As Tears Go By

by Lydia Michaels

  Her brow lowered. “How much?”

  “About two grand.”

  “Two thousand dollars? Are you out of your mind? I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but the roots are interfering with the township renovations. They notified residents nearly a year in advance to lessen the burden. There’s a list of contractors in that packet I gave you. Maybe if you shop around you can get a lower estimate.”

  “But I like my tree.”

  “I’m sorry.” He turned, and that apparently was all he had to say.

  Backing into the house, she locked the door and debated throwing a tantrum much like her son was doing at that very moment, or perhaps falling into a puddle of tears. Her name squawked from the phone at her hip. She’d forgotten about Nikki.

  Lifting the phone slowly, she said, “I have to cut down my tree.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. They’re putting in new sidewalks and my tree’s somehow in the way. I’m also not going to have water for a few days, but I have to look at the paperwork and figure out when exactly that is.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “I guess so. This is a nightmare.”

  “We had a tree removed a few years ago. The guy did nice work and was pretty affordable. I can get his number for you.”

  “How much did it cost?”

  Nikki hummed as she thought. “I think it came to a little under twenty-five hundred.”

  “Dollars? For a tree? That’s obscene. If the township wants it moved they should have to pay for it!”

  “Okay, calm down. Maybe call around and find out if there’s a way to get out of paying for it.”

  “That’s not the point! I like my tree.”

  “It’s a tree, Becca.”

  She couldn’t explain it, but that tree had been there since she bought the house. It was a good, sturdy, pretty tree. It didn’t deserve to get cut down because it was in the way of some superficial project to make their neighborhood’s already functional sidewalks better. “There’s nothing wrong with the tree.”

  And how the hell was she going to come up with the money to remove it if she couldn’t convince the township the tree should stay? Hunter released a high-pitched scream and she winced. “I gotta go, Nikki. There’s a storm coming and Braydon’s going to be here soon.”

  Her friend sighed. “Try and relax, Becs. A little mess and noise isn’t going to change his opinion about you and if it does, you’re better off without him.”

  That was the problem. She didn’t want to be better off without him. At this point she really, really wanted to be with him. Reality had a funny way of always interfering in the things she wanted, however, so she was preparing for the worst.

  When she hung up with Nikki, Hunter was marching around the den, stimming, and repetitively checking the windows. Storms upset Hunter and there was no way of predicting if this would be a passing shower or her son’s personal terror torn from the heavens.

  Checking the Doppler app on her phone, she grimaced as a large green mass moved over their area. The forecast predicted forty percent chances of thunderstorms over the next few hours. Time to get Hunter into a Zen place.

  Glancing out the window, noting the lengthening shadows, she gauged the storm would start sometime in the next hour. Dark clouds rolled through the deep blue sky. Her goal was to distract Hunter with activities that masked outside disturbances and caused anxiety.

  “Hey, bud, how about some music?”

  She shouldn’t have stayed on the phone so long. Parading through the den, Hunter yanked on his shirt and continuously flicked the right side of his face. Becca tucked the packet from the township away and tightened the laces of her shoes.

  “I’m going to dance. Do you want to dance with me, Hunter?”

  “Dance,” he echoed as he marched in a circle, now jumping in place every few paces.

  “Yes, dance.” Opening the cabinet above the stereo, she shuffled through the CDs.

  Locating the one she sought, she placed it in the player and nudged the beanbag to the side of the room. Dropping to her knees she invited him to join her. The music started and Hunter opened his mouth wide the moment he recognized the opening tune of Paint it Black by The Stones. “Let’s drum.”

  Hunter wandered over, his head tipped with curiosity, as he made a sound of excitement, but quickly back stepped and continued to trek to the window.

  Becca matched the fast drumbeat with her fingers banging the floor. Hunter shouted and returned, this time dropping roughly to the floor. He loved this song and some of his anxiety due to the oncoming storm was slightly distracted. He sang the song about wanting to paint the red door black and they hummed the chorus together.

