Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Addy
“You’re doing great, Mongrel,” I encourage as he uses his left arm to ‘write’ his ABCs on the wall. He’s in his third week of physical therapy and his progress has been remarkable. He’s able to raise his arm almost to shoulder height and I’m confident that he’s going to achieve complete mobility.
“You’ll get a surprise this time,” JB calls out as he rides the recumbent bike.
Mongrel’s chuckle has me smiling, especially since he’s made an effort to get to know JB. “What if I’m the one who has a surprise for you?” he asks JB.
“For me?” JB questions, his eyes going wide. “Really?”
“Yep,” Mongrel replies. “But you need to finish what Miss Addy has you doing first, then I’ll give it to you.”
“A surprise,” JB whispers to himself. “The worst thing that happened to me has given me some of the best people ever.” I see Mongrel’s head turn at JB’s words and realize he heard what the little boy said.
“Did I ever tell you how I got here, JB?” Mongrel asks.
“Nuh-uh,” JB says.
“Well, I was behind a friend’s girlfriend on my bike one day and some jerkface hit my back tire.
I skidded off the road and ended up hurting my shoulder, so Dr. Albertson fixed it and that’s how I ended up being here with you while Miss Addy tortures us,” Mongrel says.
I hold my breath because JB hasn’t opened up all that much, despite mine and even Darby’s best efforts.
I mean, I know what happened, of course, but Mongrel doesn’t.
“Mama Rossi isn’t really my mom,” JB blurts out. Mongrel, sensing that what JB’s going to say is important, doesn’t utter a word, he merely listens. “She’s my foster mom, Mongrel, because my real mom and stepfather hurt me.”
“Sorry to hear that, little man,” Mongrel replies.
“I went into foster care on my thirteenth birthday, but it was because my grandma got too sick to take care of me, my brother, and my three little sisters after our parents died. But your Mama Rossi seems like she cares a lot about you and that’s a good thing. ”
JB sighs and my heart breaks because now I know what’s been bothering him. “Mama Rossi says that I’m available for adoption now, but until someone wants me, I can stay with her. Did you get adopted, Mongrel?”
Mongrel’s eyes meet mine; his look horrified as if he’s figured out that JB’s mom’s parental rights have been terminated.
Since his father was never in the picture and there’s no other family, he’s now part of the system unless he gets adopted.
Otherwise, he’ll age out of foster care like so many others.
“Naw, buddy, but I wasn’t a cute little kid either. I was a surly, grumpy teenager,” Mongrel finally says.
“You were grumpy?” JB asks, giggling.
“Oh, definitely. I had a huge chip on my shoulder, too, which means that everyone around me knew I had an attitude. But even though I never got adopted, I found a new family when I became a ranch hand at the Triple R Ranch, and now, I’ve got a bunch of club brothers who are my chosen family.
Plus, my younger brother and an uncle found me recently, so I have them now too. ”
“Does he look like you?” JB asks as I motion for him to slow his pedaling since it’s almost time for his buzzer to go off.
“He does, actually,” Mongrel replies, as he switches direction and does a figure eight instead of the alphabet. I may be a taskmaster with my patients, but I’m not cruel enough to make any of them try to write their ABCs backwards.
“Does he ride a motorcycle too?” JB asks as he stands next to Mongrel while he finishes his repetitions.
“Actually, he does, but it’s not a Harley,” Mongrel states, sounding disgusted.
“Gotta fix that because no brother of mine is gonna ride a crotch rocket.” He finishes what he was doing and then crouches so he’s eye-to-eye with JB.
“Now, how about we go into Miss Addy’s room so I can give you your surprise? ”
As JB moves better and faster than he’s been doing, I look at Mongrel and mouth ‘thank you’ as I follow my young patient.
Mongrel didn’t show him pity, although I’m sure he felt it, and he let him know that families come in all shapes and sizes.
When we reach my office, I see a gift bag with JB’s name on it.
Mongrel hands it to him and he also hands a box to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s a thank you from my club brother’s ol’ lady, Gretchen,” he says. “Because of you, she’s been able to add several new things to her repertoire.”
