Where the Stars Still Shine(46)

He giggles. “Yes. I ate a stalagmite for breakfast.” He draws out the syllables in “stalagmite,” with a note of gravity in his voice. I love that about him.

“A stalagmite?” I finally lift him completely into my arms and feign a breath of relief. “You have to be careful not to overdo it on the stalagmite munching, buddy. You might end up stuck to the ceiling.”

“Callie.” His puts his hands on my cheeks to make sure I’m looking at him, that I’m paying attention. “Stalagmites. Are the ones. On the floor.”

I know this, but it completely knocks me out that he knows, too. “They are? Are you sure?”

He nods.

“Well, either way,” I say. “It’s important not to eat too many rocks, because then I wouldn’t be able to lift you. And that wouldn’t be good at all.”

I put Tucker back in his seat, where his bowl of oatmeal is waiting and Phoebe is staring at me. “Greg, I’ll call you back,” she says and disconnects the call. “Callie—”

“I can watch the boys.” I keep my voice level so I don’t sound like my mother. “I know you think I might be crazy and I get that my past is a mystery, so it makes sense that you don’t trust me, but—”

“It’s not that I don’t—”

“Yes, it is,” I interrupt. “You’re their mom and you want to protect them.” Unexpected tears make my eyes burn, and I’m surprised that what I feel is jealousy. Tucker and Joe will always know what it’s like to have someone in their corner. “I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me, but if there is, I can’t feel it. All I know is that I would never, ever do anything to hurt them.”

Phoebe looks at me for a long moment, as if she’s searching for a sign, for that one thing that will make me trustworthy. If she sees something, I can’t read it in her face.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Here’s the deal: my mom fell down, and even though my dad doesn’t think it warrants a trip to the hospital, I’ll feel better if I know she’s all right.” She gathers her purse and the keys to the SUV. “There’s a list of emergency numbers on the side of the fridge. I don’t think I’ll be very long, but if you need any help at all, call Gre—call your dad.”

“I will.”

“Please don’t let me down.”

Her eyes hold mine and I want to promise that nothing bad will happen while she’s away, but it’s not a promise I can make. Bad things don’t announce themselves. All I can do is assure her that I will do my best. That I will be better than my mother. “I won’t.”

“Be good for Callie.” She kisses the boys, then offers me a smile that’s offset by the lines of worry between her eyebrows. “Thank you.”

Phoebe’s SUV is down the driveway and gone when panic sets in. This is different from playing with Tucker and Joe while their parents hover in the background. I don’t know the first thing about caring for little boys. What made me think this was a good idea?

Kat is already in class, but I send her a text message anyway. I’m babysitting. What do I do?

A couple of minutes later, I’m stirring sugar into my bowl of oatmeal when my phone rings.

“I’m calling from the bathroom,” Kat says. “I told my history teacher I started my period. What’s going on?”

“Phoebe had an emergency with her mom, so she left me alone with the boys. We’re eating breakfast right now, but I’m not sure what happens next.”

“Oh, this is an easy one,” Kat says. “Wash them up, then let Tucker pick out a DVD. That will keep them busy long enough for you to clean up the kitchen. Then check Joe’s diaper—”

“His diaper?”

“Yeah, you might have to change it.”

“Oh, God.”

“Not gonna lie,” Kat says. “It’s horrendous. I’ve been babysitting since I was twelve, and the smell of baby poop still makes me gag. Also, don’t forget that the tabs go in the back and attach in the front. It’ll make sense when you see it. The first time I ever changed Tucker’s diaper, I put it on backward.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s about it,” she says. “Oh, you might remind Tuck to use the potty. He has accidents sometimes. Aside from that, between the television and LEGOs—piece of cake.”

It doesn’t sound easy, but I’m grateful anyway. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she says. “Anyway, I’d better get back to class. Good luck and I hope Phoebe’s mom is okay.”

I turn back to the table to find that Joe has rubbed oatmeal in his hair, and Tucker spilled orange juice down the front of his T-shirt.

“It’s wet, Callie.” Tucker tugs at the hem, trying to pull the damp spot away from his skin. “I want it off.”

“We’ll put on a clean shirt after breakfast, okay?”

“No, now.” The serious little man from before is replaced by an irrational, whining toddler. “It’s yucky.”

“God, Tucker, it’s just juice,” I snap. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

His bottom lip juts out, and I sigh.