spoon.” I guide the tip of the utensil down into the bottom of the bowl and slide my fingers to pinch the middle of the metal handle so I can give her a full spoonful. In a surprise move, before she can take it from me, she smacks it out of my hand. The sauce goes flying but my reflexes are quick. I duck. The spoon hits the table, and the bright red sauce goes flying, landing all over the front of Ian. My jaw drops.

“Gigi!” I scold as my temper flares. “That is not nice!”

Sam’s eyes widen at the outburst.

I turn to Ian. “I’m so sorry. Let me get something to clean up your shirt.”

I make a mad dash to the sink for something to help with the mess, wetting a few paper towels and adding some drops of soap. I rush back to the table and hand them to Ian with some quick instructions, so the stain doesn’t set.

“Dab the spots and let it sit for a few minutes.” I turn to Gigi with a hard look. She’s looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “Tell Ian you’re sorry.”

“Sowwy, E-ban.” The slight tremble in her bottom lip warns me tears are about to fall. She senses the weight of what she’s done.

“It’s okay,” Ian reassures. “It’ll wash out.”

I meet his dismissal with a stern expression. “She knows better,” I say firmly, turning to my daughter with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you, Gigi?”

As if on cue a loud wail escapes her lips, starting out low and building to a full-blown bawl. Gigi’s hands fly to her face. She’s embarrassed, but as I look closer, I can see there’s more going on; sauce has gotten into her eyes and is causing them to burn. I send a pleading look across the table. “Sam?”

“I’m on it.” He sees what I see and rushes to the sink, quickly returning with a wet cloth. “Here you go.”

I reach behind me and blindly take it while simultaneously capturing both of her wrists.

“Don’t touch your face,” I remind her gently as I wipe the goop from her eyes and cheeks. Sam hands me a second cloth, and I repeat the process until her face is clean again. When I release her hands, I ask, "Does it still burn?" Gigi shakes her head, her bottom lip puckered in a pout.

I look over at Ian. “I apologize.”

“I’m good. I mean, she’s only three,” he shrugs off any concern. “You do what you need to do for your daughter. I’m fine.”

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