Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Forty-Four: The Angel’s Pendant

 
A date, a grand gala, questions are answered… and a solved mystery that brings a family together.
 

It was Ethan who set their date up this time.

Not Claire, not Emily, not Samuel.

Ethan.

It happened like this:

They were sitting in the school cafeteria, across from one another as they sometimes did—casually, unannounced, as if by mutual gravitational pull. No one seemed to notice. Ethan wore his usual white polo and khakis, his hair back to being scruffy, his posture a little tight around the shoulders. Samuel lounged opposite him, denim jacket slouched off one arm, black T-shirt hugging his chest like it had been born there. He was finishing off the last bite of a second salmon croquette—Ethan’s, technically—but Ethan said nothing. He had other battles to fight.

“So,” Samuel said, licking his thumb and tossing the paper napkin onto the tray. “You’re asking me out?”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

Samuel leaned forward on his elbows, his expression unreadable, except for the amused sparkle in his eyes. “You. Ethan. Asking me. Samuel. Out on a date.”

“No,” Ethan said, horrified. “I mean—no! Not me. Not… I’m asking for her. For Emily.”

Samuel’s grin deepened. “Ah. So you’re just the messenger. A little go-between.”

“Probably.” Ethan was trying very hard not to fidget. “Think of me as… like a matchmaker.”

“Like Claire?”

“No!” That came out too fast. “I mean… not like Claire. Nothing at all like Claire.”

Samuel smirked, slowly pulling the wrapper off his straw. “So let me get this straight. You’re asking me out, on behalf of your… imaginary sister… cousin… whatever?”

Ethan’s lips thinned. “Yes. That’s right. Do you want to go out with her or not?”

There was a long pause. Samuel’s straw made a slurping sound, then a quiet pop as he exhaled through it.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll go out with either one of you. Don’t make no difference to me.”

Ethan nearly choked. “You’re impossible.”

Samuel just leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “You gotta answer one question though.”

“What question?”

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Ethan’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Samuel laughed, low and rich, and clapped him once on the back. “Relax, man. I’m messing with you.”

Ethan took a shaky sip from his chocolate milk. “You’re terrible.”

“I know,” Samuel said. “So what’s the plan?”

“It’s this coming Saturday. A thing for one of my mom’s clients in Capital City.” Ethan squirmed in his seat. “She’s driving us. We have to be there at seven, so we, uh… pick you up at five-thirty-ish?”

Samuel gave him finger guns and a wink. “Sounds like a plan, matchmaker.”

 

* * *
 

Colleen’s car purred like a satisfied cat as it rolled to a stop in front of Eleanor’s new boutique-turned-ballroom in Capital City. Evening had just settled in, that sweet spot between autumn warmth and crispness. Lights glowed amber from behind glass windows; strings of pearls and tiny chandeliers sparkled from the displays. An elaborate banner above the awning read:

“Colleen’s Creations — Grand Expansion Gala”

Inside: jazz. Outside: nerves.

Ethan sat in the back seat, legs crossed at the ankles in his new white slingback heels, hands clasped primly around a sequin-covered clutch—both gifts from Miss Estelle. His dress, designed by Colleen herself—with plenty of his own special touches, of course—was a pale lilac tea-length confection with a sweetheart neckline and a chiffon overlay that caught the breeze. The satin sash at the high waist had been tied in a perfect bow by Colleen—twice. His soft blonde wig had been brushed and spray into a 1950s flip with the prerequisite bangs, and pinned with precision; his eyes lightly made up with the slightest hint of pink eye shadow and mascara. His lip gloss was strawberry-scented and suspiciously shiny. His nails French-tipped and gleaming.

Around his neck was the little angel pendant; his silver charm bracelet draped over one wrist while the other wrist—holding his clutch—was fashionably bare. Small pearl earrings—real pearls this time, not faux, a gift from Auntie Vivian—decorated his ears.

Beside him, Samuel—crisp black suit, a pale blue dress shirt and red silk tie, and his ever-present easy cool—watched him from the corner of his eye.

“You clean up good,” he said softly.

Ethan turned his head just enough for him to see him blush. “So do you.”

Colleen, glancing at them in the rearview mirror, smirked—she had said nothing for most of the drive. She adjusted her lipstick at the next stoplight and murmured, “Now remember, darling, this is a professional event. Act like a lady, not a teenager. We need that Emily charm.”

