Page 17 of Not On Your Life

“My dad doesn’t talk much anymore.” He drags his knees into his chest and hugs them. “I think he forgot about me.”

I don’t know his situation or his father, but I can imagine his father is as overcome with grief as he is. He could have forgotten about his son for a moment, but hopefully not for long. They need each other.

I sit down by the tree in between the two plots and lean against the trunk. “Tell me about your mom.”

The little boy’s mother gave the gift of talking to her son. He talks until the sun sets, and I listen to every word. He doesn’t need someone to tell him it’s going to be okay. He wouldn’t believe it, anyway. He needs to be heard, to know he isn’t alone, and if I can help him feel better for only a minute, that’s all that matters.

While he talks, he delicately trims the grass around his mother’s placard with more care than I knew a child could possess.

“She made the best pancakes. Every Friday,” the boy says then yawns. One yawn turns into two. He probably has school in the morning and should be getting home. “I miss her pancakes.”

He stands and yawns again. I stand as well, dusting off my pants.

“Can I drive you home?” I ask the boy, eyeing his beaten-down bike. “It’s dark now, and I bet your dad will be worried about you.”

“No, he won’t.” The boy frowns, picking up his bike. “But you can drive me. My mom always told me not to go with strangers, but you don’t seem very strange.”

I chuckle. While that logic works in this situation, it won’t always hold true, and I’d feel better knowing he was home safe.

I help him load his bike into the truck bed, and then he directs me through town. He traveled pretty far on that bike.

After ten minutes, we pull up to a tiny home. The yard is overrun with cacti and weeds, and the siding is falling off in more places than it’s holding.

“Thanks,” the boy says as I retrieve his bike from the truck.

The front door of the house flies open, and a harried-looking man comes running out with a toddler bouncing on his hip.

“Max! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

“I was talking to Mom,” the boy grumbles and pushes his bike around his dad. He drops it in the middle of the walkway and slams the front door of the house behind him.

The man watches him go. Hurt, fear, and pain all etched into his features. “Thank you for bringing him home. I’m so sorry.” The man runs a hand through his graying hair and presses the tips of his fingers against his forehead.

I can feel his fatigue in my bones. Or maybe that’s my own.

“I was on the phone with the life insurance agency, and I didn’t realize he’d left.”

“Not a problem.” I hesitate momentarily. If I knew what kind of help they needed, I’d offer it, but I don’t want to overstep.

As I leave, I can’t help worrying about them. Having money doesn’t take away the grief, but not having it can add to the pain.

After my parents passed, I’d considered going into family law, or wills. I didn’t want anyone to be left in the same situation I’m in. But then I found I loved the courtroom. And I loved fighting with Maddie in our school court.

I miss fighting with her.

Chapter 7

Maddie

“Spin,” Lyndi directs me.

I glance at the skin suit she’s zipped me into. It’s purple and hideous and…

I love my best friend.

I wiggle my feet, but my thighs are so plastered together I’m barely able to pivot on the podium. “I can’t.”

Lyndi purses her lips. “It’s a little tight.”