Chapter 9 #3
It’s one thing to lose a parent. I’ve never known what it’s like to lose the person you’re in love with. The person you chose to build a life with. That was the cavernous difference between Wyatt and me. He was a man who’d had his future ripped out from under him.
“Do you talk to her?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Who?” He looks at me, totally confused.
“Your mom. I talk to mine all the time. And my dad.”
“But they’re dead, silly.” His nose crinkles, and he’s looking at me as if I’ve suddenly sprouted three heads.
“I know that. But I still feel like they’re with me. In spirit, I mean. I feel like they’re always watching over me, so I talk to them.” He gives me a look of pure bewilderment, like I’ve suggested we go live on the moon.
“What do you say to them?” he asks.
“Lots of things. I tell them about my day. I tell them my secrets. What I’ve had for lunch.” Okay, he definitely thinks I’m insane. I’m losing the ‘cool adult’ points by the second here.
“I think you should talk to your mom,” I tell him, trying to steer us back to something meaningful.
“What do I say to her?”
“Well, you could do it in your room. You can look at her picture and just tell her anything you want. I’m sure she wants to know what you’ve been doing at school, and she definitely wants to know how you’re feeling. Just because she died, she didn’t stop being your mom.”
His head turns toward the windshield, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if he’s mulling it over. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The only sound to be heard is the hum of the Mini’s engine.
“I have a field trip tomorrow.”
I blink. What the hell? When did we change the conversation?
“That…sounds cool?” I respond, still somewhat confused at the segue.
Man, I have a lot to learn about kids. One second, you’re bonding over the heavy, soul-crushing weight of grief, and the next, you’re talking about a field trip.
“I used to love field trips. Where are you going?”
“My teacher is taking us to the dinosaur exhibition at the museum. I told Dad that I needed a lunch bag, but I think he forgot to tell Mary. She’s probably gone home by now.” His face falls as the realization hits.
Ah. Another minus point for Daddy Wyatt. Damn. It’s becoming a pattern. One that clearly weighs on this kid more than he lets on.
“Ah, shit. Okay, you want me to run you to the store? I’m pretty awesome at snack choices.”
His mouth falls open, eyes wide with a mix of shock and glee. “You did a swear! You’re gonna have to put a dollar in the jar.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. “Seriously? You live on a ranch, little dude. I’m sure you’ve heard worse than that.”
“I made twenty dollars from Wes one night because he kept saying the F-word,” he brags, looking incredibly proud of his racketeering skills.
“I’m impressed. Sounds like Wes needs to work on his vocabulary or his wallet.” I laugh. “Okay, I’m sure I passed a general store on my way here. Let’s snack you up, kiddo.”
It doesn’t take long for us to find it. I steer the Mini into the lot of the local general store, the gravel crunching under my tires.
My bank account is currently screaming at me.
I’m down to my last thirty dollars until some of the estate finally clears, but looking at Alex’s hopeful face, I don’t care.
I’d spend my last cent to make sure he doesn’t walk onto that bus tomorrow with a brown paper bag and a sense of being forgotten.
“Alright, let’s take a detour to the store, little man. We’ve got some serious lunch bag shopping to do.”
We head inside, and it’s a whirlwind. We find a basket, and I let him go wild—within reason. We get the good juice boxes, the turkey jerky he swears is better than the stuff Owen buys, and a pack of those dinosaur-shaped fruit snacks.
Watching him carefully compare the packaging on two different kinds of chips makes the tightness in my chest loosen. This is what he needs. Not a profound lecture on the afterlife, but someone to show up.
“The green ones are my favorite,” I offer. “They’re so salty they make your lips turn white.”
“I think they’re my favorite too.” He beams back at me. “Will my dad be okay with all this? He doesn’t like it when I eat too much sugar.”
“Alex, your dad and I used to sneak sugar cubes from your grandma’s pantry as kids. I’ll remind him of that if he tries to argue with us.”
He giggles in delight at my little admission about his dad. “Really? What else did you use to do when you were kids?”
I sigh heavily. Despite the current frosty reception I’m getting from Wyatt, we were virtually inseparable as kids. If truth be told, he was my best friend.
“Your dad was a terror,” I tease, if only to ease the knot in my own stomach. “He and your Uncle Jackson used to put frogs in their pockets and chase me down the creek.”
His eyes widen. “No way! Are you scared of frogs?”
“Terrified!” I over exaggerate. “And those menaces knew it!”
That gets him really going. His laughter is infectious.
By the time we’re back in the car, the trunk is rattling with groceries, and Alex is humming a tuneless little song. I feel a strange sense of accomplishment. I might be jobless and living in a guest room, but for the last hour, I’ve been exactly what this kid needed.