Your Loyal Servant

(3) You're My What?

Shaking my head, I tried to clear away the cobwebs of confusion—and failed. How did my dad know The Freak? And why was he acting like they were old pals? This was too weird.

            Dad smiled at—what was his name? Howie?—him. "Your family called to say you'd arrive in a week, and here you are! Exactly one week later. You're very tactful."

            Freaky bowed at the waist, smiling. "Thank you, sir."

            An eyebrow rose. Did he just call my dad 'sir'? What was with this guy? 

            "Well, don't stand out there all day!" Dad yelled, too joyful for my tastes. He pulled me to the side by grabbing my arm, making me yelp in surprise, and gestured towards the inside. "Why don't you come in."

            The odd-ball straightened and stepped inside, still smiling that goofy grin. "Thank you. I appreciate the gracious welcome."

            Mom finally appeared, and her eyes fell on our guest. Her hand went to her cheek and she giggled. "My, my. Aren't you a cute stray. Can we keep him, Spencer?"

            "Of course!" Dad laughed, wrapping an arm around her, as the stray in question blushed, his eyes on the ground.

            My arms crossed over my chest as I studied him. I didn't like him. He was a shady character. I mean, he literally bowed before me, called my dad 'sir', and talked like he came from a different time. He didn't sit well with my stomach.

            My eyes narrowed and I glowered at him. When he noticed my stare, he was taken aback and shrunk away at the force of my glare. But it morphed into something resembling concern.

I couldn't figure this kid out to save my life.

            Mom gasped, startling me. "Wait, you're Howard Connors, aren't you?"

            "Yes, ma'am," he answered, his smile returning. But those eyes, filled with worry, kept flickering in my direction.

            I looked at my mom. I couldn't stay silent any longer, and I demanded, "How do you guys know this kid?"

            Dad shut the door and put his arms around the kid's and my shoulders. He led us into the dining room and plopped us down in seats across from each other. He explained, "Last week, his parents called us to say their son would be coming here to live with us."

            I shot out of my seat, choking on my own spit. "Living with us?" I screamed.

           "Yes, living with us," he echoed, remaining eerily calm. He put his hands on my shoulders again and forced me to sit down. "It is time for him to accept his calling."

            "Accept his calling? What the hell does that mean?"

            "Rose," Mom chided.

            My eyes landed on The Freak. With his wisps of golden honey hair, silver eyes, and built frame, he looked as flawless as a picture. But his expression was earnest and eager. His wide eyes were sincere and naïve. His features were open and trusting. He looked like a doll in every virtue. Ignoring his height, he could have passed as a young child. But there was also a faint fierceness piercing those silver eyes: a longing to protect and to please. He looked ready to lay down his life for the first person who asked him to.

            I shook Dad's hands off and slammed my hands on the table as I stood up. I announced, "Okay, I'm done with this conversation." I turned to head upstairs.