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She smiled. “How sweet.”
At the mall food court, I grabbed a slice of pizza and a Dr. Pepper, then headed back to Harmony. I still had an hour before I was due for work at HCT; I veered back to my end of town, taking the customer road that flanked the eastern edge of Pearce Auto Salvage. At the far end, where the scrapyard’s fence served as the backyard to a row of small houses, I parked and got out.
An old rusted out pickup truck, upside down, lay against the chain link. Like a forgotten prop in an action movie. From inside the cab, I heard a voice softly singing Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good.”
I put two fingers to my lips and gave a low whistle.
The singing stopped and Benny Hodges climbed out from the truck. His grin flashed, bright white in the dark of his skin, before he dialed it down to a thirteen-year-old’s bored nonchalance.
“What’s up, my brother?” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans then offering me a fist bump. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Mama made you something. Hold up, let me get it.”
He ducked through a tear in the chain link fence, his too-small coat flapping behind as he ran across the snow-deadened grass. He went into his house and came back out with a small, round cake on a plate under plastic wrap. Forks stuck out of his pocket and jangled as he ran.
He climbed back under the fence and held out the cake to me. It was white with cream cheese frosting and Happy Birthday Isaac! in a boy’s messy orange lettering.
“Carrot cake,” he said, beaming. “Your favorite, right? And I did the words.”
“Thanks, Benny,” I said, my heart clenching. “Thank Yolanda, too.”
“She’s at work, but told me to tell you Happy Birthday.” He peered up at me, undisguised eagerness in his deep brown eyes. “We’re going to bust into that now, right?”
I chuckled, “Yeah, let’s do it. But first…”
I set the cake down on a semi truck tire, and held out the bag from The Outpost. Benny peered at it suspiciously.
“What’s that?”
“A jacket.”
“Is it my birthday or yours?”
I held out the bag. “Yours is too small. Take it.”
He hesitated, pride keeping his hands at his sides.
I sighed. “Your ma keep a roof over your head?”
“Yeah.”
“And food on your plate?”
He nodded.
“Damn straight,” I said. “And how often does she make something for me and Pops?”
Benny scratched his chin with one finger. “Once a week?”
“At least. That’s her looking out for us.” I held out the bag. “This is us looking out for you. Take it.”
He took it.
“The kids at school were giving me shit…” He shrugged out of his old coat and put on the new. Zipped it to his chin and smoothed down the sleeves. He smiled and for a moment, he was an ordinary kid, not a young man forced to grow up fast without a father.
“It’s warm,” he said.
