Page 83 of Little Bird
I chuckle, but she’s closer to the truth than she realizes. It’s not that we don’t know how to bake. I mean, we don’t, but it’s more than that.
It’s been years since we had anyone who wanted to bake in our kitchen.
Years since we would have accepted anyone, and years since we would have slowed down enough to eat what they made. I don’t know what shifted when she arrived, but she’s done something that feels a lot like making our house a home again.
Which brings me back to a question I’ve been meaning to ask her.
“Taryn, why did you come up here?” I ask, gazing out at the forest, where the sun is just starting to break out above the pines and give the world its golden glow. “Why didn’t you call your mom?”
She’s quiet for so long I think she’s going to ignore me, and then she starts shaking.
I immediately put an arm around her and pull her to me. “Are you cold? You never wear enough clothes, girl. Here, put on my jacket.”
I move to take it off, but she puts up a hand.
“No, I’m not cold. I’m wearing your better jacket.” She puts a hand to the one she’s wearing and casts me a quick smile. “It’s not that.”
I’ll believe her when she says she’s not cold, but I don’t take my arm from around her shoulder.
I like the feel of her up against me.
“Then what is it?” I ask, staring into her copper eyes.
She meets my look head on, her own eyes doubtful and nervous, and for a long moment I’m convinced she’s not going to answer me. Then she nods once, her brow creased in doubt.
“I didn’t call my mother because I don’t trust her,” she says simply. “She and Johnny Massimo want something from me, and I’m not willing to give it to them. And they... And they...”
She pauses and bites her lips, turning her gaze to the mountains and forest in front of us. They’re fully lit now, and dance with the golds and oranges of the sunrise, like someone has gilded the trees and rocks. I know because I’ve watched this same sunrise a million times over. I could recite which trees light up first, and how the rocks shimmer with pink, then orange, then gold as the sun rises from its bed.
Today, however, I have no taste for it.
I want to know what she’s not telling me.
I take her chin and turn it back toward me, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“They what?”
She presses her lips together like she’s fighting to keep the words in, like the last thing she wants to do is tell me, and I recognize that look. She used to wear that look when someone was bothering her at school, or if she thought Gabe was being unfair about something.
She never wanted to tell me. But that had never stopped her from coming to me for help when she needed it. It just meant I had to work harder for answers, so I could save her from whatever she’d gotten herself into.
I alter my expression, putting on my sternest dad face, and say, “Little Bird? What happened?’
Her expression melts at the tone of my voice, and two tears track their way down her cheek to lips that are wobbling with emotion. Adrenaline floods my body, and for a moment all I can think about is that I want to kill whoever has scared her that badly. I don’t care who they are or how much money they have. They’ve frightened her and I want to rip them limb from limb.
“Tell me,” I say, fighting to keep my voice quiet and gentle. “I can’t fix it unless you tell me.”
That last line is a cheat, and I know it as I say it. She hasn’t asked me to fix anything.
But maybe that’s because she doesn’t know if she can.
The tears start flowing faster, and before I can ask again, she’s buried her face in my chest and is crying for real, her shoulders shaking with emotion and her words blurred together.
“It’s my mom’s new husband,” she finally gets out. “He’s a bad man, Gunner, and he hurts me. He has a temper, and when he gets mad he?—”
I put my arms around her quickly and shush her. I know she probably needs to get this out, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I can stand to hear it.
More like I know what will happen if I do.
