My Twist of Fortune by Rayne, Piper (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📗

good. But thanks.” Jed walks off toward the kitchen.

Marla’s shoulders sink. “I’m sorry. This has been a tough transition.”

I’ve been where she’s at, when your teenage kid embarrasses you in front of another parent. “I understand.” I thumb toward the truck. “I’m going to go get the water heater. Adam?”

“Coming.” Adam gets up and follows me to the truck. As we’re sliding the water heater out of the bed, Adam whispers, “That Jed is kind of a dick.”

I want to correct my son’s language, but he’s got a point. The apple didn’t fall too far from Jeff’s tree, that’s for sure.

“That ego of yours needs to get checked, Jed. You’re new to this school, and stealing your cousin’s spot on the football team isn’t something to gloat about.”

“Second,” he mumbles with a mouth full of pizza.

“Excuse me?”

He swallows. “Second cousin.”

I go through the stacks of paperwork all the kids brought home today, annoyed, frustrated, and embarrassed by my own son.

“Can I go down and watch them work?” Posey asks, already sliding away from the table.

“Can we not have takeout tomorrow?” Nikki asks.

“Can I?” Posey asks for the second time, standing at the top of the basement stairs.

“Let me go through your stack first, then you need to ask Hank if it’s okay for you to watch. But you have to stay out of the way.”

She steps down one stair.

“Posey, I said wait until I go through your schoolwork.”

“It’s all done, with star stickers and excellent written on top. My teacher loves me.” She heads down the stairs.

“Teacher’s pet,” Jed coughs into his hand.

I put down Posey’s stack because I’m sure she’s telling the truth. She’s not my problem child at the moment. I pick up Jed’s pile, which is mostly football stuff. Fundraiser information, the spirit wear sheet, game schedules, practices, permission slips to take the school bus, and lastly the dreaded concession stand volunteer form. I hate the concession stand, and now I don’t have any of my old friends to commiserate with.

“Hey, there isn’t a kid with the last name Demonte on the team, is there?” I ask Jed.

He looks at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Not that I know of, but there are some guys whose names I don’t know.”

Knowing my luck, Donna Demonte will be the go-to person in charge of everything to do with the football team and I’ll have to interact with her on a daily basis.

I sign his bus permission slip, put the schedule on the fridge, and place the volunteer paper on top so I can pick a few dates and be done with it. In Mandi’s stack, there isn’t much to deal with, and I breeze right through Nikki’s.

“Anyone want to talk about their day?” I take a slice of pizza.

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

I nod and take a bite of my pizza, thinking I’d rather go downstairs and strike up a conversation with Hank than sit here. But that would be awkward, so I sit tight.

Posey comes up the stairs. “He wants to see you,” she says.

I place the piece of pizza down, wipe my hands, and head downstairs, Posey following. The first thing I see is Adam using a broom to sweep all the water toward the drain. Posey picks up another one and helps him.

“Thanks, guys.” I run my hand over Posey’s hair, and she moves her head out of the way as though she’s too old for me to do that.

“Your parents are lucky they never finished the basement,” Hank says, plugging in a light and handing it to me. “Do you mind? I was going to ask the kids but thought if it drops in the water, we might all be electrocuted.”

“You don’t want to leave your fate in the hands of a responsible eight-year-old?”

He laughs. I forgot how much my body responded to that sound.

“She locked me out. So she’s smart too.” He opens his toolbox.

I glance at the kids. Posey is asking Adam who he had for a teacher in the third grade.

“Yeah, unfortunately with all her responsibility and intelligence, she’s turned into my own little mommy, worrying about me like I’m her newborn.”

He glances back my way. “I am sorry to hear about you and Jeff.” I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs. “He hurt you. For that, I’m sorry.”

He focuses on the wrench and the nut while my throat closes up. I can tell that he’s sincere.

“I bet coming back here brings up the good and the bad,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me.

I glance at the kids again. Posey and Adam are each resting their weight on the brooms. Posey probably has one ear on our conversation and one ear on the conversation she’s in.

I call to them, “Why don’t you two go have some pizza?”

“Oh, I made chili at home. Adam will be fine.”

“I have plenty.”

Hank lets the topic go and the kids rush upstairs. “Seems you just signed up to be my helper.”

“Is that my punishment? If so, I’ll take it. Adult conversation in the quiet of my basement? All I need now is wine.”

“I could have smuggled some in,” he says, standing and lifting the old water heater up and out of the way.

“I could help.”

“Keeps me young.”

We both laugh. When you’re in your early forties like us, you become very aware of how not young you are. I never felt as old as I did until Jeff told me he was leaving me—for a younger woman. He’s so cliché.

It’s impossible not to look back at my life and what I’ve accomplished. Or haven’t. I told myself I was raising my kids and once Posey went to kindergarten, I’d enter the workforce again. But Jeff wasn’t big on me working, and I hate to admit it, I was scared. Scared I wasn’t qualified to do anything other than pack lunches, cut shapes out of construction paper, and drive my kids everywhere. I’m a smart woman, but I don’t have anything to put on a resume to