Page 8 of A Better Place

I’m impressed. I had already forgotten what we were talking about.

“Social work. She wants to work with foster kids.” I can’t help the smile taking over my face or the way my chest expands. I said I was proud of her, but that doesn’t even come close.

“Really? Wow. That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, well, she’s amazing. She didn’t…” I start to tell her our life story but think twice. This isn’t a date. This is lunch with Harper, my six-year-old niece. I need to get my head on straight. “Let’s just say that she has a big heart for kids who don’t have the traditional home life.”

Something in her eyes shifts, and she gives me a sad smile. “That makes my heart happy to hear. We need more kids like that in our world.”

I nod my head but can’t look away from her. It’s not until I feel a tug on my sleeve and notice that we’re standing outside of the lunchroom do I snap out of the Carly-haze. I look down into Harper’s bright blue eyes, much like my own.

“Ms. Hanson? Can Uncle James stay for recess after we finish our lunch?”

“Of course! I mean, if he wants to,” Carly tells her, not looking at me but focusing her attention on Harper.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I try to keep my eyes on my niece when I really want to watch Carly.

“You got the new bag!” she exclaims in response as she takes her lunch from my hand.

“Of course!” I have no idea what that really means, but I just go with it.

“Thanks, Uncle James. You’re the best.”

“Don’t forget to say that again next time Uncle Dean’s around.”

She giggles at me then takes my hand and tugs me in the direction of the table where we’re apparently supposed to sit. I push up my sleeves because, damn if I’m not already sweating around all these little bodies.

The second I’m seated on the tiny seat, I’m bombarded with questions.

“What’s that?” a boy asks, pointing to my forearm covered tattoos.

“Why do you have tattooooos?” A girl asks, stretching out the word tattoos.

“You have a lot of tattoos!”

“Are you going to play soccer with us at recess?” another girl asks, thankfully stopping the barrage of questions about my ink.

“Why are you wearing a hat?”

“Do you always wear hats?”

“Do you like making restaurants better?”

This question makes me smile because it tells me that Harper’s been telling the class what I do for a living, which is rescuing at-risk restaurants.

“What’s your favorite sport?”

“Why aren’t you married? Harper says you don’t have a wife, but you have a daughter, so why don’t you have a wife?”

“What’s your favorite sandwich at Subway? Mine is the turkey, but my daddy likes the steak and cheese.”

“Are you going to the football game tonight?”

“My daddy told me Harper’s brother can’t play tonight. Why not? Is he hurt? Did he do something naughty?”

Oh boy. No way am I going to tell these little ones that Grady, my nephew who so many kids look up to because of his standing on the football team, got into a fight defending his sort of girlfriend, Bri, who was being assaulted, and ended up getting suspended from two football games.

“Grady can’t play because he had to help his best friend. She needed him more than he needed to play football,” Harper says matter-of-factly.

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