Read Online Looks Over(Gives Light Series) by Rose Christo - Free Book Online
Authors: Rose Christo
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"Will you approve my request for custody or not?"
Ms. Whitler smiled tightly. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
"Mrs. Looks Over," she began. "I don't think I've had enough time to assess the long-term stability of this home. I don't know whether I could approve such a thing within good conscience."
"Not enough time?" Granny exclaimed. "He's been with me for four months!"
"Right, I'm glad you see it my way!"
"I absolutely do not !"
I stood quickly. I didn't want them yelling at each other.
"Mrs. Looks Over, I think you're raising a little liar. In fact, I think you're all a bunch of little liars! Either his father is right here on the reservation, or else Skylar knows where he's hiding. Heck, I'm just sure of it! When we let him keep that beeper--"
"Oho!" said Granny, enraged. "I think I want my attorney in the room for this one! Skylar! Go get--"
"No, no! That's quite alright; it looks like I've run out of time here. I'd better get going. I'll be back, though!"
We walked Ms. Whitler to the front door, her shoes in her hand, Granny livid.
"It's funny," said Ms. Whitler, just before she left. "If not for his birth certificate, I never would've guessed he's an Indian. He just doesn't look anything like y'all!"
Granny slammed the door in her face.
4
Ach'ii
Dad, Granny, and I sat down to a quiet dinner in Ms. Siomme's barn loft on Sunday. Balto sat on my lap, squirming, restless but compliant, and I fed him slices of ginger root from the table when no one was looking. A soft and hazy rain washed over the apartment's pasture-facing windows.
"I'm sorry to bother you with this," Dad said. "But I--"
"You're not bothering me. Go on."
"I don't think that social worker's going to cooperate with us," Dad said, resigned.
"Oh, you don't think , do you?" Granny snapped at him.
"Mother..."
"What exactly did she say?" Ms. Siomme asked. "When you brought up adoption?"
"Some nonsense about 'not having enough time,' " Granny reported. "As though four months' time isn't enough..."
"Then we'll definitely look into getting you a new case worker," Ms. Siomme said. "On the bright side, at least she didn't try to take Skylar with her when she left."
I didn't like this feeling. It was like sitting precariously on a bed of needles, tense, knowing you could never lie back and relax without fear of pain.
Granny tutted reproachfully. "If Christine were here," she muttered, "she would have decked that hussy straight across the face."
It took everything in me not to burst into laughter at Granny's language.
Ms. Siomme smiled nostalgically, her mug in her hands. "She did have a temper on her, Christine..."
I looked between Granny and Ms. Siomme with interest. It was rare that I heard anyone talk about Mom. The wounds were still sore, I figured.
"If Christine were here," Dad said, "we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. There's no use thinking about it."
And there it was--the shut-down.
Ms. Siomme poured us cups of peppermint tea before we left for the remainder of the evening. Dad and Granny and I walked home together in the light rain, Balto trotting at my side.
As we were treading up the lawn, I took Dad's thick arm imploringly in my hand.
He knew what I wanted. Sometimes he knew what I wanted even before I knew it.
Can't you tell me about Mom?
"Not now, Cubby, please," he begged. "I'm tired."
We went into the sitting room and lit the hearth. I warmed towels over the wood-coal stove and we dried up, quickly, by the fireplace. Balto shook his wet mane all over the wood floor. Dad sneezed.
"Play something," Granny commanded me. She waved dismissively and went into the preceding front room to have another try at figuring out the computer.
I played a song called Heavy Fog on the
Ms. Whitler smiled tightly. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
"Mrs. Looks Over," she began. "I don't think I've had enough time to assess the long-term stability of this home. I don't know whether I could approve such a thing within good conscience."
"Not enough time?" Granny exclaimed. "He's been with me for four months!"
"Right, I'm glad you see it my way!"
"I absolutely do not !"
I stood quickly. I didn't want them yelling at each other.
"Mrs. Looks Over, I think you're raising a little liar. In fact, I think you're all a bunch of little liars! Either his father is right here on the reservation, or else Skylar knows where he's hiding. Heck, I'm just sure of it! When we let him keep that beeper--"
"Oho!" said Granny, enraged. "I think I want my attorney in the room for this one! Skylar! Go get--"
"No, no! That's quite alright; it looks like I've run out of time here. I'd better get going. I'll be back, though!"
We walked Ms. Whitler to the front door, her shoes in her hand, Granny livid.
"It's funny," said Ms. Whitler, just before she left. "If not for his birth certificate, I never would've guessed he's an Indian. He just doesn't look anything like y'all!"
Granny slammed the door in her face.
4
Ach'ii
Dad, Granny, and I sat down to a quiet dinner in Ms. Siomme's barn loft on Sunday. Balto sat on my lap, squirming, restless but compliant, and I fed him slices of ginger root from the table when no one was looking. A soft and hazy rain washed over the apartment's pasture-facing windows.
"I'm sorry to bother you with this," Dad said. "But I--"
"You're not bothering me. Go on."
"I don't think that social worker's going to cooperate with us," Dad said, resigned.
"Oh, you don't think , do you?" Granny snapped at him.
"Mother..."
"What exactly did she say?" Ms. Siomme asked. "When you brought up adoption?"
"Some nonsense about 'not having enough time,' " Granny reported. "As though four months' time isn't enough..."
"Then we'll definitely look into getting you a new case worker," Ms. Siomme said. "On the bright side, at least she didn't try to take Skylar with her when she left."
I didn't like this feeling. It was like sitting precariously on a bed of needles, tense, knowing you could never lie back and relax without fear of pain.
Granny tutted reproachfully. "If Christine were here," she muttered, "she would have decked that hussy straight across the face."
It took everything in me not to burst into laughter at Granny's language.
Ms. Siomme smiled nostalgically, her mug in her hands. "She did have a temper on her, Christine..."
I looked between Granny and Ms. Siomme with interest. It was rare that I heard anyone talk about Mom. The wounds were still sore, I figured.
"If Christine were here," Dad said, "we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. There's no use thinking about it."
And there it was--the shut-down.
Ms. Siomme poured us cups of peppermint tea before we left for the remainder of the evening. Dad and Granny and I walked home together in the light rain, Balto trotting at my side.
As we were treading up the lawn, I took Dad's thick arm imploringly in my hand.
He knew what I wanted. Sometimes he knew what I wanted even before I knew it.
Can't you tell me about Mom?
"Not now, Cubby, please," he begged. "I'm tired."
We went into the sitting room and lit the hearth. I warmed towels over the wood-coal stove and we dried up, quickly, by the fireplace. Balto shook his wet mane all over the wood floor. Dad sneezed.
"Play something," Granny commanded me. She waved dismissively and went into the preceding front room to have another try at figuring out the computer.
I played a song called Heavy Fog on the
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