“Yup.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“In bed. She has a mi-drain.”
“A migraine?”
“Yeah one of those.”
“Is she asleep?” He shakes his head. “All right. I’m gonna let her know I’m here. Grab your stuff.” I pat his head and muss up his hair.
I walk in the house and go down the hallway passing by the living room. The same laundry from a week ago sits on the couch. Marcie’s bedroom door is closed. I tap my knuckles against the dark wood. It’s been two months since Denny was killed in a freak accident at work. I know there is no set time on grief, but she has a little boy who needs her to get her shit together and be there for him.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m taking Gus to dinner you wanna come with us?”
“I’m not hungry,” she calls out in a low meek tone.
I twist the knob, pushing the door open. The bedroom is a mess. Denny’s clothes are piled on the bed and she’s hugged up to them. Shit is damn depressing. “You need to get out of the house. Get up and put some clean clothes on. When was the last time you showered?” I jerk her covers back. T-shirt is stained with old food. Her blonde hair hasn’t been brushed and greasy enough to fry eggs on. “Marcie, you gotta pull it together. Gus needs his mother.”
“Leave me alone, J.” She snatches the comforter back, surrounding herself with the piles of clothes and clinging to a photograph.
“One more week and that’s it. You don’t get it together I’m calling, Doc.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Does Gus have what he needs for tomorrow?”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Jesus. It’s his first day of school. I shouldn’t have to remind you. Fucking bullshit. You know that.”
“I’m hungry.” Gus enters the room and tugs on my hand.
“All right, lil’ man. Whatchu’ want?”
“Hot dogs.”
“Dairy Bar?”
“Yeah!” He pumps his fist in the air.
“Tell your mom bye.”
“Bye, Mom.”
“Come here, baby.” Marcie holds
her arms open for him. The kid gets his hug goodbye and she presses her lips to his forehead. “Be good for Jag. Brush your teeth before bed and call me to tell me goodnight.”
“Okay.” He gives her another squeeze.
“Don’t feed him a bunch of junk or let him stay up too late.”
“We’ll be cool, won’t we, bud?”
Chapter 4
Patience