Chapter 5
Marcus
“Noah! Come on, buddy, let’s go!” I hollered, glancing at the clock on the microwave.
I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
When the alarm went off this morning, I had bolted upright in bed, unaccustomed to getting up so early.
But today was Noah’s first day back at school.
He’d had two sessions with one of the therapists Julia recommended, and the therapist had cleared him to return, but he was scheduled to continue seeing her twice a week.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Another text from Brandon’s sister, Zenobia: Have you thought about what we discussed?
Jaw tight, I stared at the message. We’d talked at the funeral and twice since then.
I told her it was best for Noah to finish school here.
He only had about six weeks left. What was the point of uprooting him and causing more upheaval in his life?
She insisted he should move to Tennessee right away and explained she and her husband had two kids of their own and a nice house on an acre near Nashville.
“Noah should be with family. Real family.”
Maybe I wasn’t his real family, and maybe I was just a thirty-three-year-old bachelor who could have gone his whole life without having kids and been perfectly happy.
But I didn’t believe it was a good idea to send Noah to Tennessee right now.
I definitely didn’t feel like having a text argument with her this early in the morning while I was trying to get him ready for his first day back.
Two Pop-Tarts shot up in the toaster, and I dropped them onto a plate. These and fries were the only things my godson was eating. He had apparently lost interest in ice cream because he hadn’t eaten a bite of the cartons of vanilla and chocolate that were sitting in the freezer.
I poured orange juice into a cup. “Noah—”
The sentence died in my throat when he walked into the kitchen, fully dressed like Robin again. My heart sank because I didn’t want to disappoint him.
“Hey, buddy,” I said carefully. “Did you need me to help you get dressed?”
“I’m already dressed.” His solemn brown eyes looked directly into mine.
I took a breath, racking my brain, wondering what was the right thing to say. “You can’t wear the costume to school. Remember, I explained that to you last night.”
I had laid out khaki pants and a green shirt, but when I tried to help him get dressed, he had told me he could dress himself. Now I knew why.
“I want to.” He spoke in a quiet but firm voice, his chin jutting in defiance.
I moved closer and dropped to his eye level, the way I had seen Julia do. “I know you do, but the school has rules. You have to wear regular clothes.”
“I want to wear this.”
“Noah—”
“I have to, Uncle Marcus.” His voice cracked, and the fingers of his right hand bunched in the cape.
“Why do you have to?” I asked gently.
Unshed tears shimmered in his eyes, and I felt like shit.
“Noah, I know you’re upset, but—”
“I have to!” he shouted, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Daddy said I could—” His voice broke completely, and he dissolved into sobs, his small body shaking as tears poured over the mask and streamed down his chin.
I pulled him into my arms. “It’s okay, buddy. You can wear it.”
I held him until he eased out of my arms. Looking at me with red-rimmed eyes, he asked, “Can I really?”
“For as long as you want.”
Maybe that was the wrong call. I don’t know. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I couldn’t stand to see him cry.
I lifted off the mask and wiped away his tears. “If I let you wear the costume, you have to do something for me. I need you to eat something and drink some juice. Can you do that for me?”
He seemed to consider the question, and then he nodded.
“More than one bite,” I said.
He nodded again.
Relieved, I smiled. “Good.”
The rest of the morning was less eventful as I grabbed my traveling mug of coffee that said Houston’s #1 Realtor—a gift from Brandon. He’d given it to me as a joke three years ago. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d never receive another gag gift from him again.
I picked up my satchel and guided Noah out the door with his breakfast in hand.
Almost twenty minutes later, I pulled onto the school grounds and parked. Noah sat in the backseat with a half-eaten Pop-Tart and an empty kids’ travel tumbler.
“Ready to go inside?” I asked, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. He’d put the mask back on.
He nodded.
We walked across the parking lot, me holding his hand, his backpack in my other hand, and his cape fluttering behind him like a real superhero on a mission.
His teacher, Mrs. Hinds, was waiting at the classroom door—an older Black woman with kind eyes and graying black hair. A warm smile touched her lips when she saw us.
“Hello, Noah!” she said with enthusiasm. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”
He responded by gripping my hand tighter.
