by Kim Bailey
Holy shit. He’s a mini Jamie. I don’t know if I want to laugh at him or hug him for being so fucking awesome.
“I’m Eric. I’m a friend of your mom’s. Just helping her out.”
“I didn’t know my mom had any friends here. Are you friends with my dad too? Did you know her from before?”
“No actually, I just met your mom six days ago. Your dad? I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, but I’ve met him.”
“Yeah, my dad and I aren’t really friends yet either. But he’s trying to help me get a dog, so I guess he’s kind of cool.” He examines me over his orange juice as we wait for his bagel to toast, “Do you like dogs?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t like dogs?”
“Exactly! This is what I keep telling my mom! I know she likes them but she still keeps telling me no. It’s like she just won’t give in, even though I think she’d kind of like to have one too.”
“Yeah. She’s kind of stubborn sometimes, I’ve noticed.”
“No, she’s like that all the time - trust me.”
“Oh, but I found her weakness.”
“No way. She doesn’t have a weakness. My mom’s the toughest girl I know. She’s even tougher than some of my friend’s dads.”
“Hmmm … You could be right about the toughness. But I did find her soft spot. Do you want to know what it is?”
“Is that an actual question? It’s redundant, right?” His sarcasm’s on point – obviously, he’s picked up all his mother’s best features.
“Yeah, okay - you got me. But if I tell you, you have to promise that it stays between us. If she finds out we know, we’re totally screwed.” Shit - language! I’m not sure what’s considered appropriate anymore. I was out on my own when Caleb was this age, and now that he’s a teenager words like screwed are quasi-acceptable. I’ll have to keep this fucking shit in mind. Literally - keep the curse words in my mind.
“Okay, I can agree to that deal.”
“Oh, shit! You already know the secret!” Fuck, this language thing is going to be a bit harder than I expected. I’ve obviously gotten way too comfortable with my lack of responsibilities. Five months ago, I wouldn’t have dared use anything close to cussing - crap was considered a bad word in my previous life. Maybe I need to take back a little of my old self, if only to save Hunter’s innocent ears.
He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, or am speaking another language. I guess I lost him with my professed knowledge of his mother’s secret weakness.
“Making a deal. She can’t resist. It’s a bit like setting up a dare or making a bet … she’ll agree to do what you want, if you offer up something she can’t refuse. You just need to know what she wants.”
“You said you met her six days ago?” Hunter asks, skeptically.
“Yeah dude, it’s been a busy six days.”
“She must really like you.”
“Why would you say that? You haven’t even heard of me until now. I bet she hasn’t mentioned me once.”
“Nope. You’re right. Not once.” He really has a way of making a guy feel good. “But, you’re here. My mom’s never had a friend she hung around with for six solid days. And she’s definitely never had a friend hanging out at our house at eight o’clock in the morning. She only sticks around the people she really likes. You’re here, and you seem to have her all figured out, so that must mean she really likes you.”
The wisdom of a nine-year-old. He makes it all sound so simple. And, in reality, maybe it is that simple. Jamie and I like each other, we’ve become great friends, with lots of really great benefits. I don’t want to be away from her - I don’t want to miss out on any of the perks.
“You’re a lot like your mom, you know. You’re a pretty cool kid. And I really like her too.”
“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable, Eric. She’s the best lady in the world, and she’s the most important person to me. You mess with her and I’ll find a way to mess you up. My dad’s a cop, you know.”
Yes, he is definitely his mother’s child. Balls of steel. I don’t know if I should be admiring his bravery, or worrying for my own personal safety.
“Hunter, I think you and I are definitely going to get along.”
* * *
The past hour, hanging out with Hunter, has been so much better than I could have anticipated. Slightly awkward meeting aside, it’s been nothing but comfortable, effortless conversation. Jamie’s child is as easy to fall in love with as she is.