“Go ahead, JB, you go first,” I tell the little boy who’s watching me.
He reaches into the gift bag, and I watch his eyes grow wide as he pulls out… cake pops? “Miss Addy!” he exclaims, “look at these! It’s a motorcycle and an Iron Man! Oh, and here’s a Hulk, too!”
“She made all the Avengers, buddy,” Mongrel says. He turns to me and adds, “Yours aren’t as fancy looking as his, but I suspect you’ll enjoy the flavors Gretchen chose for yours. They’re some of my favorites.”
I glance at one of the cake pops on the top and my eyes widen when I see the tag on it. “Hummingbird cake?” I whisper, “outside of chocolate cake, this is one of my absolute favorites.”
“When she decided to focus on this, she got some input from Constance and Maria and that was one of the first cakes she tried. It’s been a hit and I thought you might enjoy it too,” he says.
“Oh, I’m sure I will. Thank you so much, Mongrel,” I reply. “Okay, let’s get you guys scheduled for your next sessions.”
“Betty, maybe I should put him with another therapist,” I say as I dip a chip into my bowl of salsa. “Professionally, it’s not appropriate for me to date patients, but he ticks all my boxes.”
“How many more weeks does he have left?” she asks after dipping a chip into the queso she enjoys.
“He’s about halfway through, but I’m beyond thrilled with how his numbers look. Maybe I should just wait,” I grumble.
“If he was serious, he’ll wait until you’ve discharged him. So, do you want to go to the farmer’s market this weekend?” she asks.
“Why is that even a question?” I tease, grinning at her. “Even after divvying up those awesome checks I got, I’ve still got money available to spend without any kind of guilt!”
Betty laughs as the waiter brings our meals and sets them down. “Let’s figure out a plan of attack for this weekend then,” she says. “I heard that there’s a vendor who will be there who does cake pops and that kind of thing.”
“I wonder… I wonder if it’s the woman that Mongrel said made the ones he gave me,” I muse.
Betty raises her brow and I say, “He brought in a bag of cake pops for the little boy I see, and they were crafted in superhero shapes and colors. An Iron Man mask. A pretty detailed Harley motorcycle. A Hulk. Actually, all of the Avengers now that I think about it. But he also gave me a box of what he called gourmet flavors and one of them tasted just like hummingbird cake!”
“No way,” Betty says.
“Way,” I assert as I pull out one of the hummingbird cake ones and slide it across the table toward Betty. “Take a bite.”
“Can I wait until I finish eating?” she asks, grinning at me.
“Whatever, I want you to try it, Betty, it’s so good.”
In between bites of food, I pull up the listing for the upcoming farmer’s market to see what vendors are planning to be there. “Spill the beans,” Betty says. “Any of the vendors we enjoy buying from going to be there?”
“The herbalist with some of our favorite scents, as well as new ones for the upcoming holiday season, Granny Jones with her quilts so now that I’ve got shit paid off, I’m finally going to get one, oh, and I bet Gretchen’s Goodies is the one you were interested in.
Let me read more,” I reply, clicking on the bio.
“Yep, she makes cake pops for this kind of thing but also has a website that showcases other things she can make. It’s the same woman who made that,” I tell her, pointing at the cake pop next to her plate.
She rolls her eyes then opens the package that the cake pop is in before taking a small bite. I watch closely and see her eyes widen before she takes another one, a slight moan coming from her lips. “Holy crap!” she exclaims. “I wonder if she accepts preorders for the farmer’s market.”
I scoff while rolling my eyes. “I doubt it, it’s probably like everyone else, first come, first serve, Betty.”
“Then we need to be there when it opens,” Betty decrees.
“But I’ve got to… do my weekly cleaning,” I weakly murmur as Betty raises her brow at me. “Betty,” I whine, “it helps keep me sane.”
“I’m willing to bet that your floors are practically sterile and there’s not a speck of dust on anything,” Betty replies. “You can wait a few hours, Addy, it won’t kill you.”
“That’s how it all started, though, remember?” I whisper, my mind suddenly back in that horrible trailer.
“And you’re not there any longer,” she replies, her hand now covering mine in a gentle squeeze.