“I love your Robin costume,” she added.
I cleared my throat. “Mind if I speak to you for a quick minute?” I asked.
“Certainly.” She gestured to her assistant, who came to the door and extended a hand to Noah.
He looked up at me.
“It’s okay,” I assured him.
He went to her, looking back once before allowing her to lead him to his desk.
I turned to Mrs. Hinds. “I’m sorry about the costume. I tried to get him to change, but he got really upset. I was told not to push him to wear anything else, that the suit probably provides comfort because of what happened.”
Her expression softened. “It’s perfectly fine and not uncommon. We’ve had children arrive at school dressed as princesses, ballerinas, in their pajamas—believe me, it’s not a problem. If this helps him feel safe and comfortable, we can accommodate him.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“The counselor spoke with the teaching staff about what happened. She spoke to Ms. Richmond, the child advocate. We’re well aware of what he’s been through and are here to support you and him.”
Tension drained from my body at her words. Julia had kept her word and had been working behind the scenes. She had done another check-in last week, but our conversation had been brief.
“That means a lot. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll keep an eye on him and call you if there are any problems.” She briefly touched my arm. “Don’t fret too much. Pick your battles. And FYI, kids are awfully resilient. Give him time.”
Her reassurance was exactly what I needed since I was doubting myself. In some ways, I felt like I was drowning in a whirlpool and he was being sucked down with me.
“One more thing you should know. He hasn’t been eating much, so he might not eat lunch.”
“Ms. Richmond informed the counselor of the issue. Grief can affect the appetite of adults, so I’m not surprised. The counselor had some suggestions, so I’ll try to get him to eat something.”
“Thanks.”
Before I left, I peeked through the window in the door. Noah sat at his desk with his cape draped over the back of the chair, staring straight ahead.
I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to go to work. I hoped he’d be okay. For the past two weeks, I’d felt as if a heavy stone was in the pit of my stomach, and the sensation hadn’t lessened. How did people do this? I was stressed the hell out, and I’d only been a parent for two weeks.
In the car, my phone buzzed, this time alerting me to an email in my inbox.
I checked the message and discovered the insurance company was requesting yet another piece of documentation.
Brandon had been paying on a million-dollar life insurance policy, with his wife and son as the beneficiaries.
Since Stacey passed with him, the entire amount was due to Noah.
I forwarded the email to the estate attorney and included a brief message explaining I’d look for the paperwork this evening. Then I took off for the office.
Overnight, my life had gone through a seismic shift.
I was responsible for another human being who barely spoke, barely ate, and whose eyes were filled with more sadness than any kid should have to endure.
At the same time, I had to keep working.
I had three showings today, emails to respond to, and I had to check on a couple of my listings.
It was early yet, but soon my phone would be buzzing with calls and texts from clients and colleagues.
I parked my SUV at the back of Houston Realty, a one-story brick building near the center of town.
I’d been here ever since I earned my license.
Before I got out, I glanced in the back seat and saw the abandoned Pop-Tart and empty juice cup and shook my head.
He’d finished the juice, but he still hadn’t eaten much.
He’d barely eaten anything in the past two weeks—except for the ice cream he gobbled up at the park with Julia.
Julia Richmond with the hip-swinging walk, friendly personality, and the ability to break through the wall Noah had erected.
For a brief moment at the park, I saw the old Noah trying to emerge.
The one I used to ruthlessly tickle, wrestle with, and chase around the house—much to the chagrin of his mother, Stacey.
“Take it outside!” she used to yell.
I smiled to myself. Man, what I wouldn’t give to hear her pissed-off voice again.
Didn’t Julia say the truck was usually at the park in the afternoons? If ice cream was the one food Noah was willing to eat, the one food that made him become a semblance of his old self, then that’s what he was going to get.
Pick your battles, Mrs. Hinds had said.
You know what, ice cream wasn’t all bad. One of the main ingredients was milk, and milk was good for growing kids.
I walked to the door with renewed vigor. I was taking Noah for ice cream again, and it wouldn’t hurt to put in a call to Julia to let her know how he was doing and that we were stopping by.