Chapter 37 Kane
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Kane
“You ready?” I ask Oliver, sliding the last dirty plate from breakfast into the dishwasher. It’s Saturday, so we all made pancakes and scrambled eggs together.
Linc and Wyatt left for the grocery store about ten minutes ago because the things we scrounged together for breakfast were about all we had left in the house. That left Oliver and me to clean up the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he says, tossing the rag into the sink.
I could say something about draping it over the divider so it can dry—otherwise the kitchen’s going to smell like something died in it later tonight. I don’t, though, too elated by the sound of his voice.
Over the last month, he has spoken a few times here and there. It has never been more than a couple of words at a time, but you bet your ass I am savoring each crumb of his perfect voice those words provide.
In almost perfect sync that has us both smiling, we put on our shoes and coats. If there was any doubt he’s my son, this would have dispelled it.
There has never been any doubt there, though. He got some characteristics from Jess, like his hair, but he looks just like me at his age.
“Don’t forget your journal,” I tell him just before we step outside, and he grabs it from the small table by the door before jogging after me.
He has therapy this morning. It took a while for him to settle in with his new therapist after the move, but I feel like he’s finally hitting his groove with her.
That, combined with everything else the move brought on, is helping. There’s no doubt about it.
As I’m climbing in, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Abby’s name appears on the screen. I answer eagerly, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hello.”
“Hey,” Abby says, sounding a little exasperated.
“Are you okay?”
She lets out a frustrated exhale with the faint traces of a growl. It would be kind of cute if I wasn’t worried about what has her so worked up.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she grumbles. “My car just won’t start. I don’t know what the hell is going on. It was fine yesterday.”
“Do you need some help?”
“No… I mean, not with the car. I’ll figure that out later. I just need to get to work.”
“Do you need a ride?” I glance at my watch. We have enough time to get her to work and still make it to Oliver’s appointment on time.
His therapist is in the next town over, so we always give ourselves extra time to get there. The roads are clear today, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
“Leah’s car isn’t here, so I know she’s at work. My parents are with Mav getting donuts, and I don’t want to disturb them. Cole or Riley would come get me, but they live so far out of town.” She drags in a deep breath after rambling.
I jump in before she can continue. “Abby, I don’t mind.” I slide the key into the ignition, checking in the rearview mirror to make sure Oliver is buckled. “I’m already on my way.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I have to bite my cheek to keep from adding the “sweetheart” onto my response that I really want to. “I’ll be there in five.”
Her exhale is audible through the line. “Thank you.”
She’s standing outside in her dark blue scrubs and tennis shoes when I pull the truck to a stop in front of her house. At least she has a pink long-sleeved T-shirt on under her scrub top.
“Still haven’t figured out how to wear a coat?” I ask when she climbs into the front seat. She uses her lunch box to smack my shoulder, but she’s smiling, and so am I.
“I thought I would be escaping into my toasty car within a few seconds, not standing outside for an extended period of time. I can’t be blamed for this one.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life. I really think you can be blamed for your coat problem.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’d hardly call it a problem,” she huffs. “It’s a quirk.”
Oliver laughs quietly in the backseat, which makes Abby spin around to face him.
“Oh… hey, Oliver. I was so busy bickering with your dad, I didn’t see you back there.”
Through the mirror, I see him give her a wave.
“Buckle up,” I tell her.
“Oh, right.” As she spins back around, she whacks me with her lunch box again. This time, it’s not intentional, but she doesn’t seem apologetic about it either.
As soon as the seatbelt clicks into place, I pull out onto the side street.
“Do you guys have any plans for today?” she asks.
I pause for a beat, giving Oliver the chance to answer if he wants to. “Oliver has a therapy appointment, and then we’ll get some ice cream.”
I don’t remember exactly how it became a tradition, but it’s kind of our thing now after his appointments. I think it helps him decompress after everything.
It’s also ice cream, and what eight-year-old doesn’t love that?
Therapy has never been something we have shamed or stigmatized in our family, so I know Oliver wouldn’t mind me mentioning it to Abby.
To us, it isn’t any different than going to a doctor if you have a sore throat or a broken bone. Your brain is a vital part of your body that needs to be taken care of just as much as the rest of you.
“That’s great,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ve seen a therapist before. I was really sad for a while after Maverick was born, and it really helped me.”
The way she’s opening up not only to me but also to my son to make him feel more seen is doing things to my heart that it really shouldn’t.
There isn’t an insincere bone in this woman’s body. She cares deeply about the people she lets into her life. And this is a problem because I don’t ever want to not be a part of her life.