“I’ll try,” Ethan said. He was trying already. Too hard.

The event itself was something between a cocktail party and a fashion salon. Inside, college-aged models swirled in Colleen’s Creations gowns and party dresses, laughter clinked like glasses, and the scent of hors d'oeuvres floated under the rhythm of a live jazz quartet playing a slow, bluesy “Moonglow.” Most of the guests were adults—buyers, stylists, boutique owners, press. Only a few teens milled about, mostly daughters of long-time customers and friends of Eleanor’s. No one from school. No one who would ask about Ethan.

Ethan and Samuel drifted into the crowd like—despite their age—they belonged: a petite blonde ingenue in lilac, sequins, and white heels, elegant, aloof (but in truth, shy); and her mysterious, dark-skinned escort, looking as if they stepped off a European movie set.

Ethan walked with the careful grace Colleen and Penelope had instilled in him over several months: shoulders soft, hands light at his sides, chin forward but never high. He smiled (just barely, Mona Lisa-like). He listened. He didn’t say too much, but he knew when to tilt his head just so, evoking wisdom and insight (which may or may not have been an actual thing) with his silence.

Samuel—as tall as most of the adult men present and in better physical shape (as gauged by the amount of admiring female glances)—stuck close, protective but not possessive, greeting those who greeted them with polite nods and a surprisingly firm handshake. Rumors spread that he was the young ingenue’s bodyguard… or a talent agent… or was that her paramour?

Eleanor spotted them from across the floor.

“There she is! My little mannequin, my supermodel-in-the-making!” she trilled, sweeping forward in a flowing cream caftan with coral embroidery. Her heavy bangles clinked as she held out both hands to Ethan. “My God, girl, you make my heart race, you’re so beautiful!”

They trade air-kisses. Samuel grinned, but said nothing.

Ethan pointedly ignored him, replying: “Thank you for inviting us, Miss Eleanor.”

“Nonsense. You are the invitation,” Eleanor said, placing one hand delicately against his bare shoulder. “Everyone keeps asking who is this beautiful mademoiselle in my window display. I tell them, ‘Oh, just one of Colleen’s little secrets.’”

Ethan tilted his head and smiled modestly. “It’s really thanks to my mother. I just wear what she makes.”

“Liar. I know for a fact who adds those little features that make your mother’s offerings so special.” Eleanor turned to Colleen, who had glided up behind them like a queen arriving fashionably late. “Your ‘daughter’ is humble. That’s rare. And smart.”

Colleen beamed. “And well-raised.”

Eleanor gave Samuel a sly once-over. “And who is this tall drink of water?”

She held out her hand, palm down. Samuel grinned, took her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze and nodded. “Samuel Torres, ma’am. Just her date.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows lifted. “Just? Mmm. He’s polite. Charming. Respectful. And so tall, dark and handsome.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s fourteen?”

Colleen chuckled. “I ask myself that every time he calls me ma’am.”

“Ah, my muse has arrived!” called out a familiar voice. “And thy name is… Emily! Let the games begin!”

Marcel suddenly appeared, salt and pepper ponytail, stylish scarf, cameras bristling like armor. He leaned in and traded air kisses with the cross-dressed boy and then stepped back to survey Samuel. “Very nice, very Denzel. No, wait… Heidi Klum—with her Seal! Genius!”

“Name’s Samuel, sir.” The teenager shook hands with Marcel. “Just her escort.”

Marcel huffed. “No one is ‘just anything,’ my good man. You and she—sheer poetry! May I?”

Before Samuel could react, Marcel pulled up the appropriate camera and began composing and adjusting the lens settings. “Emily” anticipated the photographer's intent and instinctively struck—no, make that, she assumed—a pose, looping her arm through her date’s, pulling him close, her touch prompting him to follow her lead. She then tilted her head just so—Marcel responded by doing what he did best.

Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

“Amazing! Perfection!” Marcel said, more to himself than anyone else as he reviewed the photos. “Tonight was a windfall, but Emily’s presence—a blessing from the heavens.” He winked at Samuel, bringing his pinched fingers to his lips in a chef’s kiss. “And you, sir, are la crème de la crème of this little soiree. Toodles!”

And with that, he was off.

“Is he always like that?” Samuel scratched his ear, a wry grin on his face.

