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Chapter Thirteen
Emmett
Discharge was easy. The doctor made sure Charlie understood everything he had to do and everything he wasn’t allowed to do. It was going to be a challenge to keep an active six-year-old occupied, but I think between me and Olivia, we could make this work.
With my car in the shop for its post-curb-jumping incident, I caught a lift with Olivia to her home. I couldn’t wait to see where she lived. I envisioned a cute little home or apartment. My heart sank when she pulled into what looked like a rundown apartment building with junk out front.
Of course, this was all she could afford. Olivia was a single mother on minimum wage income.
“How long have you been living here?” I tried to make the question seem as innocent as possible, but Olivia saw right through me.
“Five years. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”
We got out of the car. Olivia carried her bag, Charlie’s crutches, and the bag of things I’d bought for Charlie while I carried Charlie. She opened the door and we walked inside.
The interior was a stark difference to the outside. It was neat and tidy with nice furniture in neutral greys and whites. Charlie’s toys were tucked away in a toy box and there was a shelf with a few books both for adults and children.
“This is it.” Olivia threw her arms out. “Well, this, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It’s not much, but we make do.”
“It’s nice.”
Olivia sniggered. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“No, really. You’ve made it a nice little home.” I looked at the boy in my arms. “Would you like to go here on the couch, Charlie?”
“Yes, please.”
His mom fluffed a couple of the cushions and I set him down.
“Are you comfy?” Olivia asked.
“Yeah.”
“Now, here’s the remote for the TV and all the things Emmett brought for you. There’s a blanket for you if you get cold—”
“Mom, stop,” Charlie droned, cutting Olivia off. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry, I . . ..”
I sat down on the edge of the couch. “Hey, your mom’s just doing what moms do, which is worry.”
“We never stop worrying,” I admitted.
“No, I bet you don’t. And you know what, Charlie, that’s a good thing. I meet too many kids in my line of work whose parents don’t care about them, and they wish they did.” I gently nudged Charlie’s shoulder with my elbow.
“What work do you do?” Charlie asked.
“I help kids who are doing it tough. They can talk to me about anything, and so can you.”
“Do you only help kids?”
I shook my head. “I used to help sailors when I was in the Navy. Why do you ask?”
“Can you help my mom, too? She’s doing it tough. She’s always sad.”
Olivia gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes. “Excuse me.” She rushed away into her bedroom.
“I can certainly try, Charlie.” I squeezed his shoulder. “You try to rest.”
