Chapter 7 Lane
SEVEN
Lane
Glitter still clings to Sanders’s cheeks, and his crooked antlers remain, but his grin could light half of Wilmington.
“Mom! Did you hear them chanting? Send Luke to Duke. It's a whole thing! People were doing it with me.” He barrels into me, nearly knocking me back onto the curb. “They loved it.”
“I heard,” I say, catching his shoulders. “I thought you were going to start signing autographs.”
Woody chuckles beside me, steadying Luke as he climbs carefully down from the trailer. Luke’s smaller, paler, his puffy jacket swallowing his thin frame, but his eyes shine with the same thrill.
Leigh Turner hops down after him, braids flying, candy bag clutched in one hand like she won a lottery. “Best parade ever,” she announces to no one in particular.
Sanders points toward the side street one block over. “Pizza? Can we go to Sal’s? Please? All of us?”
Leigh gasps and spins toward Luke. “Sal’s! Do you hear that?”
Luke’s smile is shy, but hopeful.
I glance at Woody, uncertain. “I told Carly I would drop them off after the parade.”
“Let's text her and see,” Woody cuts in, already pulling out his phone. “Better yet, let's invite her, too. We still have logistics we should discuss for tomorrow.”
“She told me when I talked to her earlier about bringing the kids to the parade that she gets off at six." I look at my watch and can't believe it's almost six now. "That's a good idea. Let me try her.”
Leigh buzzes with excitement, practically shouting, “She works at the Piggly Wiggly close by. I bet she will come meet us. Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!”
Sanders joins her chant. “Pizza, pizza, pizza!”
I smile at their excitement and fish out my phone. I shoot a quick text to Carly. Her reply comes back almost instantly.
Be there right after 6. Thank you.
“She’s coming,” I tell them.
The kids cheer loudly enough to turn heads on the sidewalk.
I crouch in front of Luke, brushing a bit of lint off his coat. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? You sure you’re up for it?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly, almost defensively. “No dialysis today. Tomorrow’s my day.”
Hearing him say that punches me right in my chest. Just another part of his week, the way other nine-year-olds talk about basketball practice or piano lessons. I smooth his sleeve, careful not to let my emotions show. “Then Sal’s it is.”
Sanders grabs Luke’s wrist and tugs him toward the corner. “Wait until you see the arcade. Best skee-ball in the state.”
As if he's tested out skee-ball anywhere else besides Sal's. I smile at his confidence.
Leigh skips after them, candy bag swinging.
Woody lingers at my side, his stride easy but his voice low. “Pizza night, then. Just like old times.”
I nod, sliding my phone back into my bag. “Guess so.”
For a moment, we almost look like a family. The three of them up ahead could easily be two brothers and a sister, trailing laughter through the cold December air. And behind them, me, walking beside the man I once promised forever, and swore I’d never fall into step with again.
The five of us tumble into Sal’s in a tangle of cold cheeks and chattering kids. The place smells exactly the same—garlic knots, fryer oil, oregano baked into the walls.
Sanders shoves in beside Luke, both of them already arguing about who gets first turn on the handheld game. Leigh slides in beside her brother and pulls out a crayon from the stubby jar on the table, bending her head over the Kraft paper tablecloth.
For a second, with three kids squeezed into one side of the booth and Woody settling beside me, it must look like something out of a life I almost had. I always imagined several children and going to Christmas events together, squeezing into a booth.
The clatter of plates, the squeak of the vinyl, Sanders’s laugh cutting above the noise. All of it presses right against my ribs.
The server comes by and drops menus. The place is buzzing. Half the parade crowd must’ve had the same idea, and there's no way I’m letting us wait thirty minutes for sodas.
“Three Sprites, one Coke, and a water,” I rattle off automatically, glancing toward the kids. They nod, grinning like I’ve just ordered magic.
Woody arches a brow at me. “Ordering for everyone, I see?”
“I asked the kids as we walked in, and I know you still only drink Coke.” I don’t look directly at him when I say it, because knowing those little details is teetering on more dangerous than casual.
The drinks come fast, considering how busy they are. Condensation slicks on the glasses as the kids draw and recall comments and residual posts referring to their #SaveChristmas challenge.
