Page 26 of Reckless Desire

I overslept on the first day of school. And it’s a new school. A private one, but I have no idea if that makes any difference. Shouldn’t they be more forgiving since we’re paying them?

There has been so much to navigate since the inheritance. I grab a T-shirt from the floor. I wore it yesterday, but with a bit of deodorant, the snobby parents and teachers might not notice.

“Perhaps we can skip today and I’ll start tomorrow?” The small voice behind me pauses me in my frenzy. I let out a long breath and squat in front of my little girl.

“Caro, sweetheart, I know it’s hard to start a new school. I understand you didn’t have a good time in your old one, but you have to go to school, and why not start today when it’s a lazy welcome day. That way, tomorrow will be easier.” I squeeze her shoulders.

She scrunches her lips to the side and thinks. I count my breaths, but we’re late already so a few minutes won’t make a difference.

“I don’t want to go.” Her voice is a whisper and I almost give in, but I know tomorrow will be harder if I give her an out right now.

“It’s a short day. And there will be other girls who are anxious like you and you can support each other. I’m sure your new teacher is all excited to meet you.”

I pull her into my arms and inhale the scent of her shampoo and gummy bears—I guess she had breakfast already. How many times do I have to tell my mother to stop leaving candy here?

“She or he doesn’t even know me.” She leans in, her lips tickling my neck.

“Well, then we need to fix that. They are missing out.”

She smiles. “Can we go for ice cream after?”

“Deal. And now show me your fastest possible deployment. See you at the door in five.”

“What is a deployment?”

“Get ready. Now.” I pretend-frown at her and she giggles, running out of my bedroom.

We take another fifteen minutes because Caro decides she doesn’t want to wear her uniform. The girl has been wearing gray and black for two years now, but I don’t have time to argue, so I hope her street clothes won’t draw unnecessary attention at school. I let her wear what she wants and we run out.

“Good morning, Mr. Stuart,” the concierge greets us. “Aren’t you late for school, Miss Caroline?”

“And you’re right, Karl, we’re very late. I hope Suzanne is feeling better.”

“Thank you for remembering. She was discharged last week and recovering nicely. You have a lovely first day, Caroline.” He winks at her and opens the door for us.

After we moved here, I refused his help. It’s fucking ridiculous to have someone open the door for me, but it became obvious I was hurting his pride by not accepting, so I gave up fighting and just let him assist us. In fact, sometimes I invent an errand just to make him happy.

The school is walking distance. It was one of the deciding factors for me, but today it feels like the distance doubled overnight. Partially because Caro is dragging her feet.

“I don’t think that ice cream is happening if you walk backward, sweetheart.”

She stops and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m not walking backward.”

“No, right now you’re fu-freaking not moving at all. Caroline, I understand you don’t want to go to school and you have every right to feel that way, but I’m begging you to give this school a try.”

“What if they are mean?” She looks down. In that simple gesture I sense the suffering she’s already experienced, and a wave of fury sweeps through me. She doesn’t deserve all the shit life has dealt her.

I scratch my nape. “I’m not going to tell you they won’t be mean because I don’t know that. But I’ll do everything I can to make sure you feel comfortable there. Promise me you’ll tell me if something or someone scares you. I want to know, so I can help you. Can you be brave for me?”

“I’m not brave. I’m scared.”

“Courage means we do things we fear. This is a great school and I’m sure you’ll love it there.”

“I doubt that,” she grumbles and starts marching.

I would give my kidney to change the first eight years of her life, but even if I donated all my organs, it isn’t in my power to make things better for her. Not enough. At least now we can go to a school where our money hopefully buys us understanding and support.

“Will you wait for me?” Caro slides her hand into mine. She’s fiercely independent, so this gesture is telling.

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