He’s a smart kid. You can tell he’s been raised with honesty, love, and humility - with a healthy dose of humor on the side. It shows in the way he interacts, the way he projects those things back. He’s got an awareness for the world around him that seems lightyears above his age. He seems to think a lot about the impact his words and actions can have.
His whole perception of what happened with his friend Jackson, absolutely blew my mind. For a nine-year-old he’s really damn insightful. It’s almost a shame that he’s so aware, since he’s obviously hurt by what happened. I was caught slightly off guard when he opened up to me about the whole incident. According to Hunter, his friend was stealing. When the owner got suspicious, Jackson ditched the candy hidden under his shirt, trying to pin the blame on Hunter instead. When Jackson maintained the lie, without attempting an apology, Hunter decided they couldn’t be friends anymore. He told me he didn’t understand how someone could make such poor choices, without remorse.
He’s a good kid. Jamie’s worries about her parenting skills, very misplaced - just as I suspected. Considering she’s done the job of two parents, without the support of her own, I’d say she’s actually done a hell of a lot better than average. Better than Jackson’s parents, that’s for sure.
I’d been hoping Jamie would join us in a bit of a lazy morning, before the three of us headed out to the hospital. But my hopes are dashed when Jamie comes rushing into the kitchen. She’s fully dressed, looking like a wild thing, ready to trample whoever or whatever may be in her way. Something’s very wrong.
Hunter’s clueless. “Mom! You should have told me you have a cool friend like Eric. Did you know his brother can skateboard? He’s practically a pro! Eric said we could all go to the hospital together. I want to meet Caleb! Eric says if you agree, I can hang out with them sometime.”
“Only if you agree,” I jump in quickly.
We’ve been talking about my little brother non-stop. Once mentioned, Caleb become a topic Hunter didn’t want to let go of. He seems fascinated by everything I’ve told him so far - especially with Caleb’s minor fame. Before he got sick, Caleb was on track to compete for a spot on a skateboarding semi-pro-tour. I’d always thought he’d make it too. The kid was good on his board. Hunter’s obviously a little star struck by this story.
But Jamie doesn’t acknowledge us at all. She continues moving quickly around the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and her purse off of the counter.
This can’t be good. She hasn’t even processed that we’re talking to her.
“I have to go to the hospital right away. They called,” she mutters, in way of explanation for her odd behavior and lack of response to our conversation.
“Alright, let me just get dressed,” I offer. “Hunter, can you go change out of your pajamas? I’ll drive you guys over.”
This I can handle. I’m reassured, knowing she’s got a reason for her urgency - it’s not some weird reaction to my presence - she’s not upset that I’m making friends with her kid, after spending the night in her bed. Even directing Hunter, like I have a right to be in control here, feels natural and easy.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’ll go on my own for now. I’m okay.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t go by yourself,” Hunter advises. He’s right. And it’s just another example of how this kid has judgment skills, way beyond his years.
“I love you, bud. Your concern for me is amazing. Truly. But I can’t wait. I really am okay.” She gives him a quick, tight hug, before di
recting her gaze to me, her beautiful face void of emotion. “Can you take care of my kid for me? Please. Stay here, enjoy the morning. Take him to the park, or the lake, or to meet Caleb, or whatever you guys were talking about. I’ll call you when I’m there and know dad’s condition. I just need to get there. Now.”
“No problem. You get going. I’ll take care of everything here, and bring Hunter straight to you, as soon as I can.”
“No,” she pleads, “Don’t bring him until I know it’s okay. If things are too bad …”
“Of course, beautiful girl. Whatever you need,” I promise. Just like all the other times I’ve told her this, I mean it. I’ll do whatever it takes to help make things better for her.
Perhaps it’s instinct, or perhaps, pure need - Jamie doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a solid, quick kiss. It’s a selfish reaction, but it makes me feel so damn good that she turns to me this way. I can’t help hugging her tightly, in return.
Hunter’s reaction is a little less enthusiastic. “I thought you said she was just your friend, Eric.”
