Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
DUSTIN
I walk in through Dax and Lynsie’s back door and make way to where I hear the commotion. I stop in the doorway to the kitchen and lean against the frame. A Braves game is on, and Dylan is fully immersed in it as he eats his cereal. Dax is just standing off to the side, watching my boy.
My boy.
Holy shit, I’m a dad.
Dylan begins yelling at the ump for a shitty call as the batter walks to first. I just snicker from behind, and Dax begins shaking his head in utter disbelief.
Dax walks toward me, and his expressionless face amuses me. It’s something I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed. Dax, being such an animated guy, completely blank.
“Duuuude.” He throws his hands on my shoulders. “That kid right there. He is so you. So you, in fact, I feel like I’m back in our childhood again. Twilight zone, man.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” I laugh at Dax, and then more so at Dylan, who is up in arms at the baseball game.
“I give you five seconds.” I cock a brow, and he further explains. “Five seconds to see he’s your clone.”
I shake my head and pat his back as I walk past. I grab a bowl from the counter and a spoon from the drawer and take a seat next to Dylan. Without taking his eyes off the game, he slides the Fruit Loops my way. It’s not Fruity Pebbles, but beggars can’t be choosers. After I fill my bowl, he scoots the milk over too. I feel like I should say thanks, but then again, this seems to be some sort of silent bond we’re sharing, and I’d rather not jack that up.
I take a bite, then glance over. Take a bite, then glance over. Take a bite, check out the game, then glance over. I’m trying not to stare. I’m trying not to sit here and be overcome with emotions when it’s all I want to do. I try to focus on the game, to let it take over this overwhelming and unfamiliar sensation that’s settled in. With each bite I take, the less I look over at my son, and the more I start to focus on the game. Soon I’m shouting at the TV just like he is.
“What are you, blind?”
“The ball was clearly in his glove. It didn’t hit the ground first.”
“That pitch was far too low to be a strike.”
“Who rigged this game?”
“Who’s winning?” Lynsie asks, making her way to the coffee.
“Braves.” I glance back and smile.
“Yeah, Aunt Lyns. The Braves. Best team ever. Salazar is smoking crack if he thinks his Indians are going to win.” I love hearing how easy it is for him to refer to Lynsie as his aunt. I can only wonder what he’ll call me. I don’t want to force him into anything. It has to be of his own accord.
“Hey, bud, you wanna go grab some real breakfast?” I look over at my boy and just can’t believe how blessed I am to call him mine. I want to grab him and pull him onto my lap, give him the biggest bear hug. But I also want the kid to like me.
“Sure. Under one condition.” He looks me straight in the face, then cocks a brow to his hairline. I have to do everything in my power to keep a straight face. “Don’t call me bud ever again.”
I half laugh, half choke, unsure how I should react.
“Told ya, dude,” Dax says from the kitchen, shaking his head.
“Then what do you want me to call you?” I stand and we make our way to the front door.
“Dylan’s fine. Or son,” he says matter-of-factly before he bends over to slide his sneakers on, then runs outside.
“Yours,” Dax whispers from behind like some creeper. He’s finding this far too amusing.
I jump the short distance off the porch and watch Dylan circle around my Blazer.
“This is badass, Dad,” he says with such adoration.
I want to laugh and scold him all at once, realizing the conundrum of being a parent.
Then it hits me…
He called me dad . And I don’t know if now is the proper time for that bear hug or to cry. Instead, I decide not to make a big deal over it even though it means everything to me.
We pull into Tootie Fruitie’s and I’m thankful the parking lot is empty.
“Oh, this is the place Mom and Grandma brought me to the first time we came here.” He yanks the front door open. Not a shy bone in his body.
“Did you like it?” I ask.
“Well, I wasn’t very hungry, so Ma ordered me your specialty.” He scrunches his nose. I want to ask him what it was, but I’m too stuck on the fact he refers to Echo as Ma.
As we wait for our food, I use the time for us to figure some things out. I don’t want to make any decisions without his input.
“There seems to be a lot going on right now. How are you holding up?”
He shrugs, coloring a picture with his kid’s menu crayons. “I’m pretty resilient. I just want my mom to be happy.” His admission pulls at my heartstrings. That’s my selfless kid. “But I think she’d be happy here around all the people who love her. It’s basically just been me and her.”
“And you’re okay if that changes?” I ask, intently watching him.
He finally glances up. “Yeah. I want a real family.”
I smile. I want a real family, too.
“How do you feel about meeting your other grandparents? Or is it too soon?” I regret the idea as soon as I mention it. If I haven’t scared the boy away, my mother might.
“I’d really like that.” He enthusiastically nods, then lifts up the picture he’s been drawing. It’s my Blazer with a sunset in the back. But it’s the three figures standing in front of it, holding hands, that really undo something within me. He wants this just as badly as I do. And he also wants my Blazer. Little does he know it’s already his.
MY MOTHER LOOKS at Dylan, who is beside me. I revel in the fact that he feels safe near me. I believe I have Echo to thank for that. She never kept me a secret from him. She told him anything and everything he had wanted to know, even sharing pictures. I wasn’t something she wanted to keep hidden like I didn’t exist. In return, our son has bonded with a man he’s never known personally but has gotten to experience every other way possible.
“Oh my Lord,” my mom says, walking up to Dylan. She looks back and forth between the two of us, doing a double take. “You cannot deny it. Not that you’d ever want to. He is a spitting image of you.”
“That’s exactly what I said!” Dax exclaims, coming in the front door. I just shake my head and laugh.
My mother crouches down in front of Dylan, becoming eye level with him. “Well, hello, Dylan. I’m your grandma, Jill. It’s so very good to meet you.”
We hang out at my parents’ house for a while since my son can talk circles around all of us. I bet he could even talk them around Dax.
“All right. I wish this could last longer, but Dylan has to get back home tomorrow for school.”
“When do we get to see him again?” my mom asks, her voice shaky.
Dylan stands beside me, and I put my arm around his shoulder and pull him into me. “There’re still many unknowns that we are going to have to figure out.”
My mom goes to say something but thinks better of it. Such a small gesture that speaks volumes. Maybe she is learning, after all.
We begin our five-hour drive and Dylan starts asking me all sorts of questions about the Army and war, which led to my injury.
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes, initially. But I don’t remember much of the incident.”
“If you could go back and change something that day to keep from losing your hand, would you?” Man, this kid is deep.
I stare out the windshield and really think about his question. I used to question fate. I believed it wasn’t fate that was responsible for things happening to people, but that it was luck. They had just gotten lucky, and I’d be the guy who’d never get to experience the high. But now I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason. Every choice leads you to where you’re destined to be. If I still had my hand, I wouldn’t be here.
I glance over, surprised Dylan is watching me intently. I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t. You and your mom are a far more valuable appendage than my hand was. There’s just no comparison.” Dylan and Echo are my heart. I can survive without a hand. But no one can survive without a heart.
“Okay,” Dylan replies. “So a fake hand…do you ever want one?”
I laugh. “A prosthetic? I think I’m good without one.”
The closer we get, the more dread and happiness sink in. Dread that I’m going to have to say bye to my son that I just met. And happiness that I get to see Echo, but just long enough to make sure she’s okay and drop Dylan off.
“Dad”—he pauses, and I don’t think I could ever get tired of being called by that—“do you want Mom back?”
Without an ounce of hesitation, I reply, “More than anything in the world.”
“Then you have to win her back.” He shifts his little body my way.
“I know, son. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. You have any ideas?”
“I might have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says in a devious tone, rubbing his hands together.
I would say boy am I in trouble, but I believe it’s safer to say boy is Echo in trouble to have two of me.