Page 139 of Sharkbait
She watches the fish in the massive tank in front of us for a few moments, then whispers, “I’m really sad to be going home tomorrow.”
“You are?”
She nods and blurts out in one breath, “It’s not that I’m not excited to see Mommy and Ron—because I am—but it’s been so fun being with you and Daddy, and I wish I could have all four of you with me all the time.”
Not what I was expecting.
At all.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Well, your dad will be there for good in just two more weeks, right? So you’ll have your mom, your dad, and Ron. That’s going to be pretty great.”
“But not you, right? You’re not coming with us too?”
God, I wish I could. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered how great that could be. But what am I going to do? Invite myself along? Insert myself into a family where I don’t belong?
Even if that was something James wanted too, I refuse to repeat my past mistakes with guys. I won’t lose myself in a relationship again. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go or what I’m supposed to do next, but whatever it is, I know I have to walk my own path, not follow some guy on his.
But he’s not just some guy.
Not anymore.
“No, sweetie,” I say as kindly as I can. “I’m not coming too.”
“You’ll stay in touch, though, right? And you’ll visit?”
“I’m not sure, Iris. I hope so? But I’m just not sure.”
I just finished telling her I won’t make her promises I can’t keep. So I’m sticking to that. As much as it pains me to do it.
Iris nods sadly. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
I open my arms to her for a hug. I wrap her up in a tight squeeze just as Christmas music starts to blast from the speakers accompanied by a boisterous “Ho ho ho, welcome to the show show show!” voiceover.
“That’s the cue for the kids to go down to the front!” I say and pat her on the back.
She squeals and hurries down to the front row where an usher is opening up a “kids only” section.
My phone pings with an email notification. I quickly checkmy email as the announcer runs through the safety rules and emergency exits available inside the amphitheater.
“Holy shit,” I say out loud when I see who the email is from.
A woman to my left covers her sleeping infant’s ears and shoots me a glare.
I wince. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
The email is from Corbin Bellows.
Not from someone on his team but Corbin Bellows himself.
I peek down where Iris is standing at the glass. She looks up at me and waves. I give her a big smile and a thumbs-up back, then dive into reading the email.
Dear Miss Anderson,
I’m reaching out to you to right a wrong, and I hope you will be amenable to the discussion.
Two months ago, I rescinded your scholarship funding after learning of an incident you were involved in that I deemed troubling.
