Chapter 5
FIVE
HARLAN
I’ve always been a man with no regard for accountability of my actions.
I act on impulse and apologize for it later, if an apology is warranted.
I look into the stormy gray eyes of this kid and am compelled to touch him, smell him, hold him close to me.
I reach out to pick him up and realize I’m trembling when I wrap my hands around his small waist. Justice jumps up, on guard, and shouts, “What are you doing?” as she reaches for the kid.
I settle him onto my lap and my face tightens as I look down at him, and the expression feels foreign on my face. Did I just smile? “What’s your name, kid?”
“Zeke!” he announces, reaching for his truck.
“Ezekiel,” Justice clarifies.
“You like trucks, buddy?”
He shakes his head and grins, then bites down on the corner of his lip. I know without looking at Justice that she’s doing the same–it’s her nervous tic. She always bites that damn lip, which makes me want to lick the blood from it.
“Big trucks! Red’s my favorite,” he says proudly, and I’m shocked at how well he communicates to be … three, maybe four?
“How old are you, Zeke?”
He holds up three chubby little fingers and says, “I’s a big boy.”
Justice’s fists clench at her sides as she watches me nervously with Ezekiel.
“Three? You’ll be driving big trucks just like this soon, huh?
” I pick him up and move him to the carpet where his other toys are in a neat pile.
I sit him on the floor then kneel beside him, craving more interaction with him.
“Which truck is your favorite, Zeke?” I know which one he’s going to choose before he responds because it’s the same one that catches my attention too.
There are four red trucks of various sizes and styles–farm truck, firetruck, pickup truck, and a rig.
Zeke sets the truck he was pushing along the table on the carpet and picks up the red rig, sitting in my lap.
“Dis one. It sounds like this,” he says, and then he bares down and groans loudly.
“H-harlan, your food is getting cold,” Justice cuts in, but I ignore her. I don’t take my eyes off this kid for a good hour. We play with his toy trucks on the floor for a while, then Justice interrupts us again saying it’s time for Zeke to go home.
“Ice cream, Auntie. You promised.”
“We’ll get ice cream next time, little man; I promise.”
I pick Zeke up and carry him into the kitchen.
I set him on the counter and pull open the freezer to get the ice cream out.
It’s Justice’s favorite snack, so we always have it in the freezer.
“Chocolate?” I guess, and Zeke nods. I scoop it into the bowl then hand him a spoon before carrying him to the table.
“Haven is waiting,” Justice argues, but I ignore it. I can’t look at her right now, let alone talk to her. I can’t control what I might possibly do. My head is spinning with all the scenarios my mind has created since I locked eyes on this boy.
Justice cleans up Zeke’s toys and puts them in a backpack while he eats his ice cream, oblivious to the tension building between us.
“All done, Auntie.” I pick him up from the table and help him put his shoes on, then carry him out to Justice’s car.
“I’ll see you soon, buddy,” I promise.
“Bye.” He waves. I stomp past Justice and into the house.