  Becca’s palms stung from drumming and the backs of her arms pulsed with the oncoming ache of the fast pounding repetition. By the time the song was over, her heart rate elevated. Sympathy for the Devil was next.

  Hunter shouted the first line, begging to introduce himself, just as Mick Jagger sang.

  Twisting behind her, she reached in the music bin and grabbed a recycled water bottle filled with grains. She held the beat as Hunter belted out the quick lyrics.

  His voice wasn’t designed for singing, but he was easily Becca’s favorite vocalist, because when Hunter sang she heard his words, words that had been absent for the first half of his life.

  “Let’s see your air guitar!”

  Jumping up and down, rattling the items around the room, Hunter did his best Mick Jagger while Becca let out the “Hoo-hoos” of the backup singers. Glancing between the blinds covering the window, she spotted spatters of drizzle hitting the glass.

  Distracting Hunter from a storm was an exercise in endurance. She’d started doing this a few years ago, and sometimes their impromptu concerts only lasted thirty minutes, but sometimes they went on for hours.

  There was no way of predicting what time the storm would pass. Ideally, it would be best if Braydon came later, once the weather settled, but she didn’t have time to call him now that the rain was underway. She barely had time to think up alternative solutions. Her mind was solely in the now and focused on preventing a meltdown.

  Gimme Shelter was next. Already out of breath, she pushed to her feet and performed their Gimme Shelter dance. Luckily, this one was a bit slower in tempo. Her arms mimicked the swaying branches of a tall tree, stretching her tired muscles. “Dance with me, bud.”

  Hunter studied her out of the corner of his eye and let his arms wave. There was a flicker of lightening outside against the deep gray sky.

  “Watch my arms. Let me see your arms blow in the wind.”

  Casually, she cranked up the volume, anticipating the pound of thunder that would likely follow the flash of lightning. When the thunder rumbled, she flinched, but smiled because Hunter barely noticed.

  The song ended and she was panting from exertion. Ruby Tuesday started and she directed her son to the upright. “Will you play for me?”

  Without hesitating, Hunter slid onto the piano bench and picked up the note. The piano added to the vibration of the thunder and music, masking the storm further.

  “Be Jagger, Mom!”

  Standing to his right, she nodded and belted out her best, “Goooooooodbye, Ruby Tuesday!”

  Hunter sang as well. As his focus remained on the keys, she sidled over to the window and closed the blinds the remaining centimeters, blocking all views to the outside.

  Her attention dragged between her son’s performance and the door. Praying for another piano song, her stomach tightened when she thought she caught the swirl of headlights against the blinds. Thankfully, Brown Sugar was next and Hunter rolled right into the riff.

  Backing toward the door, her head swirling with the overly loud music and throbbing a bit from jumping around, she almost laughed. Had she actually entertained the fantasy of Braydon walking in on some peaceful, quaint picture of homelife?

  As she twisted the locks, he
r heart stuttered with a bolt of pride and possibly courage. This was her homelife and seeing her son smile through a storm as he pounded on the ivory keys with The Rolling Stones, that was her happiness.

  She pulled the door wide and smiled, “Welcome to my life. Come in.”

  Braydon’s face showed a fleeting trace of shock at her sweaty, disheveled appearance, but she didn’t have time to worry. She had to get the door closed before Hunter took notice of the downpour outside of their sanctuary. As she tugged Braydon over the threshold, she peeked past the awning. Blue showed behind the clouds in the distance. Thank God.

  Turning, after the last lock was engaged, she found Braydon beaming. “Wow,” he said, tipping his head toward Hunter. “He can really play.”

  Pride pinched her heart. She smirked and nodded, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “He’s wonderful. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll introduce you.”

  Braydon hung back as she returned to the piano. Hunter played a few more songs and Becca sung backup, blushing each time her horrid voice cracked in front of Braydon. He was an outstanding audience, never once interrupting the show and wearing a steady expression of enjoyment on his face.

