“It’s okay, Row,” Tristan opened his arms for a hug.
I held him close. It amazed me that two kids that had nothing could be as sweet as Tristan and Ivy.
I let him go and stirred the macaroni. When it was done, I strained it and put it in a bowl. I dumped the ingredients in the bowl and handed Ivy a spoon. “Stir, sweetie.”
She mixed it as thoroughly as she could, but in the end I had to help her.
“Ivy, why don’t you get the plates?” I nodded my head at the cabinet that housed them.
“Sure,” she smiled, eager to please me.
She grabbed three plates, hopped off the counter, and scurried over to the card table that served as our only eating surface.
I helped Tristan down and carried the pot over to the table where I loaded our plates with macaroni.
“Wash your hands before you eat,” I warned them.
With heads bowed, they did as I said. I cleaned the pot and washed my hands before joining them at the table.
“It’s good, Row,” Tristan smiled at me with trusting eyes. It broke my heart every time I saw that look in his eyes. He and Ivy trusted me completely…to love them…to protect them…but how could I ever do those things when I wasn’t a whole person? I was shattered…broken…unimportant.
“Thanks, Tristan,” I ruffled his hair, hoping the innocent little boy couldn’t see the darkness inside me.
“You’re the best sister,” he leaned into my touch, like a dog begging to be petted.
“Hardly,” I laughed.
They helped me wash the dishes and then it was time to give Tristan his bath. After a lot of grumbling I finally got him into the warm water. I really wished I’d had time to change my clothes. Giving Tristan a bath in a pencil skirt wasn’t practical. Damn Trenton Wentworth.
I let Tristan splash around for a few minutes before I washed and shampooed his hair.
“Pull the drain plug,” I pointed to the stopper. He pulled it and the water began to whoosh out.
He stood and I helped him out. I wrapped a towel around his small frame, drying his body, and then his hair so it stuck up around his head like a bird’s feathers.
I led him down the hall to the room he shared with Ivy.
Ivy was reclined on her bed, playing with her dolls. “Shower, Ivy.”
“I wanna play,” she whined.
“Ivy. Shower. Now.” I snapped. “I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
“Fine,” she slipped out of the bed, grabbing pajamas to take with her to the bathroom.
“Hurry back and I’ll read you both a story,” I said in a softer tone. I hated snapping at the kids, knowing they got enough of that from our mom—on the rare occasions she was awake—and step-dad.
“Okay,” I heard her say as the bathroom door closed.
I grabbed the lotion and rubbed it into Tristan’s body. “Which pajamas do you want to wear?”
“The dinosaurs!”
I shook my head. I should’ve known.
I pulled out the pajamas with different colored dinosaurs on them. “Lift your arms,” I instructed.
Once he was in his pajamas, he climbed into his bed.
“Which story do you want tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” I rubbed my eyes.
“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”
I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.
She came into the room a few minutes later.
“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”
“But it hurts!” She argued.
I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.
Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.
After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.
“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”
“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”
“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.
“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”
“A little.”
“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.