Ethan nodded. “Pretty much. He’s good at what he does, that’s for sure.” He turned toward one of the posters and sighed. “He makes me… Emily… look good.”

“If you say so—but seriously, how hard is that?” Samuel chuckled to see Ethan blush. He then raised an eyebrow, his face a question. “So, how did you do that? Go from ‘shy little old me’ to fashion model mode in less than a second?”

“Mother says it’s my superpower.” Ethan snorted. “I think it’s ‘cause if I do it right the first time we get done faster.”

Samuel stared at him, studying him. “Nah, there’s more to it than that. Gotta be.”

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows?”

They moved on. There was punch, which they drank. There was wine, which they declined. There were passed canapés, which they tried. Ethan tried one with smoked salmon and choked slightly, but Samuel saved him with a napkin and a whispered joke about fancy crackers.

“Think I’ll get the shrimp cocktail next time,” the cross-dressed boy said, rueful.

Samuel nodded. “Message received.”

They danced, too—several times. The first was a jazzy shuffle. With so many eyes on him, Ethan was nervous at first, but Samuel helped by being unbothered by the crowd; he moved like water, unfussy and smooth, just enough to bring out the younger boy’s confidence. Within moments Ethan fell into sync—he didn’t dance to the music, he danced with it, his body a physical echo of the melody, his actions mimicking the rise and fall of the notes, oblivious to the growing interest of the crowd. All of those sessions in front of Marcel’s camera combined with weeks of posture drills in front of Penelope’s full-length mirror—along with DeeDee’s unorthodox dance lessons—gave him more grace and rhythm than he realized. Samuel quickly adapted to the shifts in his partner’s movements, and the exceptional pair drew much attention over several sets, perhaps more than their share.

Which delighted Eleanor.

“Yes, that is the famous Emily. Oh, I agree—she is more beautiful in person, isn't she? Of course that dress is one of Colleen’s. Yes, it is handmade. No, not New York, actually not far from here. Can you believe it? Yes, I’ll have them in stock soon. Just send me your order. I’m so glad you’re having a wonderful time… thank you so much—”

Then came a slower dance. The quartet shifted into a dreamy, slowed-down version of “Unforgettable.” Samuel took Ethan’s hand in his; he placed the other firmly against the small of the younger boy’s back, pressing their bodies together.

“You okay?” he asked as they swayed. “You’re not saying much of anything.”

Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

It wasn’t the closeness that flustered him. It was the way he felt safe. And warm. And for once, without fear in the face of so many people.

Suddenly, without fanfare, Ethan raised lifted himself up on his tiptoes and he kissed Samuel.

Just once. Soft. A little off-center. By mistake. He meant for it to be full on the lips, but his nerves—and knowing his mother was nearby but hoping she wasn’t looking—got the better of him. Samuel’s cheek smelled like aftershave, one of the sample bottles Colleen had suggested he try. The fragrance triggered an alarming—though exciting—tingle deep down inside Ethan’s soul.

The cross-dressed boy moved back just enough to see Samuel’s rugged, ebony face beaming down at him, his green eyes glowing with affection.

“You somethin’ else, baby girl.” He leaned down and kissed Ethan on the mouth. He didn’t miss. The kiss was brief, but long enough. Ethan felt that tingling again, and he buried his face against Samuel’s chest for all he was worth.

I am safe. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you...

 

* * *
 

Across the room, Colleen and Eleanor watched, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while the shopkeeper whispered: “The mysterious Emily… her legend grows.” She glanced at Colleen, shoulders touching. “Sorry, I can’t help myself, but this is so good for the brand. Everyone seeing this will think she's some grand, romantic mystery. By tomorrow morning we’ll have a fresh batch of sales to process.”

“Um-hmm,” Colleen replied.

“We may have to extend our waitlist.”

“I suppose.

Eleanor frowned. “I think we should raise our prices… by double?” She waited for a response. “Maybe even triple them?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Colleen! Did you hear anything I just said?” She looked from her friend to the dance floor—“Emily” and Samuel were as one, swaying gently with the music in the midst of so many curious eyes and whispers and surreptitious snapshots. “Honestly, darling, are you okay?”

Colleen chuckled. “Sorry—I was just daydreaming… thinking.” She took a sip and nodded toward her son. “Sometimes I wonder what his father would say if he could see what I see.”