“Not now, dude,” I tell him with a warning glare, as I push Jamie toward the door. “Call me soon,” I tell her.
The minute Jamie’s out the door, I ignore her instruction completely, ushering Hunter to get dressed so we can follow her to the hospital. No way in hell am I allowing her to take on this burden by herself again. I might not be able to do much but at least I can be there. I can be ready for her when she needs someone to lean on. I can have her kid ready, waiting there for her when she needs his warmth and love.
She still hasn’t figured it out - she doesn’t have to do this all on her own. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I’ve told her, it’s just not sinking in.
So, fuck it.
I’m going to show her.
* * *
Laughter. Bold, boisterous, unrelenting laughter. That’s what woke me from my exceptional sleep this morning. It was a sleep, enhanced by the most explicit dream I’ve ever had. God, I’d just wanted to go back to that dream state so I could finish it off - or so it could finish me off. Whichever.
Even thinking about it now, I can feel the way dream fragments collided with my waking thoughts. My body had been on fire, my mind struggling to piece back together the feelings that had taken me there.
But as I rested in bed, half-awake, listening for the laughter that had woken me, I couldn’t recall the details of the dream. The harder I tried, the vaguer it became, until it was nothing more than a feeling of aching need. And then that rich, deep baritone laugh hit me again. With each punch of Eric’s exuberance, a zing of pleasure rocked through my core, reminding me of what I’d been dreaming about.
Eric. His voice must have infiltrated my subconscious, bringing me to the brink of orgasm with nothing more than his sound and my imagination. Although, I doubt there was a need to actually hear him for this effect – I’m pretty sure he’s already rooted into my subconscious mind. My conscious one too. Hell, somehow he’s managed to embed himself into practically every part of me. A molecular takeover.
For a moment, as I lay there listening to him, I’d contemplated just finishing myself off but the next voice I’d heard, ringing in my ears, belonged to Hunter. My sexual frustration immediately took a backseat, as my motherly duties came rushing to the forefront.
Hunter was there. How could I possibly have forgotten?
I’d spent half the night up pacing the floor, waiting on his arrival, stressing over how to introduce him to the man who has me so tied in knots that I’m able to momentarily forget about my own child.
Hunter was out there, laughing with Eric. From the sound of it, they were having a fun little party for two. Suddenly, I was very curious to know what they were laughing about. I wanted to see them interacting. I wanted to see if Eric had as big of an effect on my son as he’s had on me. But before I managed to pull myself up out of bed, my phone began ringing loudly from its spot on the dresser.
The sound of my chirpy, happy ringtone, sent a charge of fear coursing through me. The list of possible callers, so very small. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t anyone I wanted to hear from. I just knew. It wasn’t a random call to chat or check in. This was bad news.
Managing to answer it on the third ring, my fears were realized when I heard nurse Judy on the other end of the line, telling me that my dad had taken a turn for worse. She tried reassuring me. A prolonged decline was still possible. The doctor could be wrong in his evaluation. An assessment that gave my dad one more day, at most.
A day?
This whole week I’d been expecting him to pass at any moment but with his death so imminent, I struggled to accept it. With a doctor’s sealed, definitive expiration date on my father’s life, I feel like I need more time.
One day?
“I’ll be right there,” I’d promised, pulling on my pants and rummaging for a clean t-shirt.
Walking into the kitchen wearing yesterday’s jeans and a shirt I’d won from a radio station when I was sixteen, I’d barely registered the scene in front of me. The scene of Eric and Hunter, chatting comfortably over the remnants of breakfast. A scene that, only moments earlier, I’d been trying so hard to picture.
Distraught with worry, conflicted on how to proceed, I’d made the already awkward situation completely impossible. Losing myself to insanity, I’d kissed Eric. Right in front of Hunter. No introductions - although they clearly had taken care of that themselves. No explanations - I didn’t have any good ones any way. And no recognition of what I’d done. Not until much later on. It took hours of sitting in my father’s hospital room before it dawned on me.
