Page 23 of The Bossy One

“As you should be,” I said. I didn’t have to like the man to admit Declan Byrne was impressive. Perhaps more impressive than I’d realized.

* * *

Catie and I ended up spending most of the day at Marie’s. There was a heartbreaking moment when Catie first woke up—she’d had a bad dream about her mom finding a new job and a new kid, so she never came to Ireland to get Catie. But once Marie and I had reassured her that that was never going to happen, Catie had been able to perk up and enjoy the rest of the time with her grandmother.

Now Catie and I were finishing the day off in the children’s bookstore. But whereas before Catie had enthusiastically pulled the books she wanted, now she half-heartedly ran a hand over the book spines, without actually taking anything off the shelf. All her delight at seeing Grandma seemed to have worn off.

“You okay, kiddo?” I asked.

She nodded glumly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

I sighed. Declan was supposed to be coming back through town soon and picking us up at the bookstore, but part of me wanted to change plans and take Catie to that toy store, just to see her smile.

I settled on the carpet besides Catie, pulled out a picture book I recognized, and followed a hunch.

“Do you want to read this one? It’s about a mom who has to go to work. But then she comes home.”

Catie scooched next to me to peer at the book. “Does her kid help her get ready for work? Like if she has a really bad headache, and she needs someone to get her water and saltine crackers so that she feels okay in time for work?”

“Is that how you help your mom?” I asked.

Catie nodded.

My heart twisted as I realized Catie was probably describing helping her mom with a hangover.

“If I’m not there, who will help her feel better for her important work?” She repeated “important work” carefully, using Declan’s exact phrasing.

I felt a spurt of frustrated rage. Maybe Declan really thought he could shield Catie, or maybe he was just avoiding a difficult conversation he didn’t have the guts for. Either way, Catie was the one suffering. She might not know the word “alcoholic,” but on some level she knew her mom wasn’t okay.

“You know, I think your uncle found some people to help your mom feel better,” I hedged.

Catie scowled. “You’relying. You’re doing the thing adults do where you say it’s okay and it’s not. Mom needs her crackers. I need to go home.”

“Catie—”

“No!” She scooted back from me as fast as she could, accidentally bashing her head into the bookshelf. She started tearing up, her face flushed. I reached to try to soothe her, but she got even more upset when I touched her, so eased back and waited.

I knew from experience that sometimes the best you could do with a fussy child was sit back and wait for them to calm down enough to let themselves be comforted.

Except Catie wasn’t upset because she got her second-choice snack, or didn’t want to wear her sunscreen. The poor kid was scared for her mom, and angry and hurt that the adults were keeping her in the dark.

I thought of that message I’d gotten from @DBCoder.

If there’s a kid at stake, follow your gut.

That was the answer, I realized. I couldn’t keep lying to Catie about something this.

Even if it meant I got fired.

I set the book aside and shifted so that I could face Catie squarely.

“Catie, remember when your mom told you that she was going to the hospital? Well, there are different kinds of hospitals. Some help your body get better. And some help your mind and your emotions get better. Your mom’s body isn’t what’s wrong.”

Catie watched me, eyes wide, a little frown between her brows.

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