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“I saw you, too. Great climbing prior to the accident.”
“Yeah, we all slip. We all fall sometimes,” he says, sipping from a juice box. “That’s what my mom says.” His cheeks are red from running, and the hairline of his forehead is soaking wet. I don’t remember ever having the freedom to just be a kid. Story’s giving that gift to him. Looking at me, he asks, “Why were you crying, Cooper?”
I chuckle. The kid hits hard with that callout. “I wasn’t crying. I got dirt in my eyes.” A little fib won’t hurt, especially when it’s to protect him.
His eyes go wide, but he rolls them like his hazel-eyed mom. “Jake threw dirt in my eyes once. I didn’t cry.”
Hard crowd to please. I laugh, but then nudge him with my elbow. “Guess you’re a tough guy, Reed.”
“Yup,” he says as if it’s a fact. Then he looks at me again. “What are you?” The question comes unexpectedly, and I’m at a loss for an answer. I glance over at Story, not sure what I am anymore.
“Mommy’s friend.”
“Oh, I thought you were her boyfriend.”
I could be, but I’ll keep that to myself. “What made you think that?”
“I heard her tell Aunt Lila that she loves you.”
This time, my eyes go wide. “Loves or loved?’
Under the slurp of the last dregs of juice, he shrugs his little shoulders and then hops up. “I don’t know.”
Me either.
But I wish I did.
40
Cooper
Story was right. This was fun.
More fun than I’ve had in a long time.
I even got invited to play a game of tag, but when Reed tripped over a tree root, it was game over. Story said she was glad there was a doctor around. She may not have said she was glad I was around, but I’m taking the liberty to interpret it that way.
After a patchwork of Spongebob bandages and Scotch tape on the elbow of his cast, which was dirty but didn’t show any signs of damage, Reed was mighty impressed with my skills.
I wish there were more hours to this day. I don’t think it’s sunk in that Reed is my kid. Mine. Half my blood. Half my legacy. The good I’ve been feeling sours thinking about my family tree. Watching Story and how great a mom she is to him is the only hope he’s been given.
My need to meet him, to know my offspring, was based on an instinctual level like any parent wants with their kids, overriding my common sense. Maybe I should keep my distance. I should take today and hold on to it to let him live to his full potential—happy, healthy, successful in terms that he defines. Maybe it’s my genes that will fuck him up if I’m in his life, like they’re activated by my presence.
It’s something I definitely need to take under consideration. Can her environment overrule my heredity?
I talked Story and Reed into lying under the clear skies and stars once the sun set and the sky went dark. Lila threw a blanket out the door before we had time to ask. I’m thinking we have an audience. At least it’s one rooting in our favor.
As soon as the three of us are lying on the blanket, reality hits. Story and I may not be together, but we’ll always be connected by the little guy between us. We’ll always be a family. I point up and say, “Do you see the man in the moon?”
Reed giggles and shakes his head. “How’d he get up there? In a rocket?”
Story tickles his ribs, sending him to full-on fits of laughter. I shouldn’t be, but I feel a little twinge of jealousy that they can be so close, and I can’t. Not yet, at least.
She is laughing so hard when he tickles her right back. She settles him beside her again. Grabbing his feet, he’s rocking back and forth, his feet pushing off her and then me. My little family.
Story says, “Dr. Haywood . . .” It’s the first time she’s called me that, and we share a knowing exchange over Reed’s head.
“Yes, Ms. Salenger?”
“I’m worried about my son. He seems to be unable to lie still. Do you mind taking a look?”
I sit up, and say, “Mr. Salenger?”
“Yes, Doc?” Reed says in a mimicking voice. This kid is too much.
“Pulse.” He touches his wrist. I take his fingers and touch them to his wrist. “If you press two fingers right here, you can find your pulse. Press a little harder but not too much.”
His eyes go wide. “I can feel my heart beating in my wrist, Mommy.”
“That’s a cool trick, Dr. Haywood.”
I grin at the ridiculousness. “Who needs medical school when you have Spongebob bandages and can find your pulse in your wrist?”
Story says, “Don’t downplay it. It’s really impressive.”
“Well, my professional opinion is that Reed has a case of the wiggles.”
