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I curl up to a seated position. “Mrs. B. Good morning, little lady.” I scrub my hands over my hair, knowing it’s sticking up all over, as it does when I need a cut. “I’ll make sure they’re on time.”
She grins. “Did you get in trouble for that?”
I look around. “I’m guessing no since I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Writing on your arms? I got in trouble for writing on my hand, and it was only a little.” She holds her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart, then stretches her arms far apart. “You wrote a bunch.”
Whitley halts her steps to the kitchen and turns to look at me.
“I didn’t write on my arm; it’s called a tattoo.”
“Which means he paid someone else to write on his skin.” Whit sets a hand on her hip. “Now, why would you do that?”
Nora grabs my hand and attempts to pull me up, and I assist. “Can I pay them to write on my skin?”
“No,” Whit says at the same time I say, “Not until you’re a legal adult.”
Confused, Nora looks between us.
“I’d make sure to listen to your mom, Nora,” I stand. “Especially in the morning. If I remember correctly, she’s never been a fan of this time of day.”
“Things change.” Whit glares at me, but the pink in her cheeks nudges a place inside of me that pushes hope out of the dark it’s been hiding in.
“They do.” I give Nora’s hand a squeeze. “I need to fold up this blanket. You think you could help me out?”
She grins and does a little bounce. “Yepper.”
“Nora, it’s sweet to wanna help, but we need to make breakfast and get you fed, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Would like some breakfast myself.” I give Whit a smile. “Haven’t made it to Nan’s. She still making those waffles and?—”
Nora jumps up and down. “I wanna go too.”
“What do you say, Whit? Could I take you and Nora to breakfast this morning?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” She takes off running up the stairs. “I’ll brush my teeth and get my book bag and everything all by myself, like a big girl.”
“Wait, Nora. We need to?—”
“School still starts at eight thirty?” I ask Whit as I finish folding the blanket.
She crosses her arms and taps her foot against the hardwood floor.
“It’s seven. Plenty of time to get there, eat, and get Nora to school on time.”
“I’m not sure what game you’re playing, but?—”
Walking past her, I note, “It’s the offseason, Whit. I’m not playing a game. Let me get my keys. I’ll grab the vehicle, swing around, and pick you ladies up.”
Stepping in the kitchen, I see them hanging on the hook next to hers. Both sets have the key chain Mom gave to Whit, Danny, Marks and I instead of a card for graduation. Mom wasn’t a big fan of greeting cards, so she always did something else. Sometimes, it was a trinket, like the key chain, or a handwritten note. She thought cards were impersonal for monumental occasions. She preferred to use her own words, not someone else’s. She also thought it was a waste of money. She’d write notes and put them in an envelope, often with a picture inside from a moment that she felt was something to remember.
I grab the keys as I slide my feet into my sneakers and head out.
Whit might not have given birth to Nora, but she looks just like her. Of all the things stuck in my head right now, all the shit I need to unpack, the fact that Whit’s a mom and I didn’t know fucks with me hard.
Focused on three things—pissing, brushing my teeth, and changing—I enter the house, which I really haven’t gotten a chance to take in. Last night, when I decided it was time to face it, the sun set before I arrived, and it was already dark. Then, I was unable to find a breaker I’d flipped dozens of times and allow myself to take it all in.
I pull into the driveway of the parsonage and hop out as they walk down the front porch stairs.
