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Late bloomer indeed.
Maybe she’d already been slipping, but Marcella had fallen in love with him on Friday night, while she’d stood back in terror and watched him face down a psycho with a very big gun.
“Ajax will be happy, Eight. I know it.”
He covered her hand with his and gave her a conflicted smile. “I just don’t want to fuck up.”
“You won’t. Just be open and true. Come on, let’s go get our boy.”
~oOo~
Ajax came out of the Lower School with his usual pack of buddies: Emma, Bennett, Damon, and Rick. When he saw Marcella and Eight standing together, he drew up short and gaped for a second. Then, in true ten-year-old form, he shook off his confusion and grinned. With a quick word and a wave, he left his friends and trotted to his parents.
He held a blue report folder in his hands. That would be his science report.
“Hey, tiger,” she said as he neared.
“Buddy!” Eight chimed in.
“Hi. Why are you both here?”
Eight looked to Marcella, so she answered, “We thought we’d surprise you. How’s a trip to the Air and Space Museum sound—and pizza after?”
“Yeah!” He pumped a fist. “It’s like a celebration. Look! I got a A+!”
He showed Eight his report first.
“Wow!” Eight said, opening the folder. “I never got an A+ on anything except PE. Not even an A-. ‘What the Planets Are Made Of,’” he read aloud. Flipping through the pages, stopping at each one, he asked, “You drew all these pictures, too? They’re really good.”
Standing beside his father, Ajax studied his work. “Yeah. Thank you. That was the most fun part.”
Marcella felt a tiny twitch of jealousy; she’d helped him with that report. But it was good to see father and son so easy with each other.
“Hi, Ms. Lewis,” Emma said as she and the others walked past. “Hi, Mr. Johnston.” The boys echoed the greetings.
After she returned a wave, Marcella turned to Eight, surprised. “The kids know you?”
“I guess. From the day I picked him up.” He turned and watched as they walked toward their respective family vehicles. “I’m surprised they remembered my name.”
Marcella laughed. “You’re memorable, Eight.” She took Ajax’s hand. “Come on, you two. Let’s go play.”
~oOo~
Marcella and Ajax were members at the Air and Space Museum, one of Ajax’s favorite places to go. She’d seen the exhibits about three hundred billion times, and was, frankly, a bit bored by the place, but Ajax’s enthusiasm was bottomless.
Eight, they were shocked to discover on the drive over, had never been.
So Ajax played docent, and Marcella kept back a bit so she could watch her boys bond.
As he was getting comfortable with the fact of his paternity, and feeling easier with Ajax, Eight allowed himself to be enthusiastic. It was quite a thing to see that man marveling at the planes and rockets and other nerdy shit their son was so interested in, to see him laugh without a hint of irony or snark.
They worked the space shuttle arm together and engineered a simulated launch. Eight’s grin was as big as Ajax’s. Marcella found a place to sit and watch.
Seeing Eight’s enjoyment of this outing, and his genuine interest in the exhibits, made Marcella wonder: what might the man have been if he’d been raised by good people? If he’d been allowed to find joy in his childhood?
Generally, she was impatient with grown folks who blamed their shittiness on things that happened decades ago, but with Eight, understanding that the asshole wasn’t who he was but a defense mechanism hard-wired from the days of his formation made all the difference. It wasn’t an excuse—and he’d never come close to using it as an excuse. To the contrary, he shoveled away virtually any topic that approached his childhood.
That wasn’t healthy, either, but Marcella got it. She respected it. So much more than if he’d been the kind of guy to use it for cover: ‘hey, my guardians beat the shit out of me on a regular basis, so it’s their fault I suck.’
