Chapter 15I like the weight of her over me.
fifteen
. . .
i like the weight of her over me.
“Try it now,” I shout, sliding out from under Zeth’s mom’s old sedan. From behind the wheel, Zeth turns the key, and the car starts up, finally.
“Jackpot!” Zeth cheers as I get off the ground, dusting my palms against my thighs.
“Now, we’ll let it run for a few minutes to warm up.” I glance back at the house. “Your mom’s headed to work here pretty quick, right?”
He nods.
“Okay, so let’s keep it running.” I nod to where my truck is parked behind the driveway. “I brought you something. I’ll get it out while her car is warming up.”
Gathering my bag of tools from the ground, I head toward my truck, where I slide them into the backseat.
Letting down the tailgate, I untie and reach for the basic lawn mower I just purchased at the hardware store in Oakcreek.
As I push it up the drive toward Zeth, his eyes go wide.
Looking over the snow-laden lawn, dying or close to dead, he turns back to me.
“Is that for us?”
I press my finger into his chest. “It’s for you.”
He looks confused.
With a hand on his shoulder, I say, “your mom works hard. She’s gotta take care of a lot of things. Now that you’re almost thirteen, I think it’s time you take over the yard for her. She can’t do it without your help, you know.”
He looks at the mower like it’s Everest or a complicated jigsaw puzzle, then looks back at me. “I don’t know how to use it.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll show you.”
“You live in an apartment,” he says, working out the logic of things on his own. “Did you buy this for us?”
I wave a hand down, not wanting to focus on that. “It wasn’t much, and you guys need it.”
“Can you use it when the lawn is full of snow?”
I shake my head. “No, but we’ll practice in the back, where it’s covered. Then you’ll know what to do in a few weeks when the snow melts.” I nod toward the bed of the truck back behind us. “There’s another bag back there. I’ll wheel this in the garage, and you go get it.”
Careful not to slip on the ice, he penguin jogs toward my truck as I wheel the mower in the garage toward the back door. I wait, and he returns with the hardware bag swinging from his arm.
“Open it,” I tell him, and he does. He produces a set of gloves and a small set of gardening tools from the bag. The tools are likely for an older woman, but for beginners, they’ll work just right .
“They’re yours,” I tell him as he wiggles his digits into the nubbed gardening glove. “The tools are too. You can pull weeds, clean up the cracks in the driveway, and all that kind of stuff. Don’t need the snow to thaw for that type of stuff.”
He looks up at me. “Thanks, Miller.”
I pat him square on the back, then take him into the covered yard to show him how to start and work the mower.
After making him promise a thousand times to never wear sandals while mowing or put his feet near the blades, I let him mow.
It’s a small space, but he does a great job, not struggling to push it at all since I bought a smaller unit.
When he’s done, he beams up at me from his spot collapsed in the yard, sucking down a Gatorade I brought him. “I liked that.”
Taking a seat next to him, I drink from my own Gatorade, loving the warm sun on my skin peeking through the trees.
Something about being in sunlight with cold all around you is…
magical. I think of experiencing this with Delane, and I want to.
Then again, I guess if I imagined any situation, I’d want to be there with her.
“Yeah? I thought you might. Taking pride in things you own is a good quality to have.”
He thinks about what I’ve said, and I know he’s ashamed of where he lives because he doesn’t meet my eyes when he asks, “your place is on the good side of town?”
I nod. “Yeah. But listen, Zeth, it doesn't matter what side of town you live on. You take care of the place you live and have pride in it, it’s your home you share with your mom who loves you, and you love her; that’s all that matters. I know it seems corny, but it’s true.”
He doesn’t say much to that but finishes his blue sports drink, then turns to me. “Thanks for this.”
After seeing his mom Amy off and passing on many offers to have dinner or accept a small cash amount for the work I’ve done on her car, I head home.
On the drive, I can’t stop thinking about sitting in the sun in Zeth’s backyard with my boots in the snow and my face to the sky.
How I’d have loved to see Delane next to me.
I shoot her a text.
what’s your address?
Having known Delane for a few years and having met her family, you’d think I’d know where they live. But the holiday and company parties are always somewhere, and there’s never been a reason to know where she lives.
And I’ve never followed her home because I’m not a stalker or anything.
Driving to the store, I pick out one specific item and pay for it; my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I’m not home
Why?
