Page 72 of Your Soul to Keep

Maeve hummed.

I swung my attention to her, plastering on a ready smile.

She didn’t smile back. “I think,” she began slowly, “you’ll be good for them.” She paused, searching my eyes, “And they may be exactly what you need. But Shae, Gabe would have my tongue if he heard me say this, but he’s not nearly as tough as he looks. Please be careful with my boy.”

My eyes skittered between hers, feeling the gravity of her concern. “I will,” I promised. “I won’t hurt them.”

I swallowed. How could I even begin to promise that? Life happened and it happened at regular intervals.

It was a hopeless endeavour.

In Maeve’s presence, it took little effort to shake off the despair.

When we finally sat down to eat, it was to a table laden with potato salad, macaroni salad, summer greens, sausage, steak, and freshly baked buns.

Maeve made sure to compliment Brian’s meat to the point he threatened to punish her which only made her laugh.

As we laid down our forks, she turned to Gabe. “I forgot to tell you. When I picked Dylan up at daycare on Friday, her teacher asked to talk to me.”

Gabe’s eyebrows crashed together, and he barked, “To you? Why? They should be talking to me.”

Maeve softened her voice and continued cautiously. “They are concerned about her distractibility and level of activity.”

“She’s three,” he exclaimed. “What the fuck do they expect?”

“Gabe,” Maeve warned, slanting a glance at Dylan who watched, spellbound.

Brian stood abruptly and held his hand out for Dylan. “Come on, half-pint,” he called gruffly. “Come with Papa.”

Without a single worry in her little head, Dylan took his hand and toddled out of the room.

“He hates how he was about school when you were growing up,” Maeve explained softly.

Gabe shook his head, refusing to look at his mom or accept her explanation.

“It’s hard for him to express himself—”

“Mom,” Gabe warned. “Dad expresses himself just fine when he needs to. Tell me what else they said.”

She sighed, looking every day of her age for a moment before shaking it off. “They suggested the possibility of doing an assessment at the Early Years Center for Child Development.”

“Where the fuck is that?”

“It’s in the city, but there is a doctor here who is trained to do the assessments.”

“I don’t want some fucking quack picking her apart,” he sneered, “making her feel like something’s wrong with her. She’s fine. She’s perfect.”

Maeve quirked a brow and grinned. “The quack is your friend, Max.”

Gabe snorted out a laugh, his expression softening. “Maybe.”

Maeve went on to explain their concerns. “They are asking for us to support their efforts to teach her to comply here at home.”

Gabe’s blue eyes fairly snapped with agitation. “After following rules all day in school, they want us to bring her home to do more of the same? When does she get to be a kid? Be herself? Fucking breathe?”

Gabe vibrated beside me, his jaw ticking, knee bouncing.

I cupped my palm over his thigh and squeezed.

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