Page 2 of The Foul Out

“Henry,” he corrected with a glower. “And don’t tower over me like the Redwoods.”

“Henry.” I kneeled next to his chair and rested my palm over the back of his veiny hand. I lightly tapped the square device that sat on a rubber bracelet. “This is for emergencies.”

“Missing Kevin and Tommy fixing up the Glen Ridge Placeisan emergency.” He harrumphed.

I squeezed his hand and turned back to my com. “Can someone send tech support to 2203, please?” As I focused on him again, I tapped the gray rubber. “This is for actual emergencies. Use your phone to call for TV help. It’s set to speed dial.”

“Not interested in pushing damn buttons on the phone. I can’t remember who is eight and who is four. You know how many times I’ve asked the kitchen why the six-o’clock news isn’t working on my TV? What is this world coming to?” he muttered. “And no one my age can make out that tiny-ass writing on the number pad.”

I sighed.

“At least I’m not like Charlie. He called for help with his pants.” He burst into laughter, which quickly turned into a choking cough.

I gave him a quick pat on the back.

I hadn’t found Charlie’s “emergency” funny. Not when I arrived, heart pounding, to discover that the problem was his shirt had been caught in his zipper.

“There’s no bigger emergency than lunch not sitting right and your damn zipper not opening.” Henry was still half laughing, half coughing as he shook his head.

“That was unfortunate.” Scissors had saved the day. Otherwise, we would have had a big mess on our hands.

“That was a shitstorm.” He clapped.

I frowned and fought a shudder. “Not literally, thank God.”

A tap sounded on the open door. “Tech support, Mr. Roper?” Lexi peeked into the room.

“Henry,” he answered, the smile sliding off his face. “This damn picture box is playing the wrong show again.”

“I hate when those damn picture boxes do that.” The twenty-two-year-old practically skipped into the room and took the remote out of the old man’s hand.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you sass me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Her expression was the exact opposite of his, all sunshine and rainbows. Clearly, it was an effective way to mess with the guy.

I left them to it and headed back to the office to turn over control of the five hundred–resident building to the night manager, Jacki, who had come in more than an hour early to cover for me today.

“Have fun at the game,” she said, taking the radio from me. “I’m sure Piper is excited. So don’t be late. I’ve got this.” Jacki was a mom of two herself, and although she didn’t fully relate to my struggle with Piper, she was supportive and a great listener.

“Thanks,” I rushed out. My stomach burned. Even with the shift change, I was behind schedule. I grabbed two Tums from the roll in my pocket, hoping to settle the scorch of stress, and headed out.

Fate wasn’t on my side today. A car accident and the subsequent rubberneckers slowed me down. Thirty minutes later—twenty minutes late—I parked at the daycare center.I popped two more Tums and swallowed down the dread threatening to overtake me. The unknown always did this to me, and I never knew what kind of day my child may have had.

The car door wasn’t even closed behind me before Doreen, the facility director, was pushing through the front entrance.

My stomach sank. That was a bad sign, if experience had taught me anything.

Sam, my three-year-old, spent almost nine hours here each weekday though he was never the issue. It was always Piper. My daughter only spent two hours at the YMCA’s day care program after school each day, yet she managed to cause mayhem.

I braced myself.

“I warned you.” Doreen crossed her arms.

She had warned me, probably four times, that Piper was on her last chance. I’d used up any good grace she had offered. Piper wasn’t being difficult for the hell of it. Her behavior was a neurological response. Her body didn’t produce the dopamine needed for her to feel comfortable. She was living on the edge of fear. Unfortunately, despite how many times I’d explained it, most people only saw a poorly behaved child.

“What did she do?” I tried to keep the hesitancy out of my voice. It was a challenge, though, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But I had to face the music. Because as much as I wanted to give up some days. I couldn’t. There was no one else. So I pulled my shoulders back and waited.

“You’re late.” She cocked a gray brow.

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