  When it seemed the worst of the storm had passed, she lowered the volume of the stereo. “Hunter, I want you to meet someone.” Her hand lightly touched her son’s right shoulder. “Can you stand up, bud?”

  Hunter stood and immediately walked to the window, peeking through the blinds. His eyes blinked as his mind made obvious observations. The ground and branches were shades darker from before, now hanging low with the weight of raindrops. The walks were sprinkled with soggy leaves and the color of the sky had transformed from steel blue to gray.

  “Rain’s gone, Mom. No rain!”

  “Yes, the storm’s over. See, that wasn’t bad at all. Would you like to meet our friend, Braydon?”

  Braydon remained at the entrance to the den, just within Hunter’s peripheral. Hunter’s fingers reached for his temple and twisted at the corner of his eye, telling Becca he’d spotted their visitor. He vocalized short, repetitive hums as he took in Braydon’s presence and Becca waved Braydon into the room.

  Taking slow steps and pausing about three feet away from Hunter, but only a few inches from Becca, he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Hunter.”

  Hunter turned, still in an apparent good mood from their jam session and giggled. His fingers curled and tapped over his lips, as his attention seemed drawn to Braydon’s shirt.

  “Can you say hello to Braydon?”

  “Hello.” Taking a step back, Hunter’s attention turned to the piano, where he tapped a key persistently.

  “I heard you playing. You’re very good,” Braydon complimented, but Hunter paid him no mind.

  “Can you say thank you to Braydon?”

  “Thank you to Braydon.” He laughed at his own jest and slid onto the piano bench.

  “Would you like to show Braydon how you play?”

  A stream of notes pelted from the piano in reply. It wasn’t a song, but the melody was eloquent enough to raise Braydon’s eyebrows. Becca grinned with pride. This wasn’t so scary.

  She turned off the stereo. Hunter’s shifted his seating and segued into what was a stunning performance. Glancing back to Braydon, she saw his lips part in awe and there was a sudden tightening in her throat. It was nice, bringing someone into their world and sharing the beautiful secrets she and her son kept, especially when life calmed enough to notice such things.

  “He’s incredible,” Braydon whispered.

  “He’s my Hunter,” she whispered back.

  “How long has he been playing like this?”

  “About four years. I bought the piano from the church that closed two years ago and since then he’s just blossomed.”

  The song concluded and Braydon clapped. “Well done, Hunter!”

  Hunter bounced and started another ballad. Braydon’s head tilted as he followed the notes. “I know this. What is it?”

  “As Tears Go By.” Her eyes prickled. “If you don’t exclude The Stones, this—” She patted her heart and smiled. “—is my favorite song.”

  The warmth of Braydon’s fingers curled around hers. “It’s beautiful.”

  Inviting Braydon into her home with Hunter had emotions surging through her from all angles. As the song finished, she wanted nothing more than to hug her son. He was perfectly imperfect and in that moment she gratefully accepted all of the challenges for these incredible gifts that they’d been given. Basically, she needed to get a grip.

  Pressing her hands together, she suggested, “How about some lunch?”

  “Lunch would be great,” Braydon said as Hunter stood and bolted into the kitchen.

  She laughed. “Shall we?”

  Braydon followed her to the kitchen where Hunter bounced by the chart on the wall. “What would you like for lunch, bud?”

  “Hot dog.” His fingers plucked the hot dog picture from the chart and moved it to the square for lunch. He then chose apple juice for his beverage.

  “Okay.” She pointed to the task analysis on the wall. “Wash your hands.”

  As she followed Hunter to the sink and adjusted the water, Braydon kept in her shadow. “Can I help?”

  “Um, no thank you, I think I have it. Are hot dogs okay with you?”

  “Hot dogs are fine.”

  “Now dry them, bud.”

  Handing Hunter a towel, he dried his hands and chattered as he made his way to the table. Becca pulled out the hot dogs and plates as a pot of water heated on the stove. Hunter stood and went to the look at the clock on the wall. He ran to the window and tapped on the glass. The sky was hazy, but a softer shade of blue as the sun now fought to return.

