Page 103 of In a Word, Yes

Glass doors whir open as a nurse named Oscar wheels my guy into the night, to the curb where Dad and Mom wait in their rental car. Normally the wheelchair thing would cause Chase anxiety, but the drugs are working their magic.

Running ahead of them to open the passenger door, I’m vaguely aware of a small sheriff’s utility pickup parked across from our car. If anyone else parked in that red zone, they’d be towed. How long has Wyatt been leaning there against the truck, waiting?

When he sees me, he unlocks his crossed arms. Moves toward us.

I shake my head. Shake my heart into steely submission.

Ignoring people isn’t my strong suit. Mom was right, of course. Wyatt deserved an update. And so, once we had a diagnosis, I’d sent him a text. I mean it to be my last.

Chase is being treated for twisted tissue in his intestines. Anti-inflammatories, pain meds, rest. Good chance symptoms will subside in the next week or so. We get to take him home soon.

I recline the front seat for Chase.

“This is your day, buddy!” his Papa says from the driver’s seat, overly merry, as Oscar the nurse helps him into the car.

Chase gives his Papa a semidrunken smile. “Shotgun.”

From the back seat, Mom reaches over to cushion his head with a soft quilted coat of some kind.

“Mom! What happened to no puffy vests?” Teasing her releases some tension.

She side-eyes me. “How very Pacific Northwest of me, don’t you think? Besides, isn’t it such a pretty shade of lilac?”

I flick one more glance at Wyatt. He’s no longer leaning against his car but standing at the ready, awaiting an invitation. My heart is in turmoil. But it’s an invitation I can’t extend. If there are to be hurt feelings, sooner is better than later. Wyatt will understand. Won’t he?

No point in encouraging his friendship with my son, only to sever it completely.

Chase is too busy lapping up the attention, not to mention the Twix bar his Papa secretly smuggled into the car, to notice Wyatt. Thank heaven for small graces.

This is me ripping off the bandage for all our sakes.

On the other hand, I can count on Mom, who is very muchnoton drugs, not to miss this detail. Her eyes flutter from Wyatt to me, holding a question. I shake my head vehemently. This moment is about Chase. My life is about Chase.

And I refuse to water down my attention toward him another day. If there’s a takeaway from this episode—and for me the message is booming loud and clear as high-mountain lake water—it’s this:

I have been given one precious job. A single calling. And if I only get this one thing right for the rest of my life, it must be enough.

My resistance weakens long enough to cast one last lingering look at Wyatt. Our eyes meet. I take him in, and it’s torturous. He’s in uniform—long pants these days. The season of bike patrolling is over.

Our season is over.

His lips move, mouthing my name.Lucy.

I hold up a palm, mouth my answer.I’m sorry. I can’t.

Vaguely I register his hard swallow, his solemn eyes.

But this is how it has to be.

From the back seat, I meet my father’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They’re tender. Knowing.

I try to rearrange my features into those of a mother with nothingbut celebration on her mind. My son is well! I make small talk. Ask my dad what he’s been up to while Mom held vigil with me here. He has yet to start the car.

“Oh, nothin’ much,” he says. “Took care of that yellow jacket nest in the eaves of your balcony.”

“I had a yellow jacket nest?”

Mom hands me a water bottle. “He also did something to your faucet.”