14. Fourteen
Fourteen
June fades into July and my life falls into a routine that is just different enough to make me notice it. I go to the same classes at the gym, see my same clients during the day, and walk the dog with Huck every evening, but now Bo is waiting for me at the grocery store on Friday nights and invites me to church with him on Sunday mornings.
For the first time in my life, there are people besides my dad waiting for me at the end of the day, and it warms me as completely as facing palms to a hot fire on a cold day. I still can’t commit to dinner with him; for whatever reason, that seems like a bigger deal. Like saying yes to a meal at his house means saying yes to something else—something I can’t name but know I can’t do.
Smiling toward the late July sun—finally warm enough to be considered hot—I cross Veda’s yard.
My “Knock! Knock!” call at her door I usually give when I push it open three mornings a week dies on my lips. The door is locked .
For the first time in nearly two months of working here, I have to use the key she gave me. When I get inside, “Veda?”
Standing in her living room, every light is still off at eight o’clock and the coffee pot is empty.
“Veda?” Her name echoes around the colorful details of her quiet house. I walk back to the sunroom.
Empty.
“Veda?”
I walk down the short hallway—she isn’t in the bathroom, but her bedroom door is closed. I knock gently.
“Yes, in here,” her muffled voice calls, prompting me to push it open slowly.
Despite the fact the lights are still off, the bedroom glows from the morning light pouring through the sheer white curtains. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed in a powder blue nightgown massaging her hands. Her bright white hair is wild around her face. She looks like a sleepy version of her. Angelic.
“Hey,” I say softly, walking in. “Everything okay?”
Her eyes narrow. “Can’t a woman sleep in every now and then?”
I squint at her, trying to understand what she isn’t saying, and sit on the bed next to her.
We sit in a heavy silence. Looking at her, there’s nothing obviously wrong other than the fact she slept later than usual, but I know by the way she sits—lets me sit—there’s something.
“I wasn’t snooping, but I saw the medicine,” I finally say. “A few weeks ago.”
She nods subtly but doesn’t say anything .
“Do you want to talk about it?”
This time, she smiles and looks at me sideways.
“Getting old is a real son of a bitch.” She pats my knee. “How about some breakfast?”
I force a smile back, knowing better than to push for anything more.
“If I’m making breakfast, you’re wearing the gloves while I cook,” I say, nudging her gently before standing up.
“Birdie,” she calls as I’m walking toward door, making me pause. “Don’t mention this to Bo, please.”
I want to argue, but the look on her face tells me I won’t win. Instead, I just nod, trying not to think about what I’m promising as I walk to the kitchen and start making her coffee.
Huck is waiting on my porch when I get home but there’s no blocky smile. He doesn’t even look at me when I drop onto the step next to him. He looks how I feel.
“I wonder what the strongest insect in the world is,” I say, staring at the sky.
“Rhinoceros beetle,” he says flatly.
The dog whimpers from behind the door. “I wonder if we should walk the dog.”
He doesn’t answer, just stands up and waits.
George Strait on a leash, we start walking, in silence .
“I found out today my friend is sick, and I don’t know how to help her,” I tell him.
Huck hops over four cracks in the sidewalk. Finally, “I found out today that I can’t keep living with Miss Alice.”
Whatever is happening with Veda vanishes from my mind with that sentence. I’ve known it was coming, but somehow, hearing it come out of Huck’s mouth crushes down on me like a rockslide.
I’ve watched movies where something tragic happens and adults hide their emotions from their kids. I’m not a parent; I don’t know anything about how to raise a child or why that’s what people do, but at that moment, I don’t care. A sheen of moisture covers my eyes, and I don’t try to hide it.
I reach my hand out toward his, and today he takes it.
“Huck wonders if I could live with Birdie,” he says, looking up at me.
The tears that well in my eyes fall in one drop then two as I look at him. I desperately wish it was easy as just saying yes.
“I don’t think I’d make a very good mom,” I say, looking at the dog as he sniffs around the tree.
Huck steps over another crack. “I think so.”
He’s a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He has no clue I’d just be a temporary fix that would need to be replaced later. He needs two good parents, not one with a foot in the grave.
I don’t say any of that. Instead, “I always thought the leafcutter ant was the strongest bug in the world.”
He barks out a laugh. “No, Birdie!”
With that simple statement, the rest of the world doesn’t exist .
At his house, Miss Alice greets us at the door, sending Huck in to get ready for dinner.
“Huck told me about him having to leave,” I say.
She smiles sadly. “It’s just too much. With Steve. We’re getting old, Birdie!” She laughs softly. “And with his condition, it’s more work than we can handle.”
I almost tell her if having rules govern your life and eating specific foods is a condition, I need a doctor and a diagnosis, but instead I just nod.
“I wish I could do something…”
She stares at me, twisting the dishtowel in her hands, seemingly trying to choose her next words carefully.
“You know, I’ve never asked how you’re so beautiful, young, and single. It’s none of my business, but you clearly like kids. If you ever wanted to adopt him, I’d speak for you. In the court, I mean. About how you are with him, how much he loves you…”
Adopt Huck?
“Miss Alice, that’s so nice of you but…” My pulse rams behind my eyeballs and I don’t have the energy to explain why I can’t be the one to take him. After everything today, it’s a conversation I don’t have the mental bandwidth for. “I’m not married. Isn’t that kind of part of it?”
She chuckles. “Goodness, no! This is modern America, Birdie! Sometimes I think they prefer one parent.” I use the time it takes her to open the door and step inside to imagine the life she’s describing—Huck living with me…as my son . It’s farfetched. Silly even.
Before Miss Alice closes the door she adds, “Just think about it.”