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it? I doubt he would see anything the same as you.” Eleanor finished her drink, accepted another from a passing server. “From what little I know, he doesn’t deserve to be part of any of this. Personally, I’m thrilled for you both.”

“Thank you very much.”

“No, seriously, love. Your business is booming—mine, too, thanks to you two—and Emily is becoming a force unto herself. Though I must admit I sometimes worry about the boy within the girl.” She sighed, giving Colleen a sheepish look. “I know, it’s hard to believe, but I’m not always about the money.”

“Oh, Ethan is doing all right.” Colleen snorted. “Sometimes I think he’s doing better than I am. I fret, but we talk—he knows this is all pretend. He’s still got some things to figure out, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Better than his father, that’s for sure.” She sighed. “He’s quite the young man.”

“Well, right now, he’s quite the young woman.” Eleanor gestured toward the young pair and their surrounding onlookers with her glass. “Like I said, dear heart, as long as you’re good with all of this.”

Colleen said nothing. She merely took a sip of her white wine, smiling in approval.

 

* * *
 

They took a break with the intent to get a drink and sample the shrimp cocktail (which, Colleen later informed them, was most excellent). Instead, Eleanor swept them to an impromptu gathering of her more frequent—and well-funded—customers for a quick hello and a few photos. Samuel grinned to see Ethan (as "Emily") being presented as “the Face of Colleen’s Collections,” posing for selfies and acting so quietly mysterious. The less “she” spoke, the more aloof she acted, the more she enchanted her audience.

“That was… something,” Samuel said once the photo-op was concluded. “You had them eating out of your hand, and all you did was pretend you didn’t give a crap. How’d you do that?”

“Was that how it looked?” Ethan scoffed. “Eleanor says ‘less is more.’ To be honest, I always worry I’ll mess up, so I just kind of, I don’t know, pretend I'm somewhere else, and that ‘Emily’ is in charge. Like I'm watching a movie where she's the star.”

“Well, you didn’t look scared.” Samuel squeezed the younger boy’s hand. “Looked to me like you 'bout ready to kick some ass.”

“That’s a new one.” Ethan giggled, then sighed. “I know, Miss Eleanor goes little overboard sometimes, but she means well. But there’s a lot riding on ‘Emily.’ Eleanor just opened this store, so she’s trying to get some momentum. And Mom is trying to grow our business, which isn’t easy since we’re so understaffed. Because I’m back in school, she’s hired some of her—well, our—friends to help out. So if me modeling as Emily, and making a few of these appearances help, then—”

He stopped talking when he saw Samuel grinning at him.

“What’s so funny? Is my wig crooked or something?”

The tall boy shook his head. “I was just listenin'. You really into this, ain’t you? This world, I mean. You—Ethan—doing all this, posing as Emily, wearing all these fancy clothes, gettin’ your picture took. But… you’re not doing it because you’re vain, not some snobby little bitch like Claire and her friends. You’re doing it for your mom. Your business. Your survival. Right?”

“Well, yeah. I guess so.” The cross-dressed boy grunted. “Ever since my dad beat up… you know… and left us with no money, just a bunch of bills—” He paused, biting his lip. “It’s been tough on my mom. She hid it from me, and I… I didn’t understand all that until I started helping out.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Samuel grunted. “I mean, still, you like this stuff… I get that and it’s cool as far as I’m concerned. You gotta like it, to do it so good. But this is actually about helping your family, your mom, keeping your house… being responsible.”

Ethan’s mouth went into a crooked, skeptical smile. “Okaaay...”

“Little dude, let me tell you something.” Samuel raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly pensive. “You may come off as a little prissy thing sometimes—I sure thought that the day I first saw you, and you were wearing pants, for fuck’s sake. But I gotta say, lipstick, dresses, all that stuff… none of that's keepin’ you from being a badass. You more man in those high heels than most grown-ass men I know. And I know some pretty tough grown-ass men.”

“Um… thanks? I think?”

“Naw, baby girl… thank you.” The older boy laughed. “Really, I’m serious. You’re somethin’ else. I keep sayin’ you’re better at bein’ a girl than most real girls. But you’re also smarter than people think. A lot smarter than even you think. And I feel like I get smarter every time I’m around you.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” Ethan made a face. “I mean, I don’t think I’m all that smart. Just look at what I’m wearing. And if you could see inside my head—I’m a mess.”

