28. Twenty-eight
Twenty-eight
“Sharon gave me the contact information for his new foster parents, they’re only on the other side of town.”
My eyes lift to where Bo is leaning against the kitchen counter writing on a piece of paper.
I nod, quietly, before looking back to my now cold scrambled eggs. My mind is stuck on one thought: Huck is gone.
Gone to people who don’t know how to make him meatballs or ask him questions. Gone to people who might not own Connect 4.
“Hey.” Bo’s voice is low; he’s next to me, lifting my chin with his knuckles until my eyes meet his. “It’s going to be okay.”
Again, I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
He reaches across the counter and pulls the pen and piece of paper he’d been writing on closer to him.
He clicks the pen repeatedly .
“Okay, what else? I wrote down the information Sharon gave me.”
Slumped on my stool in an oversized T-shirt, sweatpants, and hair I can see sticking into my peripheral vision like I’ve been electrocuted, I shrug.
He clicks the pen again, eying me. “Okay,” he says, dragging the word out and rolling a toothpick across the length of his mouth. “If I was in your situation, what would you tell me to do?”
Elbows on the counter, I prop my chin in my hands and look at him again. “I’d tell you to make sure you have everything filled out right for the adoption paperwork.”
He smiles, nods, and writes it down. “What else?”
“I’d tell you to go to the gym and eat good food because your nervous system will handle the stress of the situation better if you take care of your body.”
He snorts a laugh, keeping his eyes glued to the paper, writing.
“What else?”
I tilt my head and look at him. Bo in my kitchen, dressed in his same clothes from last night with tousled hair, helping me manage my life. “I’d thank the man who carried me home and helped me write a list on how to keep my shit together.”
“You know”—he drops the pen, plucks the toothpick out of his mouth and drops it in the trash can, stepping closer to me—“I’m concerned why a man is carrying me home in this situation.”
I laugh.
He drops his forehead to mine and brings a palm to my cheek .
“It’s all going to be okay; you know that right? He’s at a different house, not gone.”
I lean against his palm. Familiar. Comforting.
“I know.”
He looks at the clock on the wall; it’s almost noon. “I have to go get Lucy from Libby’s. Do you want to come with me? Or I can come back here after?”
I shake my head. “No, go. I’m going to go to the gym, eat good food, quadruple check paperwork. I probably need to reach out to Sharon and apologize for acting like a wild banshee.”
Another chuckle, another kiss.
“You’ll be a great mom, Birdie.”
Next to him, I wrap my arms around his waist. My head to his chest, the soft sound of his heartbeat soothes me.
“You know,” I say, not pulling my cheek from him. “You’re getting pretty good at making these lists.”
His body vibrates when he laughs.
“I learned from the best.”
“Church tomorrow?” I ask.
“Church tomorrow.”
“Birdie! Time for church! We brought a kite!” The squeaky voice is accompanied by a rhythmic tapping on the door.
Pulling on my shoes, I open it, surprised.
“Lucy—hi!” I say, confused, looking up to see Bo crossing the yard.
“Gran doesn’t feel good today,” she says.
I ignore the undulation of panic that those simple words create and force a smile. “That’s too bad.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bo says, scrubbing the top of Lucy’s head when he’s standing beside her. “Gran was tired, and I told Lucy Goosey here we could go to the park.”
George Strait barks as if he knows what all this means, and Lucy giggles.
I widen my eyes dramatically and put my hands on my hips. “Well, the dog can’t wait to ride with you in the back seat.”
Her response is a laugh as the dog licks her in the face.
“You wanna try to load him up, Luce?” Bo asks her. “He’s kind of gotten used to the whole back seat, you might have to fight him for it.”
Grabbing the leash, she nods, braided pigtails swishing through the air. “Maybe he can sit on my lap!”
Down the steps, across the yard, and at the Jeep, Lucy fails miserably at getting him to cooperate as Bo and I walk slowly toward them.
“You okay today?” he asks.
I smile. “I am. Your lists work miracles, apparently.”
He kisses me on the temple. “Good.”
After hours at a park—flying kites, swinging on swings, and watching the dog chase ducks—I’m home. As perfect as the day was, all I can think is: I wish Huck was here too.