Short Rides (Rough Riders #14.5)(9)

Chassie’s entire body seized up and she nearly dropped the bowl she was washing. She turned her head and met the startled eyes of her husband Trevor, who was packaging leftovers on the counter beside her. She managed to ask, “Where’d you hear that word?” in a steady voice.


“At school. A third-grader said my dads were faggots.”


She briefly closed her eyes. Living an unconventional lifestyle in a conservative rural area guaranteed this question would come up at some point—but she hadn’t expected it this soon. Their six-year-old son Westin had just started first grade a month ago.


Chassie rinsed and dried her hands before she turned around. “How about if we wait to talk about it until Papai is done giving Max his bath? You can stay up a little later tonight.”


Westin’s big blue eyes were somber, suspicious of the bribe. But he nodded and returned to his “homework”—an activity book they’d purchased after his disappointment at not having schoolwork every night in first grade.


Trevor came over and set his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her temple and whispered, “Come on, Chass. Baby, take a deep breath. We’ll get through this. That word doesn’t have the power to destroy what we’ve built unless we let it.”


She nuzzled his jaw. “I know that. It’s just...”


“Mama!” A little person slammed into the backs of her legs. She glanced down. A naked little person.


Two-year-old Max grinned at her, his brown eyes triumphant, his dark hair sopping wet.


Edgard sauntered into the kitchen, a bath towel draped over his forearm. “That boy is as slippery as an eel.” He wrapped the towel around Max like a straightjacket and hoisted him up amidst Max’s happy shrieks and giggles. “Kiss Mama and Daddy goodnight, little streaker. Then if we can wrassle your jammies on fast, we’ll have time for one book.”


“Two books!”


Chassie smooched both of Max’s chubby cheeks and smoothed her hand over his wet hair. “’Night, Max. Love you.”


Trevor kissed Max’s forehead. “Love you son, ’night.”


Edgard’s gaze winged between Chassie and Trevor. He mouthed, “Problem?”


“I’ll fill you in upstairs. I need to check on Sophia anyway,” Trevor said. He looked at Chassie. “I’ll tuck her in if she hasn’t already crashed.”


Four-year-old Sophia ran at such high speed all day that many nights she conked out while watching TV or playing in her room.


The guys disappeared upstairs.


Chassie finished cleaning the kitchen and headed to the basement to throw a load of clothes in the washer. Her mind had locked on Westin’s question. She knew one thing about her thoughtful son—the taunt hadn’t been tossed at him just today. Westin tried to figure things out on his own, so she worried he’d been dealing with defining the nasty word for longer than a day.


She leaned against the wall, fighting tears, fighting memories of the cruelty directed at her growing up. The jeers—lazy Indian, ugly squaw—still lingered years later. Back then she’d been so shy she hadn’t fought back. Her brother Dag might’ve gone after her tormentors, but he’d been fighting his own demons. No doubt he’d had the word faggot hurled at him.


What really caused that long ago hurt to deepen was the knowledge that if their father had known Dag’s sexual orientation, he would’ve flung that word at his son without hesitation.


When Chassie, Edgard and Trevor decided to add kids to their family, they all three worked every day to make sure their children knew they were loved. To make sure their children knew their parents loved each other. And to show them that love is what built and what sustained their lives. Especially when it was love that a lot of people didn’t understand.


Chassie held on to that thought as she scaled the stairs.


Westin spun around in his chair and looked at her.


She smiled. “How about a cup of hot chocolate while we’re waiting for Daddy and Papai? And I can check over your homework.”


Trevor found a pajama-clad Sophia asleep, stretched out on the floor, coloring books, crayons and chalk scattered around her. The girl burned with jealousy that Westin went to school all day, so she’d started her own school. Since her little brother, Max, was too young to sit still for longer than three minutes, she’d lined up her dolls and stuffed animals as students. She’d crafted individual desks out of boxes and set up her classroom. Such a creative, whimsical girl.


Trevor returned the crayons to the box and set her teaching supplies on her desk next to the pink plastic tea set. Then he scooped her into his arms and stepped around the debris strewn across the floor.


Sophie stirred briefly.


“Hey, sweetheart. It’s bedtime.”


“But, Daddy, I’m not tired.”


Trevor grinned. Much like her mother, the girl fought sleep, regardless if she was already asleep. “In you go.” Trevor laid her on the unmade bed. He pulled off her socks and tucked the purple satin covers around her.


She gave him a sleepy smile and reached her arms up for a hug.


He closed his eyes and just held on to her, this sweet child who filled all their lives with so much joy. He nestled her head in the pillow and kissed her cheek. “That one is from Mama.” He kissed her other cheek. “That one is from Papai.” He kissed her forehead. “And that one is from me.” He brushed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Want the night light on?”