Yep.
I’d kissed Eric.
Right in front of Hunter.
Shit. I’m still thinking about it, now.
I’m an emotional decision maker. I know this. It leads to a lot of impulsive choices and rash resolutions. All, with varying degrees of success - most of them, ranging on the futile end of the spectrum.
It’s the kind of decision making that leads to commenting derisively on other parents’ stupidity, instead of talking calmly. It’s also the kind of decision making that let me rationalize running away from home at seventeen as a viable alternative to being responsible, and facing my troubles. And yes, it’s the same damn decision making that led to me kissing Eric as though he were my significant other, in front of my child, who’d just met him for the first time.
Good or bad, the decisions I’ve made have all led to this moment.
Would things have played out the same had I made different choices? What if I’d picked a muffin for breakfast yesterday instead of the bagel? Would saving the two and a half minutes of toasting time cause a ripple effect big enough to change other events? Or have I simply fooled myself into believing that I have control, that the choices are truly mine, that those choices have impact.
If I had of simply stayed put ten years ago, instead of running and hiding, things would have still ended the same. I’d still be standing here, in this hospital room, feeling helpless and lost, watching my father quickly fade away.
He needs to hang on, just a little longer. He needs to meet his grandson. It makes me nauseous thinking about that opportunity being missed. All the time that’s been wasted. All the hurt that I’ve caused. I need to fix it, now.
Leaving Hunter behind with Eric definitely wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made. It was still smarter than the kiss, mind you, but it was the only option that made sense in the moment. Not knowing what to expect with my father’s condition, I wasn’t prepared to bring Hunter blindly into what could be a very dark scene. Asking Eric to care for my child, though? I’m worried that I’ve pushed an unseen boundary. Or that I’m setting my son up for a much larger collapse once we leave here. What if I’m encouraging the creation of a bond between my son and a man that, in a matter of days, may go back to being a complete stranger?
I’d told Eric that I’d felt l
ost since the death of my mom and sister. But, never in my life have I felt more adrift than I do right now. Everything feels so disturbingly unbalanced. Nothing about my life feels recognizable. It’s more than just my father’s impending demise throwing me off. Not knowing which decisions are the right ones for my son, for me. Worrying that I won’t think rationally, that I’ll act with impulsive desire, or defiance. My whole world could crumble. All it will take is one step in the wrong direction. One misplaced emotion.
Or maybe not. Maybe I’m fucked, regardless.
With an overwhelming fear of doing the wrong thing, my immediate reaction is to retreat to the bubble of security that I know best. It’s the world where, only Hunter and I matter. Where, if I stay locked in denial long enough, nothing can penetrate to hurt us.
So, instead of calling Eric like I promised, I sent a text to Hunter. I told him that grandpa seemed okay for now, that he should come to the hospital as soon as he could. Between the lines I was begging for my son to come back to me, praying that he won’t be upset if things all go to hell.
My dad’s been fading in and out while I hold my breath, waiting for my boy to arrive. For so many years I was convinced that Frank Hartley didn’t have any feelings left, that the alcohol had soaked them all up but the longer I’m exposed to him, the more I realize, he’s actually an overabundance of emotions. And, just like me - or perhaps it’s me being just like him - his reactions are often emotionally charged.
Although, his calm handling of Hunter’s call last night was beyond my wildest expectation. It was like he jumped into action, solving the problem without second thought. Hearing him talk with his grandson, as though it were a normal occurrence, not only gave me hope but also led to a lot of self-doubt. Hence, my contemplation today of all the ways in which I’ve made poor life choices.
With a big and painful sounding sigh, my dad rouses from his sleep, yet again.
I’m shocked when he asks, “Why’d you stay away so long, James? Missed you.”
Never in a million years would I have foreseen the moment where my father would seem regretful, or concerned about our past. Never would I have expected that he cared. Lost for words, I can only stare at him, my anxiety replaced with heartbreak, tears once again swimming in my vision.