Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 11
Ethan
It’s almost seven thirty p.m. when Marcie and Sylvie get back from their dinner. I made sure the family would be gone, settled into their own abodes before their return. I don’t want Sylvie feeling self-conscious about the serious discussion that will surely come on the heels of involving her school principal.
I have no clue what to expect but shore up my resolve that I’ll follow whatever direction Marcie DeLeon gives, because everything I’ve tried so far hasn’t worked.
I push up out of the recliner in the den, the only place on the first floor with what I consider livable furniture. It’s where my dad, brothers and I all congregate to watch football or my mom sometimes reads a book on the overstuffed sofa. It’s where the family gathers to watch movies, although it seems as if no one has had time to congregate in a long while.
When I make it to the front door, I see Marcie and Sylvie through the glass panes that flank the double oak entryway.
Sylvie’s face is cast downward, her expression in the shadows, but Marcie wears a light smile as I open the door.
Sylvie looks up and I’m surprised to see her expression is placid, not the normal disdain she usually bears.
I step back, inviting them inside. “Good dinner?”
“We ate at Biaggio’s.” Marcie steps just inside the threshold but doesn’t come in any farther. Sylvie walks past her but doesn’t head up the stairs. “Sylvie and I had a very good talk and she would like to speak to you as well.”
My eyebrows rise in surprise over the fact that my daughter proactively wants to have a conversation with me. The entire time she’s been living under our roof she has never once initiated such a thing.
I turn to Sylvie. “How about we talk in the kitchen over some lemonade?”
Sylvie nods, her eyes casting downward in an uncharacteristic display of shyness.
I toss my head in the direction of the hallway leading to the kitchen and suggest, “Why don’t you go pour us two glasses and I’ll be there in a minute? Miranda has some sugar cookies in the tin on the counter if you want some.”
Shockingly, Sylvie murmurs as she walks away, “Merci.”
It’s French but at least it’s a word I know and wasn’t said in such a way as to keep me in the dark. It comes as a genuine compliment.
When Sylvie is out of earshot, I turn toward Marcie. “What kind of magic did you just work?” I question incredulously.
Marcie smiles but her eyes pierce through me. Her tone is stern. “No magic. I just promised her that I would do everything I could to help her return to the Mardraggons if, at the end of the two months, she’s not happy.”
That, I don’t like. She’s supposed to be my ally, not Lionel and Rosemund’s. If Marcie knew what awful people they are, she never would’ve promised that. “I don’t know if that’s overly helpful.”
She chuckles, hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder. “No, I don’t suppose you would feel that way. It’s in direct opposition to your interests. But I am confident that Sylvie will make the right decision in the end. Assuming the judge does what he’s promised and takes her wishes into account.”
“And if she chooses wrong? Going back to the Mardraggons is not what’s best for her.”
Her eyes twinkle as she repeats. “I’m confident she will make the best decision for herself.”
I narrow my eyes on the principal, but I read something within her tone that relaxes me slightly. This woman wants the best for all of her students and, in particular, given the personal time she took tonight for Sylvie, she’s not going to do anything to hurt that little girl—that’s if she has a good understanding of what’s going on.
I can accept the ambiguity in her words. “She will not be loved over at the Mardraggons the way she will be here. I understand she might have some comfortability there, but they are not a warm family.” I wait for Marcie to affirm that she had figured that out for herself or to act affronted that I would cast such aspersions. She merely stares at me. “For fuck’s sake, they make her call them by their first names. What grandparents do that?”
Marcie lifts her shoulder. “Some people are just progressive that way.”
I understand she’s not going to give me what I want and suspect it’s a lot like Todd Gillam’s role with Sylvie. They are devoted to that little girl and have no loyalty to either me or the Mardraggons.
All I can do is fall back on my own confidence that my family—and me, in particular—are what’s right for Sylvie. I’m going to make sure the next two months leave her feeling safe and secure and wanting to stay here with us.