Page 54 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Mirielle: I’ll be the judge of that. Photo please.

I snap a picture of the bracelet I finished and attach it.

Des: Not bad?

Mirielle: I believe you’ve found your calling. But

I stare at her text, waiting for her to finish. When the phone rings, I startle and answer. “Mirielle?”

“This texting is ridiculous,” she says. “The buttons are too small. Tell me, chéri, why are you sad?”

“Who said I’m sad?”

“Your lack of sleep.”

My lip curls of its own accord. “Then I guess you’re sad too.”

She huffs. “Was I the one who texted you? I think non.”

Guess there’s no arguing with that. “I miss Sadie and Max when I’m not with them,” I grumble quietly.

“But you have seen them, yes?”

“Only on the hikes this week.” And during my sleeplessness, when I’m alone in bed, thinking about what she and Max are doing, wondering if they miss me half as much as I miss them. “But we played name that tune on the trail yesterday. I busted out some Camila Cabello songs, so that entertained the shit out of them.”

“Virgin ears,” Mirielle says.

Not on her life, but yeah. Yesterday was a blast. I sang so loud and proud the kids were doubled over, laughing their butts off at me. Max had to stop and catch his breath. Sadie had tears streaming down her face. Naturally, I sang louder.

As much fun as that was, watching her and Max get in her car afterward and drive away shaved off a layer of my fortitude. “I haven’t told her about school yet.”

“Isn’t this the grand plan? The big show to sweep her off her feet as a majestic lawyer?”

“Why do you have to make it sound so ridiculous?”

“Why do you have to wake up a sixty-year-old woman in the middle of the night?”

“Sixty?”

“Choose your next words carefully, Walter.”

I chuckle quietly as Mirielle starts talking about a new record she bought. The outdoor light is soft enough not to interfere with the bat ballet. I place the phone on speaker and grab two threads of my new bracelet, fold them over another two, then tighten the strings and repeat the motion. Mirielle’s accented smoker’s voice is the soundtrack to the steady work. My fingers move as I try to figure out why I haven’t told Sadie about school yet.

Gradually, my eyes settle on my wallet. “Money,” I say when there’s a lull.

“If you need money, I have some in my freezer.”

I scrub my hand over my mouth, smiling to myself. Of course she keeps cash in her freezer. “Thanks for the offer, but no. I won’t take your money. I’m just wondering if that’s why I haven’t told Sadie about school yet. Going to Duke will cost a ton of cash, and I’m not sure my mother kept my witness protection funds.”

The school-specific chunk that she’d set aside for me. She pushed me year after year, sneaking in subtle probing, asking if I’d thought more about law, going back, reinvesting in myself. I’d deflect like the master deflector I am with one of my seasoned grunts.

Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. She hasn’t mentioned law to me in a few years. She probably spent that cash or spread it around to my brothers. The idea of incurring mountains of school debt is nauseating, to say the least, and it would mean not having extra money to help support Sadie and Max. Details I need to figure out.

“I gotta go, Mirielle. Thanks for chatting.”

“The pleasure is mine, but you should spend more time with your family too. That brother with the letter for a name. Make more of an effort with him. If you can handle that, Arnold,” she adds, hanging up before I can squash her latest name guess.

Shaking my head at her antics, I call Mom.