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I chuckled ruefully. I’d been such a mess that even the children picked up on it. I gave my mom so much shit for visiting, but Kierra only made it because my mother rendered aid. I felt so guilty for snapping at her at the hospital. I returned home with flowers, a pair of diamond earrings, and a heartfelt apology that brought us both to tears. My father wasn’t impressed by the disrespect I’d shown my mother and promised we would talk once the dust had settled. He’d been spending the past few days running the house like a drill sergeant, keeping everyone in line while I dealt with filing a police report and pressing charges against those little shits who almost killed Kierra. I called the insurance companies and dealt with them as expediently as possible. What was left of Rory’s bike was towed to the collision center, and I was waiting to hear back from the insurance company. No doubt they’d deem it a total loss.
“Thank you, Kiyah. Can I sing it with you now?”
“Yes, please. I think I need to cry again.”
* * *
I held Kiyah’s hand as I led her into the hospital with her gift for her mother in tow. She smiled widely as if we didn’t have a breakdown in the post office parking lot.
Children are so resilient.
“Can I press the button?”
“Go ahead. It’s number four.” I sighed when she pressed four, five, six, and seven with a giggle.
I don’t want to be the bad guy when her mother is laying in a hospital bed, but every moment is a teachable one.
“Hey, Kiyah. When we’re in an elevator, it’s important to punch only the floor you need. We’re in a hospital, and other people are anxious to see their loved ones, too. It’s unfair to make them wait for the elevator to stop on every floor. Seeing the buttons light up is fun, but let’s not do that again, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked as if she committed a mortal sin.
“It’s fine. Are you excited for Thanksgiving?” I asked, changing the subject.
“No,” she whispered.
“Why not? We’ll have good food, the football game, and we’ll decorate the Christmas tree.”
“Mr. Marcus is gonna kill the turkey!”
I rolled my eyes with a sigh.
Of course, my father told the kids he’d hunt the turkey!
My father was an avid hunter, and he’d brag every year we shared Thanksgiving that he was responsible for the tender turkey we consumed.
“Mr. Marcus was only joking,” I lied through a tight smile.
“Oh…okay,” Kiyah replied with questioning eyes.
I guess I’m on my one get-out-of-a-lie-free card with Kiyah, too.
We reached the fourth floor, and my heart raced as we approached Kierra’s room. I’d stayed with her throughout the night while she was in and out of consciousness and switched off with Simone once she was discharged.
We arrived and found Kierra struggling to open a milk carton with her left hand. “Fuck this shit,” she growled, tossing it back onto her tray.
“You’re so impatient,” Simone chastised, leaving the restroom. “I told you I’d open your milk after I washed my hands.”
The gift bag that Kiyah held for her mother dropped to the floor, spilling its contents. She spun around and held her arms up for me. I picked her up and her wails finally captured the women’s attention.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know whether to bring her or not,” I apologized.
“Bring her to me,” Kierra requested, scooting over to make room for Kiyah.
“Nooooo. I don’t want to go!” Kiyah shrieked, completely stunning us.
“Kiyah, your mom—”
“Don’t worry about it, Jon. Can you take Kiyah back to the house, Simone?”