“Ain’t we all.” Samuel leaned down and gave Ethan a kiss on the forehead. “Hey, that Miss Eleanor is giving me the evil eye. I think I’ve been taking too much of your time—it’s her party, right? So, let’s get out on the dance floor and put a show so she and your mom can sell some more of those outfits.”

 

* * *
 

It was late when the car pulled off the main highway and headed into Maplewood. The drive had been quiet—but not empty.

Ethan sat in the back seat again, one hand folded around his clutch, the angel pendant resting against his collarbone above the neckline of his dress. He’d been leaning against Samuel, his blonde head resting on the older boy’s shoulder, comfortable, happy. They’d held hands the whole time, quietly taking turns squeezing them, a secret code between two young people trying to figure out who and what they were.

They may or may not have sneaked in a kiss or two. Or three, perhaps.

The windows were cracked to let in the cool night air, and Colleen hummed softly to a tune from the radio—something vintage, romantic, and half-forgotten.

“So,” she said, having enjoyed the view through the rearview mirror during the drive. “You two have been extra quiet back there. Did we have a nice time?”

Samuel smiled, easy and honest. “It was real nice, ma’am. Thank you again for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you were with us, Samuel. You mean a lot to us… to Emily… and others.”

“Others?” Samuel snorted. “What others?” He looked at Ethan, who shrugged and smiled coyly.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Colleen’s voice was light but firm. “We’re not taking you straight home. Not just yet.”

“Okaaaay—” Again, Samuel looked at Ethan and mouthed the words: What the f—

The younger boy felt his stomach tense. He knew what was coming. He’d helped plan it. But even so—his pink-tipped fingers gripped the clutch tighter.

Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Martin, is something going on?”

“Be patient, darling,” Colleen said, taking a left turn at the old elm-lined street into their neighborhood. “We have a quick stop to make.”

He looked at Ethan. The blushing boy squeezed his hand and looked at him with reassuring eyes.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a large, familiar Victorian—painted lavender-gray with white trim and a wraparound porch that glowed with soft golden light.

“Penelope’s house?” Samuel asked, surprised. “Everything okay?”

Colleen put the car in park and turned in her seat. “Oh, everything’s fine, sweetheart. We just have… someone we’d like you to meet.”

Ethan opened the door slowly and stepped out, heels clicking on the stone walkway. Samuel followed, his brow furrowed.

The front door opened before they could knock.

There stood Penelope—resplendent in a flowing peacock blue gown, her gray hair swept into a loose chignon, her earrings jangling. She smiled like a cat who’d been expecting something particularly interesting.

“Well now,” she purred. “Right on time.”

Inside, the parlor was warm and full of familiar faces—yet somehow formal, like a courtroom draped in lace. There were no teacups tonight. No lemon biscuits. Just anticipation.

Aunt Vivian stood near the fireplace, in a dark gray suit and matching heels, arms folded behind her back like a judge at rest. DeeDee leaned against a doorway with a root beer in one hand and a smirk in the other—Dani crouched beside her, playing with a somewhat interested Gingersnap.

And on the couch, sitting quietly with her purse on her lap, was Mrs. Thelma Jackson.

Niecy stood beside her, wearing her ballet costume, holding a little brown baby doll like a shield. She looked like she’d just woken up—or had been awakened—from a nap, but when she saw Ethan, her face lit up.

“Omigosh, it’s Emily!” She held the doll up like a mother would a child. “Look Tina, it’s Emily! Say hi to Emily!”

Ethan waved, heart fluttering.

Samuel looked around, then looked at Colleen. “Um, what’s going on?”

Vivian’s voice cut through the quiet. “This is your show, darling. You made it happen—so it’s your story to tell.”

Ethan took a slow breath. He stepped forward, hands clasped in front. The room stilled.

“Samuel,” he began softly, “you remember my pendant, right?”

He blinked. “The one you’re wearing tonight? The… um, little angel?”

Ethan nodded and lifted the chain from around his neck, letting the small, winged figure catch the light. “I told you it was a gift.” Samuel nodded. “Well, it is a gift. From Mrs. Jackson here.”

The cross-dressed boy turned to look at Thelma, who nodded gently, her eyes glistening.