I take my item from the weighted scale at the self-check register and head to the parking lot, wearing a grin. I can just see her nose wrinkled, twirling a curl around her finger as she waits for my response.
I got something for you. Just want to drop it off. It’s okay if you aren’t home.
A female chastity cage? :-D
Looking down at my lap at the bag of Sour Cherry Bombs–Delane’s all-time favorite sweet—I laugh as I text her back.
Dang, I really missed an opportunity there.
No… not that.
Well, I’m not home. I’m out with my mom getting groceries at the Thai market in Riverside.
1212 Doff Drive
Thanks
I haven’t heard of Doff so I program the street into my phone and navigate there.
I can’t help but laugh when I pull up outside of her place and see Art out front, a string of Christmas lights caught between both hands.
The lights look tangled, or he’s fed up, but either way, it’s clear he needs some help.
“Art,” I call when I’m out of the truck, heading up the driveway toward him. We’ve met a few times, and we’re definitely on a first-name basis, despite the fact it’s been a year since I’ve seen him.
The emerald strand of electrical wires and scratched bulbs fall to a tangle at his feet as he looks up, smiling broadly at me.
“Miller, how’re you doing, son?” He reaches his hand to me, and I get a flash of Graham Burns shaking my hand and calling me son.
I loved Beau’s dad, and I remember him fondly.
And whether it’s Graham or Art, being called son by a man who is not my father never ceases to sting.
I shake his hand, glad to see him again. I’ve always liked Delane’s family, been a bit jealous of her because of them, too, from time to time. Same with Atticus and his folks, same with Beau and his pop, even after he passed.
“Good, just thought I’d leave these for Delane.” From my coat pocket, I produce the bag of candy. His grin is broad when he spots the red sugar bombs.
“Her favorite, and I don’t know how. Not a candy worse than that, if you ask me.” With a groan, he reaches for the tangled lights, so I grab them and hand them over.
“Here,” I say before adding, “and I’m more of a Reese’s guy myself.”
Art chuckles as he peers at the twisted strand of lights. “I like the chocolate candies, too.”
I nod toward the lights. “Can I give you a hand with these? Probably a lot faster if it’s a two-person job.”
With the tip of his pointer finger, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he considers me.
Surveying the house a moment, he nods. “You know, if you don’t have anywhere to be, I won’t turn you down.
” Pressing a hand to his lower back, he groans a little.
“Delane loved the lights when she was Mara’s age.
She says she doesn’t care anymore, but I know it’s because she thinks it's too hard for me.” He massages his back.
“And she’d be right. But the girls love them, and I don’t want to quit putting them up. ”
Taking a loose end from the lights, I begin wrapping them around my palm and elbow, making a neatly wound strand. “Well, let’s get them untangled, then get them up.” Peering around, I spot two more boxes and point. “You got more there?”
He nods, moving the boxes toward us with his foot. “These are for the porch, and the lights are for the house.”
From my pocket, I produce a couple of hand warmers.
When it’s really cold out and I’m in a bay at Wrench Kings, I keep disposable hand warmers in my hat and gloves to keep warm.
The truth is, I don’t go anywhere without them.
As a kid, I had one thin winter coat and never fully felt warm when I was working outside.
One of the things that became a luxury was warmth, and now I don’t go anywhere without the possibility of it.
“Here,” I hand him two. “Put these in your gloves, and your fingers won’t get so stiff from the cold.”
Taking the pads, he shoves them into his gloves and wiggles his fingers. “What a good idea!”
For the next hour, Art and I untangle the lights.
From his garage, he gets a ladder and stands at the base while passing me sections of stranded lights, then he passes me a hook, and we hang them across their entire house.
After we stand back and survey our work, Art pours us some hot teas (spiked), and then we get to work on the porch display.
After we have the animated, air-filled snowman set up, the wreath hung (with extra lights), and some plastic candy canes lining the walkway, the boxes are empty, and we’re done.
As we worked, we talked. Nothing big, just small talk, like our favorite warm foods and how we like our coffee.
Art tells me about a street in Oakcreek where they set their Christmas lights to the music playing on a radio station, and if you tune in while driving the street, the lights dance to the beat.
It’s a nice hour or so, and for the first time I don’t feel bittersweet about quality time with a father figure who isn’t my own.