The hum of the room swells around us, all clatter and chatter, a steady reminder we’re packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the post-parade crowd.
I smooth a paper napkin across my lap, pretending I'm not consumed with how close Woody is and his scent wafting over me. We share the bench, both of us more awkward than two people who used to be married and share a child should be.
“They’ve got their own world going on,” he says, nodding toward the kids. His voice is low, carrying only to me.
“It's pretty sweet,” I murmur. “To be a kid again and make best friends in an instant.”
For a moment, silence stretches. Not the brittle kind we choked on in the last years of our marriage and too often in the years since. This one feels softer. Almost comfortable. I busy myself with the laminated menu, though I already know it by heart.
“You still order the veggie slice with extra olives?” he asks suddenly, and when I glance up, his mouth curves in the faintest grin.
Heat curls in my chest. “Some things should never change.”
His eyes flicker like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly too aware of the way his gaze lingers a fraction longer than it should. My pulse ticks faster, and I'm suddenly overheated.
The server swings by to see if we're ready to order. I order two large pizzas and warn her we may have another order when the last of our party arrives.
When she leaves, Woody leans back, arms folded loosely. “Still running the show.” There’s no bite in his tone this time, only quiet observation.
“It’s called being efficient.” I aim for lightness, but it comes out more snarky than I meant for it to.
My body betrays me, leaning in ever so slightly as if drawn by habit. His cologne, subtle and clean, threads with the tangy scent of marinara. My fingers toy with the corner of a napkin until it shreds.
His gaze drops to my hands. “You always did that when you were nervous.”
"What?"
"Fiddle with your napkin, bending the corners in."
“I’m not nervous.” Too fast. Too defensive. My cheeks warm, giving me away.
“Right,” he says, but there’s no judgment. Just that knowing look that reminds me he once read me better than anyone.
The kids erupt in laughter over some victory on the screen, pulling me back. I cling to the sound, grateful for the interruption.
Fifteen minutes isn’t long, but it stretches enough to give me a flash of what could have been.
The bell over the door jingles, and Carly Turner hurries in. Her hair is twisted up, wisps falling around her face, her work uniform still on. She looks wrung out, but the moment Luke and Leigh spot her, they light up like someone plugged them in.
“Mom!” Leigh waves her crayon in the air, nearly splattering wax on the pizza posters taped to the wall.
Carly makes her way over, slipping into the empty seat beside Woody. Now he's nearly touching me, the heat radiating off his arm onto mine. My breath shudders.
“Sorry. It took me a little longer than I'd hoped. Clocked out as fast as I could.” She exhales, brushing hair back from her forehead, then smiles tiredly at me. “Thanks for grabbing them.”
“Of course,” I say, meaning it. “They’ve been angels.”
Luke beams, a Sprite moustache already forming above his lip. Sanders elbows him with a grin. “Best night ever.”
She clears her throat. “I don’t even know where to start. The hospital called today about Luke’s pre-transplant workup.” Her voice wavers. “For the first time, I didn't stress over how we would manage this.”
Hope sparks across her features, warring with fear.
“Oh, Carly. I can't even imagine,” I say quickly, leaning forward. “I'm just so tickled this has all come through for y'all.”
Her eyes dart down to her hands, then back up.
“Thank you. I still pinch myself that this is really going to work.
I'm still not clear on how to manage it all, but I guess I just go with it and trust it will all work out. I only have three sick days left, definitely not enough for surgery and then post-op, staying close to Duke.”
My heart twists. I reach across the table, brushing her hand lightly. “I think you'll have more than enough to cover you for Luke's recovery. Have you seen the donations today?”
"No, I haven't really looked at it at all. I don't want to get my hopes up."
"Carly. You've raised enough to take time off for Durham, and some time after you get back to Wilmington to help Luke recover. Where are we, Woody?"
He pulls out his phone, taps around, and then says, "At this moment, we are at $81,067."
“Six, seven," Luke and Sanders say in unison.
I roll my eyes because I still have no clue what that means. Sanders repeats it no less than ten times a day. I stopped asking. It's a preteen inside joke I'll never get.
Carly covers her mouth and tears well in her eyes.
Beside me, Woody shifts, his shoulder brushing mine when he reaches into his back pocket. He slides a folded paper across the table toward Carly.
