Taking Connor

He stiffens when she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. He wasn’t expecting a hug, and I giggle at the look on his face. When she pulls away, I wouldn’t quite say he’s blushing, but he looks like he’s on the verge of it. “Thank you,” she insists, one more time. With a nod, he leaves her and heads back over to me. After the tank is full, we climb back in the car and continue our trip to Jeff and Wendy’s.

“That was . . . that was really nice, Co

“No, I’m not. Make no mistake about that. I’m just a very lucky guy.”

Although I want to, I don’t ask him what he means. I’ve learned in life, sometimes the hardest forgiveness to earn is forgiveness from ourselves. Clearly he thinks he’s undeserving, and that luck just fell upon him. And maybe it did. Or maybe it wasn’t good luck. I don’t know why he killed a man; frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever happened, right or wrong, good luck or bad, there’s no doubt there is more to Co

And I find it very intriguing.

On the way home we stop by Jeff and Wendy’s so I can give him cash to buy the materials he’ll need for my house. Jeff starts on my house projects Monday after next, so for now, Co

“This is a nice house,” Co

“Jeff’s a great handyman,” I note as I open the front door. I never knock. Neither does Wendy when she comes to my house.

“Now the inside is a different story,” I whisper to Co

“Wendy!” I shout as I make my way down the hall toward the kitchen in the back, Co

“Kitchen,” Wendy yells back.

Entering the kitchen, we find Wendy plating grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates, and Grayson on the floor with tons of matchbox cars, lining them up.

“Hey, guys,” Wendy chirps. “Want a grilled cheese?” Although she smiles at us, I can’t help but notice it doesn’t quite seem authentic. I give her a concerned look, but she just shakes her head, letting me know she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“No, thank you,” Co

“Jeff ran out to get some milk and butter.”

“Well, I’ll just leave the cash with you. We have to get home.” I’m speaking to Wendy, but my gaze won’t leave Grayson, the youngest Tuffman child, who has lined up matchbox cars along the length of the kitchen.

“You have a lovely home,” Co

“Grayson,” I call. But he doesn’t respond or give any indication that he even hears me.

“Grayson bug,” I say, lovingly, hoping the change in my tone will catch his attention. But he still doesn’t turn. He just keeps lining his cars up and singing the same song, seemingly oblivious to me.

My brows furrow just before Wendy snaps, “Grayson! Answer Demi!” He doesn’t acknowledge Wendy.

Wendy huffs, clearly aggravated. “I think we need to get his hearing checked. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me most of the time.”

When I look up, Co

“Later,” I mouth. He nods and I put the envelope of cash on the counter. “Here’s the money and I added a deposit.”

Wendy’s eyes fall to the plates in front of her. I was hoping I had been subtle. I know they need the money, and she’s embarrassed that I know. If Co

Wendy’s eyes light up. “Yes, please,” she groans.

Co

“You jerk!” she yells at him.

“Mary-A

“Stop being such a baby,” J.J. grunts as he stands.

McKenzie, the second oldest, rolls her eyes, and takes a seat at the kitchen table. She looks just like Wendy at her age, all blonde hair, and rocking body. But she’s fifteen and McKenzie has reached those fun teenage years where everyone and everything is a nuisance. Oh, and she has it all figured out.

“Yay,” J.J. chirps. “Grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese again?” McKenzie moans.

“Not tonight, Kenz. Spare me your whining for one night,” Wendy begs as she grabs a pot from the stove and starts scooping green beans on the plates.

“Who are you?” Mary-A

He bends to one knee, so he’s at her height and reaches out a hand, “I’m Co

She looks at his hand for a brief moment before slipping her tiny one in his. “Mary-A

He grins, and I’m oddly enraptured as I watch him talk with Mary-A

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

Suddenly, J.J. lifts the back of Co

“They’re tattoos you idiot,” McKenzie snips.

“Enough McKenzie,” Wendy growls in frustration.

Co

“Cool,” J.J. says, giving him a toothless grin, before moving past his mother at the counter, fixated on his feast of grilled cheese. McKenzie groans, clearly wanting attention, and against my better judgment, I fold and give it to her.

“Hey, McKenzie,” I wave. “What’s wrong?”

“My cell got cut off. That’s what’s wrong,” she complains as she crosses her arms and pouts.

“Well, it would be lovely to have a phone that you can talk on but can’t charge because we couldn’t afford to pay the power bill because we paid for said phone!” Wendy snaps.

“I hate this house! I hate being poor,” McKenzie shouts as she bolts out of her seat and flies past us to leave. But Wendy’s oldest son, Mark, is in the doorway and seeing she’s super pissed, and only being dutiful, fulfilling his role as her older brother, decides now’s the best time to mess with her. He holds both hands on the doorframe as McKenzie tries to push past him. When she starts hitting him, he laughs. Mark is sixteen and almost as big as Jeff. He can take a few girly hits which up until this point, that’s all McKenzie has doled out.

“What’s the matter Kenz?” Mark teases pouting his lip mockingly. “Got your period?”

McKenzie stops hitting him, and her eyes go wide with rage. He just brought up her period in front a stranger—Co