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Eviebouncesbackquicklyfrom the flu the way little kids do. By Saturday, she’s well enough to spend the day in the living room with me, tired and cuddled on the couch, but awake more than asleep. We watch some of my favorite old Christmas movies, includingMiracle on 34thStreet.
I don’t know if I’m lucky that Evie likes old movies as much as I do, or whether she likes them because I’ve had her watching them since she was old enough to sit still for them. Either way, it makes me happy, especially when I introduce her to a classic likeThe Wizard of Ozand watch her eyes light up at the technicolor wonder.
We enjoy our rare Saturday together. It’s almost a mini-holiday, minus the flu. It’s going to be a very long time before we get to do this again. Six months at least. But I don’t want to ruin it by telling her that, or even thinking about it myself. I’m going to enjoy these last two days off with her.
She’s a big bright spot, but also the only bright spot, and still a sick bright spot at that.
The dim spots almost overwhelm me if I dwell on them too long. Like when she wants to leave a gift for Henry on Saturday afternoon, but I talk her out of it on the grounds that I don’t want her to spend too much energy and undo the rest she’s been getting. I can’t bear to tell her that these gifts will also go unacknowledged because of the way I acted.
Or any time I catch a glimpse of our yard through the windows. It’s literally bright, especially at night, but I haven’t added anything to the decorations. I won’t take a single one away, either. Still, I think about the petition every time I see them now.
There’s the weight of expenses and the feeling of my goals slipping further away.
And then there’s Bill and Lisa. The Dubs stop by each day with gifts for her. A Christmas coloring book and a box of sixty-four Crayolas that makes even me want to color. A new pair of Christmas footie pajamas Evie insists on wearing immediately.
They only stay a short while each time so they don’t tire her out, and they always make sure I’m taking zinc to ward off the flu myself before they go. I promise I’m taking it and remind them that I got a flu shot, but Lisa especially fusses anyway. But none of it feels right.
It’s been strained since they showed up on Thursday, upset that I hadn’t called them when I had to get Evie out of school. I’ve managed to alienate or hurt pretty much everyone.
I don’t care about the neighbors. I did care about making things right with Henry until I saw his signature on the petition. And I have no idea how to fix things with Bill and Lisa. It feels like it will take more than words, but I don’t know what.
I’d be paralyzed with self-loathing if it weren’t for Evie’s hour-by-hour improvements. She, at least, is the one thing I get right, even if it costs me the goodwill of my neighbors. It’s not like any of them ever showed up to welcome us to Orchard anyway.
Sunday, Evie wakes almost her usual self. She’s tired but she’s had no fever or nausea for twenty-four hours. By noon, she’s itchy to do something besides watch movies, and I’m stir-crazy too.
“How about if we go to the diner for lunch?” The diner is the least expensive place in town but still a rare treat, and her eyes light up.
“Yes, Mama! Let’s break out of this house!”
“Wait a minute,” I say, tickling her sides. “Are you saying this house is jail?”
“No,” she gasps between giggles, “but it smells like being sick, which is yuck.”
“You’re right. Let’s air this place out and go treat ourselves.”
“Yay!”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in clean clothes and on a leisurely walk to Main Street. We leave our windows open to let the air circulate, and I refuse to think about how much it will cost to heat the house again.
Evie wants to see the Handy’s Hardware window, and I have to disappoint her with how little progress has been made since she last saw it. “Don’t worry, Eves. I’ll get back to it tomorrow when I go to work.”
The Sunday brunch rush is over at the diner—a deliberate strategy on my part—and we choose a booth where Evie can watch the happenings on Main Street. The server brings us menus and a coloring sheet for Evie. Once Evie is absorbed filling it in, I slide from the booth and hurry to the register to speak to Cindy, the manager.
“Hey, Cindy,” I say.
She smiles. “Paige, right? From the hardware store.”
“That’s me.”
“Can I help you with something?”
“I’m kind of hoping I can help you. I’m looking for some part-time work. I waited tables at a diner in Granger for a few years, and I wondered if you might need an extra set of hands on your weekend breakfast shifts. I’m off every Saturday and Sunday morning and a couple of others during the week too.”
“Just mornings?” she asks.
I nod. “I have Evie in the evenings after daycare closes.”
“It’d be nice to have an extra pair of hands for the weekend breakfast rush.” She fishes out a copy of a generic job application from the hostess stand and hands it to me. “Fill this out. I can’t guarantee more than weekend shifts right now, but I’ll check your references at your old place, and we’ll see what we can do.”
