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)
“Aren’t you being a little hard on her? She’s only nine.”
“Going on thirty,” I say, then soften my tone. “And no, I’m not being hard on her. I’m only telling you the truth of how it’s been. But my family and I are resolved to let her work through this and to do whatever we need to give her the space and time to come to grips with things. We’re very much aware that she is still grieving the loss of her mother. And since you seem to be aware of the history between our families, then I’m sure you can understand there are some inherent tensions that may arise. Sylvie arrived on my doorstep filled with hate and bitterness.”
“And is there any chance she’s feeling that from your family?”
I want to be offended but it’s a fair question. There is no love lost between our families and any time we run into one another in public, if we aren’t avoiding each other, we certainly aren’t being nice.
“I can assure you that not one negative word has been said about the Mardraggons in Sylvie’s presence.”
As much as I despise the lot of them, I’d like to think that our family has values and good principles. We know how hard things are on Sylvie and the last thing she needs to hear is negativity about her own bloodline. While I know the Mardraggons have not extended the same courtesy, I’ve discussed it with my parents and siblings, and we made a pact to hold our tongues and speak only respectful things in front of her.
Marcie’s expression turns sympathetic and she nods in understanding. “How is it actually going between the two of you?”
“It’s not going at all,” I reply tersely. “Half the time she speaks to me in French, and I don’t even know what she’s saying.”
Marcie laughs, a husky, rapturous rumble that sounds way too good to my ears.
But I frown at her. “She’s not just speaking to me in French—she’s saying horrible things to me in French.”
Marcie tilts her head in question. “Like what?”
I pull out my phone and navigate to the app I used to translate the recording from this morning. With a few taps of my fingers, I play the original recording and, admittedly, if you didn’t know what Sylvie was saying, it just sounds like a frustrated girl speaking the musical, lilting language.
Marcie looks at the screen curiously. “That was her?”
“Over breakfast. Want to know what she said?”
Marcie nods.
I push another button and a mechanical, computer-generated voice spits out the translation. “You look like a troll and you smell like one too.”
Marcie doesn’t laugh. “She’s an angry little girl.”
I toss my head in the general direction of Sylvie’s classroom. “When she hugged me just outside Mr. Bartlett’s door, that was all for show and completely fake. She told me she despised me.”
“Oh dear,” Marcie murmurs. “I’m sorry. May I suggest counseling?”
“It’s high on the priority list. My mother called around yesterday, but finding a therapist in this area is not easy. We’re looking in Louisville right now and finding nothing but waiting lists.”
Marcie nods, her expression grave. “We’re at an all-time shortage of counselors and therapists. Especially for children. I’ll reach out to some of my contacts, but if I can help in any way… if you need me to talk to her, I’m glad to. I don’t mind intervening, even outside of school. As the principal, that’s part of my duty.” She bends over her desk and scribbles something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my phone number. Call me anytime you need to.”
When I take the number from her, I’m not sure what it says about me that I actually hope I need to call her for some reason. I wouldn’t mind hearing more of her sweet southern voice.
Instead, I tuck her number into my back pocket and hope things don’t get so bad that I have to use it. “Thank you for all your help.”
“My pleasure. We’ll take good care of Sylvie here at school.”
I nod, offer a small, grateful smile and then leave her office, my mind blessedly already moving on to the things I have to do before Sylvie comes home at the end of the day.
CHAPTER 8
Ethan
The last ten days have been brutal. I’ve called upon every ounce of patience and understanding within my being to offer up to my daughter, despite her worsening behavior. At first, I gave her space. I no longer insisted she come down to meals or that she spend free time after school with me, Kat or my mom. She hid in her room for a full three days before I finally had to go back on that and push her to rejoin the family. It made her even more bitter to have been given freedom to disconnect, only to have it taken away again.