And still very, very close to my nuts.
CHAPTER 5
Luna
Rose Bloom—the only name the lady at the park has ever given me, so I have to assume she hasn’t been pulling one over on me for the past two years because that’s how long I’ve known her, and just deduce that her parents gave her a super cool first name to match her last name. Some parents are awesome like that.
I could call my sister, my best friend, or even my mom. My dad hasn’t been in the picture for a long time, ever since I was six when he decided life without us was preferable to the one he had. He never looked back, and I have no idea where he is. Toren isn’t the only one with a dad who chose something else over his kids and wife, but I’d like to think I handled it better and didn’t let it irrevocably damage me.
My mom was better than a thousand dads all rolled into one. I made my peace with that a long time ago, and we moved on. So yes, I should be calling my mom or sister. We’re thicker than thieves, like really awesome kickass kinds of thieves. I also have my best friend, Tess, the same amazing lady I stayed with after I broke up with Toren, which is my euphemism for after Toren smashed my life with a sledgehammer, heartless words, and ten grand.
However, instead of calling, I find myself at the park later that evening. Milo is still wild, running everywhere. I swear, that kid never winds down. He runs over the expanse of green grass, laughing happily. Trees frame the park on all sides, and it’s a peaceful kind of feeling.
Rose Bloom sits on the same bench as she does every night. Every single night, from six to eight, she sits out here with a bag of birdseed and feeds the birds that have come to know and love her, even depend on her. These are the birds that everyone else overlooks—the little ones, sparrows, and whatnot. Not that I know my birds, but I bet Rose could list out every single detail about every bird that comes to visit her. I wonder if, on the inside, she has them all named.
I sit down beside Rose while Milo continues to run over the grass. He turns summersaults and cartwheels, both of which he’s very good at, and all within my sight because he knows not to go too far.
Rose dips into the plastic bag of birdseed with one gnarled hand. Her knuckles are red and chafed even though it’s summer. I feel bad about her hands. They look so painful. She doesn’t ever complain about it or any other aches and pains. I’m not sure how old Rose is, but I’d say somewhere past eighty and under a hundred. It’s hard to tell. Her hair is as white as the pristine kind of snow we hardly ever see in NOLA. She’s a tiny old lady, probably no more than eighty pounds and five feet. She always wears a red kerchief over her hair and, depending on the weather, some version of a blue dress, blue sweater, or blue trench coat.
I have never seen her in anything else, and I’ve been coming to this bench at least every other night since the first night we met.
The park isn’t far from my shop. When I finally opened my store, I looked around for parks in the area. This one drew me immediately because of the trees and how the grass always seems extra green and thick. A lot of the time, I take off my shoes and go barefoot.
The color is fading out of the sky, going along with the ungodly heat of the day. Because it’s summer, it stays light out for a long time, and right now, there are still hours to go, but the sun is getting watery. The clouds stacked up are tinged with pink and gold.
Milo lies on his back as Rose spreads another handful of seed along the ground. His voice breaks the silence. “Mom! That cloud looks like a unicorn farting.”
I look at where he’s pointing. “Hmm. You’re right.” It really does, with a horn and a tail lifted and some gaseous plumes flowing from behind the rump portion.
“I’m sad I won’t get to see Charlotte again,” Milo murmurs, still looking at the clouds.
“You will. She’ll come and say goodbye before she leaves.”
“Why do her parents have to move? Why can’t they just stay here?”
“Because, honey, her dad got a job in another city.”
“But lots of people work here. You work here. Why can’t he?” he grumbles.
“Sometimes, there are better opportunities elsewhere.”
I know Milo doesn’t understand since he’s only four. Charlotte has been his babysitter on and off for years, and this summer, she took over full-time when my last nanny quit because she was starting a family of her own.