Page 33 of My Wife
Not this again.
I take the kid’s little, sticky hand in mine. “There will be none of that. Leave,” I order the witch bride.
She bounces along beside me as I take long strides down the hall. Probably too long for the kid because he stumbles.
“I’ll come with you. Just tell me what you need help with and I’ll do it. Within reason. Like, I won’t pluck your back hairs, not that I’m suggesting you have any. Nor will I lie, cheat, or steal.” She goes abruptly quiet, then says, “He can’t leave without shoes.”
“What do you mean?”
She points to the kid’s feet.
I tip my head toward the ceiling and let out what probably sounds like a growl.
His hand slides out of mine.
Her eyes widen.
I say, “Come on, let’s get your shoes.”
I expect defiance or at least noncompliance.
However, she makes a gesture with her hands. I watch carefully, cautious, perplexed. She repeats the motion with two fists facing down and then taps them side by side. To my surprise, the kid hurries down the hall.
We return the way we came and she follows, keeping close so that I can’t shut the door behind me quickly enough to keep her out.
Spinning in a slow circle, she exclaims, “Wow. What a lovely loft you have. So much open space and light ...” Then she whispers almost to herself, “And so little furniture. Oh, but?—”
The kid digs around in the rubble of my books for his shoes.
“What happened here?”
“A kid happened.”
She makes a sort of tickling, scratching motion at her sides while saying, “Was someone playing little monkey? That’s not safe.”
The corner of the kid’s lip twitches. He holds up the cookie, which was on the floor well beyond the five-second rule, and passes it to her.
Once more, while moving around her hands, she says, “Thank you for the cookie. Is this why you were climbing on the shelves?”
I respond, “No, I gave it to him so he would stop crying.”
Her brow furrows and in a low voice, sans hand motions, she says, “You can’t use food that way. It’s not healthy for a variety of reasons.”
I incline my head. “I’ll handle my household, thank you very much.”
“Speaking of, how can I help today?” she asks with that peachy smile.
“By leaving.”
Her face falls. “Cara said you need help.”
The kid toddles over and stands next to her as if confirming that fact.
“I don’t need help.”
“At least let me put your books on the shelves.”
She crouches down at the same time as I start to gather the books.
