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In Bridgeport, I’d moved into a little apartment with Henry, a simple two-bedroom not far from campus. It had taken me some time to get it as colorful as my home in Rough and Ready had been, but the investment was worth it. Now, the space burst with shades and textures. I’d decorated it in warmth and love, and in no time, it’d felt like home. As for my PTSD, I’d got some counselling that had helped a lot and Phoebe was more than willing to listen.
Phoebe lived in the dorms still, but only as a technicality — she stayed over almost every other night, helping me tuck Henry into bed before we watched a movie or cooked dinner at home. We both agreed that we should probably just live together round the clock, but she wasn’t allowed by her lease to move off campus full time. I thought this was a stupid rule, but then, I’m biased.
Henry had gone through his first winter, and taken to it like a duck to water. He’d dove into snowbanks, licked icicles — the whole nine yards. I suspected part of him just liked the town because he was under the impression that Bridgeport was the only place that snow happened, but I wasn’t ready to disabuse him of that notion. Plus, he liked any excuse to drink more hot chocolate.
Speaking of Henry, now that we were out of the town of Rough and Ready, I was finally able to enroll him in a school. It was an enormous relief. I’d been plagued with guilt, thinking that I was failing him and his education, but now he was in what the locals called a “prestigious” school. He loved it, too — he came home every day yammering about all the stuff he’d learned that morning, the friends he’d made, the action cards he’d traded.
My son was blossoming before my eyes, and if I think about it any longer, I’ll get weepy so let’s chug along.
I’d found good work at a nearby auto-repair shop. It paid a good piece more than Big Bob’s had, plus it had the advantage of not having Big Bob as an owner. The gal who ran the shop was friendly and smart, and most importantly, professional. No butt-grabbing there! She said I should think about opening my own place, but my mind was starting to go in a different direction.
I was beginning to wonder what it would be like to enroll in school for the first time. I hadn’t had a chance because of getting married and having a kid, but the notion had always appealed. I wasn’t sure, but I was considering maybe something in mechanical engineering. In some ways, it wasn’t that different from Phoebe’s degree — it’s all about seeing what makes something tick.
Phoebe, meanwhile, was somewhere in the crowd of young adults clomping past me, their gowns buffeting in the wind. I craned my neck, hoping to catch sight of her.
Henry tugged on my sleeve and pointed. “There!”
Yes, right there, in the middle of the crowd, walking next to Jo-Beth, was Phoebe. She rose above the other girls in the crowd, tall as she was, her shoulders back and head high. I’m so proud of you, I thought.
And then, as if by some telepathic magic, Phoebe turned, brown hair flying over her shoulder. Through the throng of classmates, her eye somehow managed to catch mine. She winked and my heart melted. How’d I get so fucking lucky?
She disappeared back into the crowd, which was making its way slowly onto the stage. Jill squealed with delight while her dad did his best to keep from tearing up.
“Oh Carter!” Jill cried as Phoebe lined up alongside the stage. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry,” I said. “I mean, yes, Jill.”
“Much better.”
Like mother, like daughter.
Over the last twelve months, I’d not only grown impossibly close with Phoebe, but with her family as well. We saw each other every weekend, and frequently went to science museums and playgrounds with Henry. They’d taken Henry and me in as if we were their own. Or, rather, as if Phoebe and I were already married. Perhaps they were just planning for things to come?
It was, however, still a little soon for that. Phoebe was just about to enter a new phase of her life, and I knew that twelve months probably wasn’t enough time to be considering marriage however much I wanted it to be. We’d talked it over, mind you, but had both agreed that for practicality alone, we should hold off for at least another six months. No matter — I already had the ring picked out and purchased.
Meanwhile, I did have a different variety of gift for her, sitting heavy in my inner breast pocket. I patted it with my palm, making sure it was still there, a protective shield over my heart, just like Phoebe.
