Excerpt of Honor Code by Cathy Perkins

Robbins looked across Miz Rose's breakfast table at the toddler.

Cute kid.

Tasha cut her eyes and smiled, a natural flirt.

Her daddy's gonna need a shotgun when this one gets older, he thought—then remembered she didn't have a daddy.

Daintily pinching the Cheerio between forefinger and thumb, Tasha offered him a cereal circle. Mouth open, he lowered his head and she dropped the Cheerio inside. He kissed her fingers in return, a loud smack that drew laughter.

"Don't you be encouraging her," Miz Rose said. "Tasha, you eat that cereal. And use yore spoon."

The child jammed the spoon into the bowl, spilling more cereal onto the highchair tray, then lifted the mounded spoon toward her mouth.

"That's right." Miz Rose turned back to the sink and tackled the older kids' breakfast dishes. Sunlight reflected off the glass beads in her hair. Overnight, she'd braided her hair into a bunch of cornrows, a sure sign she was worried.

Robbins sipped his coffee, watching both Tasha and her. Two months ago, when he and Child Services dropped the toddler off with Miz Rose, the kid had been a clingy, weepy mess. "Tasha seems happy."

"She just need to be where folks ain't angry."

"Don't we all?" Robbins considered the mood at home. The tension level there needed to drop below an "orange" threat level, but how was he supposed to change Sharon's attitude?

"Most peoples forget to think about the other person," Miz Rose said.

Robbins sat back. The woman had an eerie ability to say things that mirrored his thoughts.

Miz Rose had a point. How often did he consider Sharon's feelings?

What would make her happy? Other than him taking out the trash and cutting the grass? He slurped more coffee. To be fair, how much of the tension in the house was his fault?

Miz Rose dried her hands and stepped across the kitchen. The place—the house and the furniture—was old and worn, but other than the area right around the highchair, it was clean. She wiped Tasha's grubby face and hands, then plucked the toddler from the high chair and kissed her chubby cheek.

Tasha leaned into Miz Rose, molding against her body, stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked—the picture of contentment.

"I ‘spect you didn't come over here for my coffee or to check on this chil'. You hear anything about George Beason?"