Page 97 of Just Watch Me
It had started well enough. Maureen had warmed up Zane’s plate of food and had fixed Skylar one of her own, then had sat down at the table again, presumably curious to learn what this was all about. Which was fine, Skylar thought, as Maureen would need to know about Georgia’s classroom change. Meanwhile, Zane had gone to fetch Georgia, who’d come skipping out happily and sat right beside him, as snuggled up as it was possible to get in two dining-room chairs.
It was also pretty bloody wonderful to eat food somebody else had cooked. Her granddad wasn’t doing much cooking at her house now, for obvious reasons, and Skylar missed it. She’d already taken her first bite of lamb and potato when Zane plunged in.
“You’ll be moving into a different class at school tomorrow, Georgia,” he said, and Skylar nearly choked. “Ms., uh … Ms. Thompkins’ class.”
Oh, this was going to go well. Did the man havenotact?
Georgia stared at him, stricken. Her lower lip had begun to tremble, too. “But …” she began. “But I …”
“It’ll be good,” Zane said. “Same class as George. Same school, too, of course.” And began to eat his lamb.
Georgia said, her eyes welling, “But I love Ms. Fairburn! And it’s my week to feed the rats! And I got a sticker today and got in the Tui reading group! I can’t change teachers, Daddy. Ican’t!”She was crying now, great gulping sobs. “And I won’t have m-mydesk,”she got out. “Oranything!”
“No,” Zane said, somewhat desperately. “It’ll be good. You’ll see.”
“Itwon’tbe!” Georgia cried. “It won’t!”
Duncan and Scarlett appeared, drawn by the emotional eruption. “What’s happening?” Scarlett asked. “What’s wrong with Georgia? Is it the earthquake? You should probably get us therapy, Dad. Well, not me, because I’m fine, but the little kids probably need it.”
“I don’t,” Duncan said. “Whatever that is. I’m fine, too, and I’m not a little kid.”
“You are,” Scarlett said, “because you don’t even know what it is. It’stherapy.Where you talk to a counselor about traumatic events in your life, and they help you move past them so you don’t have nightmares or wet the bed or anything.”
“I don’t wet the bed,” Duncan said. “I’veneverwet the bed. I don’t have nightmares, either.”
“You probably just don’t realize you have trauma,” Scarlett said loftily. “Little kids usually don’t realize. We were talking about it in school today, and my Social Sciences teacher said it’s normal to feel disoriented after an experience like that. She was really interested that we were in the earthquake, and that Skylar rescued people. She said that Skylar’s kids might need help with their mental health, because their parental structure had been threatened, especially since they don’t have a dad. And that it was hard for kids to make sense of events like that in general. I said thatmydad had rescuedpeople, too, and she said that maybe we’d need help as well, except that I said I didn’t. Obviously.”
Georgia didn’t say anything during all of that. She was still sobbing, a picture of misery, her tears dripping onto the tablecloth.
“I don’t have trauma!” Duncan’s voice was rising now. “And I’m not a little kid! I’meight.I?—”
“Stop.” Zane’s voice cut through the tumult. “If anybody needs therapy, I’ll know it, and I’ll get it for them.”
“You probably won’t, though,” Scarlett said. “You aren’t very good at tuning into our emotional needs. Especially mine, as I’m becoming a young woman. You don’t know much about girls.”
Part of Skylar longed to jump in, but they weren’t her kids, were they? And, what? She was going to begin this whatever-it-was—Romance? Relationship?—by shoehorning herself into the middle of Zane’s relationship with his children, as if only she knew best? She knew teachers like that, but she wasn’t one of them. She’d taken care not to be.
On the other hand, Zane reallywasstuffing this up.
He said, “Never mind. Not what we’re discussing. Georgia’s going to move classes at school tomorrow, and she’s not happy about it.That’swhat we’re discussing, not anybody’s trauma. Though if you have trauma, of course, tell me,” he added belatedly.
“But Ican’t!”Georgia wailed. She was a mess now, weeping all over the shop, looking so small and forlorn all the way down there in her chair. Skylar stared at Zane. He must have felt her laser focus, because he looked at her and said, “What?”
She gestured to Georgia. “What?” he asked again. “I’m talking to her about it. D’you have something to say? Say it, then.” Looking beleaguered and confused, the way he never did, and half of her wanted to laugh.
“Your lap,” she hissed. “Hold her in your lap.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” He picked Georgia up bodily, plopped her onto his lap, and said, “I’m talking to you, but I’m also eating my tea, because I have to leave soon.”
Which brought some fresh tears. “I don’tw-wantyou to leave, though, Daddy! You’re going to leave, and I have to go to a new class where they don’t have rats, or a chart for me to get a sticker, or?—”
Zane looked at Skylar, and she read that look.Help.Not that she could’ve held back much longer anyway, no matter how many reminders she gave herself. “Ms. Thompkins does have a chart with stickers,” she said. “I know, because George is in her class. You could ask whether you could sit next to him. He’d like that too.”
“I want to stay inyourclass, though,” Georgia said pitifully. “Where Iknowpeople. Where there arerats.”
“Ms. Thompkins has guinea pigs,” Skylar said, “and they’re lovely. So soft and silky, and they’re very sweet. And you can come to my room after school as often as you like and talk to the rats.”
“I—can?” More sniffling, but she was listening, at least. “I don’t know about guinea pigs, though.”
