Made to Order Family

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The young man nodded.

Toots accepted the pizza, the teasing scent reminding them supper was at hand.

Rita hoped the smell of food would break Skeeter’s standoff.

Nope.

“I’m not cleaning it up with him.” Her look said she had sized Brooks up and recognized a foe.

“Then clean it up on your own.” Brooks handed her the broom. “We’re eating.”

Dangerous move. Rita watched as Brooks followed Tootsie out back, the scent of fresh-baked, thick-crust pizza assailing their senses.

Liv eyed Skeeter and the mess. “I’ll help since I’m the one who left you alone.”

Rita hesitated, wanting to push Brooks’ point and make Skeeter clean up the mess herself since she rejected his help so rudely, but wanting peace, as well. A full-blown Skeeter attack in the wood shop would not be pretty.

“That’s nice of you, Liv.”

“It’s just a stupid old jar,” Skeets sputtered. She pushed the broom toward Liv grudgingly. “He’s got too much junk here.”

Her comment brought Liv’s back up. She straightened and eyed her little sister. “It’s not junk.”

“Whatever.”

Liv’s hazel eyes went smoke-toned in a heartbeat. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, Skeets. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this table or this vase and I offered to help you because I felt bad for leaving you alone and because Brooks is a real good guy for letting us do this stuff.” Liv took two steps forward, her body language offering a stern warning to errant little girls.

Like Skeeter cared.

“You don’t ‘diss’ what Brooks has in here. Got it?”

Skeeter met the stare-down one-on-one, either brave or foolhardy. “I don’t care what he has. I want to go home. I hate this place.”

“Skeets, let’s get this done,” Rita interjected. “Come on. I’ll sweep. You hold the dustpan.”

“No.”

“You’d prefer to wait in the car?”

“I’d prefer to go home. Now.”

“That’s not an option.” Liv stood her ground, gaze set, eyes fuming. “Brooks let us work here, ordered us pizza and just gave me a job. We’re staying.”

“I’m not.” Skeeter whirled and flounced toward the door.

Rita caught her arm. “Do you want to go without TV and treats the rest of the week?”

“N…no.”

“Then rethink your choices.”

The lower lip thrust out, a sure signal of Hurricane Skeeter making landfall.

She ballyhooed at the top of her voice, shouting the injustice of Brooks, her mother, Liv and life in general.

Liv glared.

Rita prayed.

Skeeter yelled.

“The police station’s right across the street.” Brooks reentered the room looking partly annoyed and partly helpless, an unusual combination. “Cade showed me where he hangs the keys to the empty cells. She’d be safe and we could eat in peace.”

Tempting offer but… “I’ll take her home.”

Brooks moved forward, ignoring Skeeter, which wasn’t easy considering her volume. “That’s not fair to you and Liv.”

“Well, life isn’t always fair, Brooks.” Rita knew that firsthand, didn’t she? Hadn’t she tried everything under the sun to keep Tom happy? In the end, it wasn’t enough. In retrospect, she knew nothing would have been enough to appease Tom’s hunger for power, greed for money and prominence. Oh, he’d played the part well, a showman all the way, his weekly presence at church service a sham that covered the heart of a cheat and embezzler.

Outwardly he shone like a gleaming jewel, a salesman to the max.

And she’d been fooled, like all the rest, at least to a certain degree. That was almost as embarrassing as it was shameful. Some suspected she’d been part of his schemes, his deceit.

Nope. Just clueless. A part of her thought that might be even worse than being complicit. At least complicity indicated intelligence.

“I’ll drop her off, get her settled and come back for Liv.”

“I can bring Liv home.”

Brooks looked less than pleased by her plan. Oh, well.

“Thanks, but no. I’ll come back. My kid, my job.”

Brooks looked about to argue the point, then didn’t. He stepped back, shot Skeeter a look that indicated a preference for strong-arm tactics mixed with relief that Rita was handling her, then shrugged. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Right.”

Her stomach growled, the scent of hot pizza a reminder of a hectic day and a long time since her last meal.

Skeeter flounced through the door, stomped her way to the car and shoved her way through Liv’s supplies to climb into the backseat.

She was a brat, plain and simple.

God, help me. I’m in over my head with this one, and she’s adept at picking the world’s worst places for her tantrums and tirades. Show me what to do, how to handle her. Help me be strong when a really big part of me just wants her to be quiet. And nice.

Change the things you can…

Her catchphrase of the day, the month, the year.

Skeeter was her responsibility, her job, her child. It was up to Rita to fix the problem, one way or another.

As she passed the small Grasse Bend police station, Brooks’ words came to mind. Hmm, jail cells for seven-year-olds?

Definite potential if she didn’t get this obnoxious behavior under control, the sooner the better.

The thought of her hard-worked prospectus inspired a wince. How could she even contemplate an undertaking of that magnitude if she couldn’t gain enough of Skeeter’s cooperation to help with a simple thing like Brooks’ front window?