I could move out of my aunt and uncle’s house.
“Can my aunt and uncle stop me from moving into the house?”
He frowned. “That’s another reason why she appointed me as the trustee, she didn’t want either of them having any control over this money.” He consulted the papers in his hands again. “You’ll be eighteen in less than a year. Legally, there isn’t a lot they can do to compel you to remain in their home. As long as you stay out of trouble and keep going to school, the police won’t get involved.” He flipped to another page. “With your uncle’s criminal record, I doubt he’ll initiate any contact with law enforcement.”
Criminal record? That was news to me, but not exactly surprising.
“What about Roman?”
“He’s a different story. As a ward of the state, they can compel him to stay in foster care until he turns eighteen.”
I chewed on my thumbnail. “Dammit.”
“He’s turning eighteen in another month, right? They’ll have to let him out then. If not, I’ll file a petition to get him released.”
“Thank you.”
He reviewed documents and deeds with me. None of it made a lot of sense. I trusted he would handle the legal papers.
Mr. Porter didn’t want me taking the bus so late in the afternoon and offered to drive me home.
Home? I didn’t even know where that was anymore. “Will you take me to Mrs. Shields’ house?”
“Of course.” He hesitated and tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Things may be a little messy from the paramedics and everyone else going through the home, but everything has been processed. You can stay there tonight if you want to.”
Stay in the house where Mrs. Shields died? I hadn’t considered that part. It didn’t frighten me, though. If anything, it made me feel closer to her.
Mr. Porter walked me inside and helped me straighten up downstairs before shaking my hand and leaving.
I glanced at the clock. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t be home yet.
I dialed the house phone and left a message explaining that I wouldn’t be home tonight.
Chapter Forty
Roman
Our peaceful co-existence was disturbed again by the addition of another roommate.
None of us knew the kid. And to say he didn’t fit in with our group dynamic was the understatement of the year.
Everyone called him Wiggles. I assumed it was because he had long, wild black curls springing from his head that shook and jiggled when he moved.
He took the bed underneath mine. And that’s how I discovered the origin of the name Wiggles—he liked to beat off every fucking night. Not all quiet and polite like the rest of us. Nope. He shook the whole damn bunk bed.
Bunking with Wiggles made me realize how good I’d had it all these years in the system.
“I assure you, it’s much more horrifying to accidentally open your eyes and see him jacking off in the moonlight, than it is to hear it,” Eraser complained while Wiggles was in the bathroom.
“I don’t just hear it, though,” I insisted. “He shakes the whole bed. I feel it.”
Eventually, it was time for lights out.
Wiggles was even more skeptical about the manifesting sessions than I had been in the beginning.
“You go first, Eraser,” Griff’s voice demanded in the darkness. “Where do you see yourself in seven years?”
“Seven, huh? Not five?” Eraser answered. “Let’s see. I’m gonna help my uncle run the racetrack. Hustle, bring in new business. Ella and I will be married and shopping for the right piece of property to build our dream home.” His voice lowered to an almost dreamy tone, the same way it did whenever he mentioned Ella.
“Dream home,” Wiggles scoffed. The bed springs from his corner of the room squeaked. “You sound like a girl.”