Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(29)

He got down a wineglass as I hefted my ass up on a stool.

“Red or white?” he asked.

“You got both?” I was surprised. He drank beer all through dinner at Barolo Grill.

He looked to me. “You were coming over. So yeah, I got both.”

I didn’t know what to say to that because I didn’t know what to think.

Leon had put some effort into it in the beginning, but not much. I was too young. I didn’t know to expect more, expect better. And by the end I suspected even in the beginning he had no clue how to give more, definitely not better.

I’d never had a man serve up a meal to me unless I was paying him as a waiter at a restaurant.

Or buy me wine.

“Red,” I said softly.

His head tipped to the side and his attention became acute. “You good?”

I had kind, decent, loving friends. I had a job I was proud of. I had two boys under my roof I wasn’t quite done raising, and I didn’t get to them until late, but what I’d done, I’d done right.

And I was on a stool in Moses Richardson’s kitchen.

What I was not was “good.”

There was no definition for the wonder I was feeling.

“Yeah,” I replied.

He studied me a beat, nodded, then moved to a bottle of red wine on his counter.

Moses was opening it when he asked, “There a reason why those boys don’t have their own cars?”

“I made a mistake.”

He pulled out the cork, but didn’t move to fill my glass, just looked at me.

I took that to mean “explain.”

I explained.

“In the beginning, I wanted them to trust me. But I was stuck. They’d been gettin’ on on their own for a while, they didn’t need me to feed them and give them a bed. Still, beds and food at my place were better than what they could scrounge up. Their clothes were for shit. Secondhand, got ’em at the shelter. They had phones and I did not ask how they got them, or how they paid for them, but they weren’t top of the line.”

When I paused, Moses nodded to tell me he was with me.

So I kept going.

“Coulda gone the route of givin’ them everything they needed and most of what they wanted. But I didn’t think spoiling them was the way to make them trust me and the home I was giving them. Bought them enough they had new of what they needed, got ’em good phones and I paid for the plan. But that was it. Otherwise, I gave ’em chores so they’d get allowances and have money in their pockets to buy themselves things. I didn’t want to just hand everything over so they didn’t learn how to work for something they wanted. It was more, though. I wanted it normal. I wanted to teach things and for them not to expect things. But I also wanted them to know I wasn’t buying them or their behavior or my place in their hearts.”

“Think that was a smart move, sweetheart,” Moses said, now pouring my wine.

“Yeah, the problem with it was, they never asked for anything. Not once. Not new jeans. Not new phones. Not new undies. Not a thing. Christmas is crisis time for Shirleen. Got no clue what they want or need.” I shook my head. “But anyway, got it in my head cars were too big a deal for them. Especially two boys who’d had nothing, until they got me. They’d definitely never ask. I couldn’t just hand them over, ’cause what am I teachin’ ’em if I did? So I decided, anytime they wanted the Navigator, I’d give it to ’em. And told ’em, they both graduated high school on the honor roll, they could pick their own cars. That way, they’d earn ’em. But I didn’t realize I’d be putting myself on the Uber VIP list for frequent riders by doing all of that.”

Moses set my wineglass in front of me. “Since they’re graduating soon, you won’t have to worry about it much longer. Unless they’re not on the honor roll.”

“They’re on the honor roll,” I shared, lifting the glass and taking a sip.

Nice. Dry. But fruity. With a hint of oak.

The man could pick wine.

Maybe he was perfect.

“Two street kids graduating on the honor roll,” he murmured, pulling a bag of big sesame seed buns his way. “You’re like a miracle worker.”

“They’re smart kids. They don’t even try. It just happens,” I told him.

He turned his eyes to me. “They gotta go to class. They gotta pay attention in class. They gotta hand in assignments, which means they gotta do homework. And they gotta pass tests, which means they gotta study at least a little bit. So no, Shirleen, that shit doesn’t ‘just happen.’ Kids do that because they’re either taught to do it because they’ve lived lives with parents that helped them learn to live those lives right. Or because they respect the person who’s lookin’ after them and they don’t want to let her down.”

“I hear that, honey,” I said softly and watched his eyes flare. I didn’t get the flare, but I kept on the current subject. “What I’m sayin’ is, they’re good kids. Smart kids. And that’s just how they are, natural-like. I didn’t make that in them. That’s who they are. So I don’t think I should get credit for that. I think they have to understand who they are and it’s good down deep so they don’t ever get it into their heads that what made them is what is them, because it’s not. They’re their own people and they built that through hard work and just bein’ good.”