Ethan continued. “Mrs. Jackson told me once that she bought this to remember her baby boy. A baby she had to give up when she was younger. Some fourteen years ago, she told me. She never wanted to part from him… she loved that child more than anything or anyone. But she had no choice. She was alone, no family, no money—her life was… different then… dangerous, not the kind to raise a child in. So… as much as she hated herself for doing it… she gave him up to keep him safe.”

Samuel’s mouth opened, then closed.

“I didn’t make the connection at first,” Ethan went on, his voice barely above a whisper. “But then, on our first date together, I saw the way you looked at this little angel. Like you knew it already. Like it was part of you.” He touched the pendant. “You remember when you asked me about it.”

The tall boy nodded. Quiet, knowing but not knowing.

“And when I asked Mrs. Jackson about it again, why she gave it to me… she said because it was too painful to keep.”

Thelma spoke then, her voice soft and wavering. “It was meant for my little angel. I never thought I’d see him again. I gave up on him, thinking he was lost to me forever. But then I met Ethan and his mother...”

Ethan nodded. “The other thing was—I love your eyes, Samuel.” He blushed and then turned to the little ballerina before him. “Almost as much as I love Niecy’s eyes.” Niecy giggled to hear her name being used in such a serious conversation. “If you look real close, as I have so many times, you’ll see that they’re the same shade as yours. Like jade.”

“Mama always says ‘You got pretty eyes, Niecy,’” whispered the little girl, who suddenly seemed to understand some of what was going on.

Ethan nodded, his eyes shimmering, his heart racing. He glanced at Vivian, who stepped forward and produced a slender folder of papers.

“It was farfetched, but stranger things have happened,” she said. “So I looked into it. Family court records, hospital files, sealed adoption notes. And I had the court release everything.” She cleared her throat. “I may or may not have cut a few corners.”

DeeDee snorted. A glance from Vivian kept her from saying anything else.

Vivian handed the folder to Ethan, who passed it—gently—to Samuel.

He didn’t open it. Not yet.

Ethan’s voice broke a little. “Samuel… you may... or may not want to hear this—I think... I believe… Mrs. Jackson is your mother. And Niecy… is your little sister.”

The room went still.

Even the grandfather clock seemed to hold its breath.

Samuel stood motionless. His eyes flicked to Thelma, to Niecy, to the pendant, and finally back to Ethan. Something like shock crossed his face, followed by something softer. Then sharper. Then scared.

But it was Niecy who saved them all.

She took a tiny step forward, her braids bobbing. “Mr. Samuel,” she asked, wide-eyed, wishful, “does this mean… that you… you’re my big brother?”

The tension cracked like a dropped glass. Samuel let out a sound—not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. He crouched low and opened his arms.

“I guess so, little sister,” he said, pulling her in. “I guess so.”

Niecy squealed and threw her arms around him. “Look, Emily! Look! Look! Look! Before I met you I didn’t have any brothers or aunties or cousins or anything! And now I got’em all! I got everything! You really are a magical girl!”

Samuel’s green eyes shined, soft... wet.

He looked at Thelma next. She rose slowly from the couch, hands trembling.

“Sammy,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I hope you don’t mind—that’s what I called you when you were my baby.” Tears ran down her face as she tried to speak. “I’m so sorry, Sammy, I'm so, so sorry. But back then… where I lived… times were hard and I—”

Before she could say another word Samuel Torres—aka Samuel the Bully, Samuel the Terror of Lincoln Middle School, Samuel the Leader of the Pack, the sarcastic rebel, the vandal, the no-good and the ne’er-do-well—dropped to his knees… and folded this once-hopeless mother into a hug, one arm around her, the other around a giddy, glowing Niecy.

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t everything. But it was enough.

 

* * *
 

After a little while the gathering was coming to an end. Colleen and Samuel were talking and Niecy, worn down and sleepy, clung to Penelope and her doll.

Vivian and DeeDee and Dani stood together in silence. DeeDee looked at her sister, her eyes narrowing.

“Are you actually crying, your honor? I thought you did this kind of thing all the time.”

“I most certainly am not!” Vivian growled. “And if you utter another word I’ll have that… that machine you drive impounded and towed to the junkyard!”

“Touché, pussy cat,” muttered Dani.

Thelma approached Ethan and gave him a hug, squeezing the cross-dressed boy for all she was worth.

