Page 46 of Strum Me

“Okay?” I repeat.

“But he’s so little,” she whimpers.

“How little is he?”

“He’s turning six in a few months.”

“And we’re going to throw him the biggest fucking party a six-year-old’s ever seen,” I tell her.

Somehow that seems to calm her and her hands lie still in mine.

The elevator dings announcing our floor. I watch her as she takes a long, deep breath. As shaken as she is now, I know, I just know once it’s time, she’ll be the best mother a little wounded boy could ask for. She lets me take her hand and we head toward the nurse’s station.

“Oh my gosh. Emily! Brad!” Emily’s mother greets us, getting up from her chair in the waiting room as we walk past.

“Hi, Mrs. Butter,” I say as I let her hug me.

“What—” she starts, but Butter cuts her off.

“How is he, Mom?”

“The doctor just came out and he said they’ve just taken him out of surgery and into recovery. They’ll bring him back here when he’s up. He should be fine. They just had to put him under so they could set his arm. It, um, it broke in three places, and it would’ve been easier on the little one to put him under.” Somehow she gets through it without bursting into tears.

“And what else?” Butter asks, desperate for information.

“That’s it. Just his arm. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing he can’t show off to his friends and be proud of. Nothing internal showed up in the x-rays, and he was wearing his helmet and there wasn’t any damage to it at all.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?” Butter asks, for the first time sounding hopeful.

“So they say,” her mom replies.

“Oh my God.” Emily sinks into the nearest chair, her head falling into her hands. Her mother follows and they hug. Hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. I step back and let them have their moment, let them comfort each other, let them be there for one another.