Page 40 of Lock
“She was in a foul mood after school. I offered to take her to the park, but she asked to take a nap.”
I nod but don’t interrupt.
“After a few hours, I went to wake her up. She was grumbling, and before I knew it . . .” Shelby shrugs, gesturing to the redness below her eye.
“My six-year-old hit you hard enough to leave a mark?” I confirm.
“She has a mean right hook,” she jokes with a breathy chuckle. “Really, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
Stepping into her, I frame her face. Bending, I press a sweet kiss to the mark on her cheekbone and then another. Her lashes flutter as her eyes close.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “She has never done anything like this before. It won’t happen again.”
Confusion swirls around me. Riley is a good child, and she loves Shelby.
“I had to walk away, so I didn’t shout at her,” she confesses, her voice filled with shame.
“But you did walk away. Riley is fine . . . about to get a serious talking-to and be grounded but fine,” I reassure, my thumb stroking her cheek. “Don’t leave. At least stay long enough for her to apologize.”
“Okay,” she concedes. “I’ll wait and then head home.”
It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to pull myself away from her. Looking back, I see her settle onto the sofa.
First last night and now today. What the hell has gotten into Riley?
My little girl is sitting on the end of her bed, no doubt waiting for me. Her little chin wobbles the minute she sees me.
Giving a heavy sigh, I sit down beside her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She sniffles.
“It’s not me you need to apologize to, young lady.” I maintain a soft yet stern tone. Riley may be sorry, but what she did is not okay. “We don’t hit people,” I reprimand. “We certainly don’t hitpeople who help and take care of us. What on earth were you thinking?”
My question only earns more tears. Has she sat here waiting for me to get home this whole time?
Stroking the back of her head, I wipe at her cheek with my other hand. “Did you tell Shelby that you were sorry?”
Riley hiccups, shaking her head.
“Then I suggest you go and do that now.”
My sweet girl hops off the bed and reaches for my hand.
Shelby gives us a smile that I know she doesn’t mean, but the gesture gives Riley the courage she needs to step out from behind me.
“I’m sorry, Shelby,” Riley says between hiccuped breaths.
“You were grumpy, and it was an accident.” Shelby crouches, offering a hug. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you, too,” Riley cries.
Seeing them like this reinforces the fact that they are the two most important people to me.
Shelby kisses Riley’s forehead and stands. “I should get home.”
“Noooo.”
Shelby and I blink, bewildered as my six-year-old whines and stomps her feet.