“That’s a contact at GoFundMe,” he says, his voice calm. “Funds won’t release all at once, but they’ll walk you through it. Once it hits my account, I can wire it to yours. I just need the account number and ACH.”
Carly stares at the slip of paper like it’s a lottery ticket. Her lips part, eyes going glassy. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Eighty thousand dollars—” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen that many zeroes in my life. I don’t want to screw it up.”
“You won’t,” I assure her. “You’ve already kept your kids afloat this long. Managing this money is just another part of that. And it’s not just you. We’re here to help you.”
Woody exhales, leaning back. “I almost thought about spacing it out,” he admits. “Staged transfers, so you wouldn’t feel the pressure. But it’s not my place. It’s yours to manage. You tell me how you want me to do it.”
I glance at him, startled. For a moment, I catch the flicker of humility in his profile, that rare acknowledgment he doesn’t have all the answers. Something in my chest loosens, though I’m not ready to give him credit aloud.
Carly folds the paper carefully, tucking it into her bag like it’s made of gold.
“I can’t believe this. You don’t know what it means.” Her voice breaks, and she wipes at her eyes with the heel of her hand.
I grab her hand across Woody and squeeze.
“Thank you both. Luke wouldn’t have this chance without you.”
I squeeze her hand again. “Don’t thank us. Sanders and Luke did all of this. Thank every stranger out there who believed in your precious son. We’re just organizing the chaos at this point.”
She lets out a laugh, and I realize how young she is, carrying a weight that would flatten anyone twice her age. If I had to guess, she's not much older than twenty-five, doing all of this with two children on her own.
After the emotional start, we get through dinner on lighter subjects. We all get excited about our trip to New York tomorrow, and talk about all we have to do in a short time.
The kids are literally vibrating out of the booth as they plan more than any human could do in three days in New York, on top of the interview, dialysis, and travel.
When we finally finish our dinner and Woody pays the check, Carly pulls me into a hug. Her arms are strong despite how frail she looks, and I hold on tight.
“You and your family are our angels,” she whispers in my ear.
“So is yours to us,” I say softly.
To us. Are we a unit? Because in this moment, it certainly seems that way.
When she steps back, her eyes land on Woody. She gives him a watery smile, then pulls him into a hug. He’s never been one to hug strangers, but he doesn’t hesitate.
That’s when it hits me. He canceled surgeries for this. For Sanders. For Luke. Once upon a time, he never would have.
The realization twists inside me, equal parts affection and jealousy. If he can do it now, why couldn’t he then? And beneath it all, the ache of knowing I can’t trust this to last, not when history says otherwise.
On the sidewalk, the December air bites. String lights twinkle above Market Street, casting everything in a soft golden glow.
Carly gathers her children, Luke leaning into her side, Leigh skipping at her hand. They wave to us and then head toward their car.
We watch them walk away for a moment. Sanders tugs at my sleeve. “Mom, thank you for agreeing to do this #SaveChristmas challenge. I'm so glad our family could do it together. It means the world to Luke. And me.”
The word family lodges in my chest like a thorn. He still sees us that way. Sometimes I wish we were. But maybe if he does, that’s enough.
I kiss the top of his head, even as my throat burns. “I’m so glad too, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
Behind us, Woody lingers silently. When I finally turn, I catch him watching me. For a fleeting second, something warm flickers there. It twists through me before I can shove it down.
Then his phone rings. Its tinny tone is loud in the chilly night, like a warning bell. He pulls it out, scans the screen, and his shoulders square.
“Alright, Squirt.” He leans down, presses a quick kiss to Sanders’s hair. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll pick you up if you want to just take one car."
"No, I think it's best for us to just meet you at the airport tomorrow morning. Thank you, though. Have a good night. Oh, and thanks for grabbing the tab.”
He’s already lifting the phone to his ear as he turns away, voice dropping into that clipped tone I know too well. “Beamer.”
And just like that, the bubble pops.
I hug my coat tight, watching him stride off, already absorbed in someone else’s crisis. For half a heartbeat, I thought maybe he’d changed. That maybe this trip would be different.
But no. It’ll be New York with Woody and his phone. I should have let him use work as an excuse and bowed out. It would've been easier than watching him halfway participate.