  “Where should you be, Hunter?” He returned to the table and rocked in his seat.

  Becca counted out two hot dogs for Braydon and two more for her and Hunter. Once lunch was ready, Braydon helped her carry everything to the table. Before sitting, she gathered a Velcro board with a cut up picture of an iPod on it.

  The second she sat the plate in front of Hunter he shoveled a cut piece of hot dog in his mouth. “Wait, please. We’re not going to use our fingers today. Here’s a fork.”

  Hunter whined, but took the fork.

  “What’s that?” Braydon asked, pointing to the Velcro board.

  Speaking loud enough to include Hunter in the discussion, she said, “Hunter, can you tell Braydon why we use the iPod board?”

  Hunter aimed his fork at the food and said, “I get music.”

  Becca explained, “If Hunter uses his fork instead of his fingers, he can have some music after lunch.”

  Her son struggled with the utensil, sneaking his fingers in to help pierce the meat with the tines. Showing a bit of frustration, he picked up the morsel and shoved it in his mouth. “Uh-uh. No fingers.” She pulled a piece of the puzzle off the Velcro board with a scrape and Hunter groaned.

  Lowering her voice, she explained, “He isn’t always focused on what I’m doing, so hearing the sound of the Velcro snap helps him register the change. We’re working on table manners.”

  As lunch carried on, there was little time for adult conversation. Braydon remained observant and asked questions when he didn’t understand the reasoning behind a certain action, and she found his curiosity refreshing. Kevin never paid attention to such behavior modifications. After lunch Hunter was given his iPod and she and Braydon cleaned up the kitchen together—another thing she wasn’t used to.

  Her home was fairly open, so she kept a continuous eye on Hunter. He’d calmed since that morning and was playing in the den while she and Braydon shared a cup of coffee in the adjoining room. It seemed like the first time she’d caught her breath that day. She glanced at the clock—2:00—not bad.

  “Sorry I didn’t have time to fix myself up. I must look pretty scary.”

  His fingers gave a gentle tug to her sloppy hair. “You look pretty.” Such acceptance had
a way of heightening her nervousness.

  “I had a hectic morning,” she confessed.

  “Hunter doesn’t like storms?”

  “No. I try to distract him, thus the concert you walked in on.”

  “He has amazing talent.”

  She nodded. “He does. I don’t know where he gets it from.”

  “You can tell he really likes music.”

  “Music’s probably our biggest motivator. He also likes trains, but music’s more available.” Her attention was pulled when Hunter started banging on the wall. “He does that sometimes,” she explained, without apology.

  Braydon made no show of annoyance. “So what’s new with you?”

  She sighed. “I have to cut down my tree.” A snort of derisive laughter slipped past her lips. “Sorry. I don’t really have much excitement in my life. You’re probably used to more stimulating conversation.”

  “Not really. What’s wrong with your tree?”

  She unleashed her frustration on the napkin, twisting it into little pieces. “Absolutely nothing. The township came by and told me it has to be removed for the new sidewalks. They’re doing something with the sewers too. The roots are corroding the lines or something. I don’t know. They gave me a big packet that explains everything.”

  “Can I see what they gave you?”

  Taken off guard, mostly because Kevin always let her handle things like this, she blinked. “Sure.” After finding where she stuck the packet, she handed it to him.

  Braydon paged through the information.

  “Is there a way to get out of it?” she asked hopefully.

  “According to this, I don’t think so.”

  “Great. I heard it’s around two grand to take down a tree that size. Maybe more.”

  “Nah, I can get you a better price.”

  She perked up. “Really? I don’t want the tree to go, but if I have no choice I’d love to save as much money as I can. If I let the township remove it they’ll bill me and their quote was way out of my budget.”

  “I know people. Why don’t I make a call and see if I can get them out here this week.”

  “People?” She laughed. “Are you involved with the tree mafia or something?”