Mimi’s eyes, large and round, glimmered with far more suspicion than any five-year-old’s should. Everything was new and strange in her world as of late. Mara was only making it stranger. “I don’t like my bedroom here. It’s not like my old bedroom.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped. The disapproval of a five-year-old was enough to leave him looking crushed. Big, easygoing, calm, rational Harry had just had his knees chopped out from under him by a wee sprite of a girl.
His eyes fixed on Mara’s again with an apology in them. “I’m trying. I really am. I just can’t get it right,” he muttered in low defeat.
Her heart churned in her chest again. She turned back to Mimi and smiled a grin full of mischief. “Well, I’d like to see this room you don’t like. So if you won’t come with me, I’ll just have to go it alone. But I think it’d be way more fun with a friend,” Mara said, her tone light and easy. Rising to her feet to back out of the kitchen, she instinctively knew Mimi’s curiosity would coerce her to follow with Coconut in tow.
She made her way down the hall, guessing at which room was Mimi’s. She didn’t have to have a light to guide her, the glow from it was so distinct. She flipped the light switch on and winced. It was pink—so pink it hurt her eyes.
Mimi strolled in behind her, dropping a squirming Coconut on the matching pink carpet. “See what I mean? I don’t like pink. In my old house, I had a purple room. Purple is my favorite color.”
Harry was behind her; she felt the heat of his poor, hormone-riddled body against her spine—a spine quickly becoming buttery from his presence—and fought the urge to rub up against him like a cat.
He leaned down, his lips but an inch from her ear. “I painted it before I brought them here, just after I found out Donna and her husband . . . well, you know. I thought pink would be perfect. But I haven’t had time to repaint it, with work and their school schedules.”
Mara turned around to face him, finding herself at eye level with his wide chest. She took a deep breath and a step backward.
While Mimi busied herself with a cluster of dolls in the corner of her very pink room, she whispered, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry. It’s obvious you’re doing the best you can in a really difficult situation. I can see you love them. And the pink isn’t so awful—in a Pepto-Bismol kind of way.” She hoped her playful teasing would make him smile like he smiled when he was sitting at his desk, playing with all those numbers he loved so much.
Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, his expression sheepish. “I have a bad eye for color.”
She grinned. “I think you could win contests.”
He chuckled out of the blue, warming her to her core. Then he must have realized he was consorting with the enemy. Harry’s spine stiffened once more, and his eyes clouded. “Anyway, we’re good. As good as we can be under the circumstances. So if you would take the Crypt Keeper and leave now, I’d appreciate it.”
They’d been dismissed. He shouldn’t be left alone with the kids. Not so early in his change. Again, she protested. “Harry—”
His hand flew up again, palm forward. “Please don’t. I’m warring with my civility right now, and I fear it could be a losing battle. Just take Nina and go.”
“You takin’ my name in vain, Harry?” Nina poked him between his shoulder blades from just outside the doorway. “My man Fletch is in bed. Sound asleep.” She stuck her head around his shoulder to peek into the room. “I see we have another critter. You two go make werewolf, and I’ll put her to bed, too.”
Harry didn’t have the chance to protest before Nina was swallowed up by the pink bedroom and headed right for Mimi. “Holy swizzle sticks, kiddo,” Nina cooed at Mimi, dropping to the floor with a look of wonder in her eyes. “You have a My Little Pony? Dude, that’s beyond crazy cool. Can I see?”
Without hesitation, Mimi dropped to the floor beside her, the crinkle of her footie pajamas music to Mara’s ears. She nodded her curly head at Nina. “It was my mom’s. Who are you?”
“Jesus,” Harry muttered in obvious disgust, turning and stalking his way back toward the kitchen.
Mara trotted behind him to keep up, zipping around his large body when they hit the living room, still in semi-disarray. She stumbled over a pair of sneakers, righting herself just in time to almost crash into Barbie’s Dreamhouse.
Marty’s golden head popped through the front door at just that moment, Wanda’s just behind it. Her eyes found Mara’s. “Is it safe? Or does Harry still want us all to die slow, torturous deaths?”