“Thank you so much, sweetness. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for you.”

Ethan shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I just talked with Auntie Vivian and… you know…”

“Say what you will.” Thelma kissed him on the cheek. “But I know better. You’ve done so much for us, ever since that first visit… when you brought new life to little Tina.”

Ethan gave a soft laugh, then got quiet. “So, how are you and Samuel… I mean, Sammy—”

“We’ll be all right, I think. He told me how he hated me for the longest time. Which I understand because—” she fought to keep her breath— “He thought I’d hated him. All those years. Thinking his mother hated that precious little baby boy.”

“He was pretty angry when I first met him.” Ethan bit his lip. “I thought it was me.”

Thelma shook her head. “The crazy thing is… he told me that he was sorry. He’s sorry? It wasn’t his fault. He was just a baby. I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry—but he insisted on apologizing to me.”

“He’s pretty hard-headed. But he’s awful smart, too.”

“I can see that. I just pray that this will take. There’s a lot of things for us to work out.”

“I know it will, Mrs. Jackson. Just give him time. And just so you know, I’m going to tell him the same thing.”

“I love you, darlin’. As if you were one of my own.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Jackson.”

 

* * *
 

The air outside was cooler now, dusk having finally folded itself into night. A cricket chirped from beneath Penelope’s hedges. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked twice, then settled back into silence.

DeeDee had gone out to start her car, promising Samuel a ride home. “Think I’ll get a smoke while I’m at it,” she’d said, giving him a fist bump and pretending not to wipe her eyes. “Been trying to quit, but all this drama is wearing me out.”

Dani had followed, high-fiving Samuel without a word, her hat down over her face—Ethan was sure he saw a tear running down her cheek, but decided it had to be an optical illusion.

The porch light cast a warm circle on the painted floorboards where Ethan and Samuel now stood—alone for the first time since the slow dance. Inside, voices murmured behind the lace-curtained windows.

Ethan held the pendant in his hand again, feeling its weight.

Samuel stood beside the cross-dressed boy, close but not quite touching.

“You figured it all out,” he said, voice low. “About that necklace. About her.”

Ethan shook his head gently. “I guessed. That’s all. It just… felt like it mattered.”

“You could’ve been wrong.”

“I hoped I wasn’t.”

Samuel turned toward Ethan fully then, one hand brushing lightly against the side of the younger boy’s neck. He touched the angel pendant, now back in its resting place. His thumb stroked over its tiny wings.

“Mama is right,” he said. “You are an angel.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s this thing Niecy calls you? A ‘magical girl?’ What’s that all about?”

“Girl stuff.” Ethan made a face. “You wouldn’t know much about that, would you?”

Samuel snorted. “Guess not.”

The crickets chirped their last as DeeDee fired up the Mustang.

He reached up instead, wrapped his arms around Samuel’s neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.

“Guess I better go,” murmured the older boy.

Ethan didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

There was no hesitation this time. No cameras, no Eleanor or clients standing nearby. Just the two of them beneath the porch light, Ethan’s lips soft and certain against Samuel’s, his breath catching as he felt his body being gently drawn in.

From the street, a loud honk followed by the thunderous roar of the GT-500’s engine broke the spell.

“Hey, you two!” Dani’s voice carried through the quiet night. “Get a room!”

Another beat. Then DeeDee, raising a ruckus: “Why the hell are you telling them that? Hey, don’t listen to my brat—you guys are way too young for that crap!”

Ethan laughed against Samuel’s chest. He chuckled too, low and quiet, then rested his forehead against the younger boy’s.

“I think I might love you, baby girl,” he whispered.

Ethan felt his heart flip in its little lace bra. “Me too.”

They didn’t kiss again—not because they didn’t want to, but because it was enough. For now.

Down by the curb, DeeDee revved the engine of her muscle car, Dani yelling, “Mama’s getting antsy, big guy—you might wanna hurry if you don’t wanna walk!”

Samuel pulled away with a final squeeze of Ethan’s hands, then trotted down the steps, turning once at the sidewalk to flash that sideways grin.

Ethan stood on the porch, gown catching the breeze, pendant warm against his heart.

Inside the house, someone began humming a lullaby.

And a little girl dreamed of her big brother, and a mother dared to hope again.

 
Next: By Vivian’s Decree