Page 17 of Retrofit Analysis

I lean on the wall. “Stress fracture,” I say with a sigh. “What are you in for?”

He rolls his eyes. “Plantar fasciitis. Just saying it makes me feel old. You getting gel inserts for your shoes?” He gestures at the pile of things on the desk as the receptionist hands him back his credit card. Kellen gathers it all into the bag they hand him and limps over to me.

I swallow, thickly, knowing I’m going to have to ask him for a favor here. “Hey, are you heading home?”

He nods and looks at my foot again. “Need a ride?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble⁠—“

He interrupts, holding up a hand. “Don’t even think about it. Happy to do it. I’ll send one of the kids to come fetch your car later if you want?” Before I can answer him, he barrels on, saying, “I call them kids, but they’re all in their 30s now. Well, not Orla. She’s 25. Still not a kid.”

I smile at that. “She can be your kid,” I tell him. “I’m sure Jake will always be my kid.” He nods and holds open the door for me as I wobble out, still unsteady on my boot.

Fourteen

Kellen

Of all the gin joints…I still can’t believe I ran into Beth at the podiatrist. I’m wearing ratty old clothes since I didn’t know what I’d have to take off or put on. And now she knows my old-man secret. Yet still, I find myself telling her more about it, how I have to wear the splint at night when I sleep and take ibuprofen for weeks.

She doesn’t seem grossed out by it, though. Just nods along, telling me about her own foot-care regimen. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Jake,” she confesses, worrying her lower lip and tapping her fingernails on my console.

“What about him? Doesn’t he take the bus to and from school?”

She nods. “Yes, but now I don’t have any way to get to him if they call and he’s having a meltdown. You know, if I don’t get there fast enough, they call the cops.”

“The cops?”

“Oh, don’t get me started. Nobody knows what to do with an autistic kid once he starts screeching, and they usually try to pat him or hug him and he flails out…and they call the cops.”

“Jake has had the cops called before?” I just can’t picture it. The kid has always responded to quickly to me, even that day he was so upset in the rain.

She shakes her head. “Not Jake, no, but friends of ours.” She stares out the window. “I’ve always managed to get there quickly if he gets upset. It’s why I never went back to work.”

I think about how very hard she has worked to help her son succeed, to keep him from harm, and I tell her, “I’d say you’ve been working plenty.”

She smiles at that. “Doesn’t help me get to Allderdice High School from Morningside if there’s a problem,” she says.

“I assume his father isn’t a resource?”

She snorts out a laugh at that. “Uh, no. I don’t even think I ever wrote Todd down as an emergency contact, even before we were divorced.” I have nothing to say in response to that. It’s unthinkable to me, a parent not willing to go to bat for his child. Mick and I may have traveled a lot, but the kids always knew one of us would be available. The older boys had their mother, too.

I grind my teeth together, wishing I could ask Elizabeth to list me as an emergency contact for Jake. But I don’t know her well enough, not anymore. That would be inappropriate. They’re not mine to take care of.

The thought rattles me. Why would I want to take care of them? Where had that even come from? Based on the state of my own feet, I’m not doing the greatest job taking care of my own damn self, let alone Beth and her boy.

Eventually, she says, “I guess I’ll just have to ask my parents to be on call for a few weeks until I’m allowed to take the boot off to drive,” she says. Then she sinks lower in the seat of my car. “Ugh, telling them I have a stress fracture is going to open up a whole bunch of scrutiny. They’re going to come take my temperature,” she says. I laugh, because she’s right.

“They’ll probably bring a gallon of chicken soup.”

She snorts again. “Wait til I tell them you have a hurt foot, too. Distract them a bit. Spread out the panic.”

“I’d eat the soup,” I tell her. “No. That’s not entirely true. I’d put it in my fridge, and Orla or Cal would come take it.”

We both share a laugh at that and I pull into her driveway. I don’t want her to have to walk too far. I’m sure her foot must be hurting her.

“Thank you so much, Kellen. Truly.” We both get out of the car and lean on the railing leading up to her steps.

“Give me your keys,” I tell her. “The boys can go get your car later after family dinner.”