Page 4

Darko—

The next morning, Eli stands by the taxi that’s taking his aunt and uncle to the airport. He’s tearful, but turns away, and tries not to let me see.

I stand by the front door, giving them privacy for their goodbyes.

Maggie moves in for a hug, and Eli clutches her tightly, like he doesn’t want her to go. It’s painful to watch, because we all know they have to leave him. A part of me wonders if she’ll change her mind and tell me she’s taking him home, and I can fight her in court. But she doesn’t.

Evan lays his hand on Eli’s shoulder, squeezing and leaning to murmur something.

The boy nods and releases his aunt, wiping his face with his t-shirt.

I shove my hands in my pockets and wait, wondering how big a mess this kid is going to be when the taxi pulls away.

No parent wants to see their kid in pain. I’ve heard that phrase before, but as I stand here, it really sinks in with a personal gut punch.

Last week, when I realized this was actually happening, I’d looked up some articles on grief and how to talk to someone about it. Now, though, it all seems trite. Nothing I say is going to help this kid. Nothing is going to make it easier for him. Time is his only friend right now. And though I’m sure the pain of losing your mother never really leaves you, perhaps the sharp edge of the knife dulls as the years go by. That’s all I can hope for my son—a dulling of the pain.

The taxi pulls away, and Eli stands in the drive, unmoving.

I figure keeping him busy may be the best medicine. After going inside and grabbing the file folder off the kitchen table, I come back out the front door, the screen door slapping against the frame.

The noise brings Eli around.

“Come on,” I say, heading to my truck.

He moves to the passenger side and climbs in, like he appreciates the distraction. “Where are we going?”

“To get you registered for school, then maybe we’ll pick you up some bedding that doesn’t have fucking flowers on it.”

He stares out the window, silent, until I turn in the drive for his new school.

“This is it?”

“This is it.” I park in a visitor spot and grab the file, shouldering my door open. “Let’s go.”

He trudges along next to me like he’s going to the gallows.

I hold the door for him and jostle his hair. “I get it. I didn’t much like school either.”

He jerks his head out of my reach like I’ve got cooties, and Rock’s words run through my head. “At twelve, they don’t want anything to do with you.”

I find the main office and wait for the woman behind the counter to get off a phone call.

Eli scans the office and the hallway beyond the glass windows.

A bell rings, and a moment later, the empty hall is teeming with kids and noise. The chaos lasts for three minutes, and then it’s quiet again as the halls empty.

A pretty blonde in a cheerleading outfit comes in with a note and passes it to one of the two women working here. She waits for something and glances over at Eli.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives her a smile.

“Hi, you new here?” she asks.

Eli nods. “Yeah. Just moved here.”

“I’m Virginia, but everyone calls me Ginny. What’s your name?”

“Eli.”

“Where are you from, Eli?” she asks.

“Nebraska,” he replies.

“Wow, that’s a long way, huh?” The woman hands her back her slip of paper. “Thanks, Miss Cartwright. Well, see ya ‘round, Eli.”

“Yeah, see ya.” His eyes follow her out.

“Hi, I’m Joy. How can I help you, sir?”

I pass her the packet. “I need to get him signed up. Here are his old school records. Everything should be in here.”

While I’m busy with the woman and filling out forms, I notice Eli looking at the basketball signup poster on the wall.

Joy takes my paperwork and goes off to make copies of the medical reports.

“You like basketball?” I ask him. “I’ve got a hoop in the driveway. Maybe we could shoot some hoops later.”

He doesn’t reply.

“You any good?” I press.

“I was going to sign up at my old school.”

When Joy returns, I nod to the poster. “What’s the deal with getting him signed up for basketball?”

She reaches under the counter and pulls out another form. “Fill this out, you’ll need a copy of that physical, and the one-hundred-and-ten-dollar athletic fee. Tryouts are September 30 th at 3:30pm. Coach’s name and number are on that form. The first game is November 11 th . The game and practice schedule is on the other side of the form.”

“Thanks.”

“Since it’s Friday, and we have to do the paperwork today and figure out whose class he’ll be in, he can start fresh on Monday. I’ll call you with that information before 5pm.” She turns to my son. “Just come in the office first thing, and I’ll get you set up with a locker, okay?”

He nods.

“Thanks for your help, Joy.” I tip my head, and Eli and I walk to my truck.

Slamming my door, I glance over and fire the ignition. “I’ve got to stop by the garage for a minute, then we can go grab some lunch.” I notice him craning his neck to see the school, so I back out and make a loop around it so he can see it all.

There’s a track behind the school, and the cheerleaders are out practicing in the field in the center. Eli leans to look closer, and I spot the girl from the office.

I grin, thinking my boy may have found one reason to make him want to stay.

My garage is a couple of blocks off Main, situated on a corner lot. I park in the small lot, and Eli follows me inside the brick building.

There’s a small counter, but I don’t get too much foot traffic.

“What do you do here?” Eli asks.

“Our business is very select. Either someone calls me with a car they need restoration on, and those often come from all over the state, or I’m finding old muscle cars that need work, restoring them and selling them for a mint. Business has been good.” I lead him into the garage area where there’s a Dodge and a Pontiac I’m working on.

“What are these?” Eli asks.

“This one’s a 1969 Dodge Charger Daytona. Do you like its sky-high rear wing and bullet-like nose cone?”

“Yeah.”

Such enthusiasm. I roll my eyes and try to inject some excitement into him. “This is a fucking great car. It was built for one thing: speed. It was the first stock car to break 200 mph on a closed course. They only made 503, and finding one today feels like stumbling on automotive treasure. You can’t be blasé about this car.”

He shrugs. “I like the paint job.”

It’s metallic burnt orange with a wide white stripe on the rear wing.

“Son, it’s got a 440 cubic inch V8 with 375 horsepower. You should hear it rumble down the road. Hell, #43 himself drove one.”

“Who is #43?”

“You don’t know #43? Why the King, boy. Richard Petty.”

Eli strolls over to the other car, a metallic purple convertible, and I swear to myself I’ll make a car lover out of him before the six months is over. “What about this one?”

“That’s a 1967 Pontiac GTO. That’s the car that started it all.”

“Started what?”

“America’s love affair with the muscle car. The ’67 GTO is the godfather of the genre. It’s the kind of car that makes you want to cruise with the windows down and radio blasting.”

“It’s sleek, I guess. Does it have a good sound system?”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Maybe he’s more like his mother than me. I wander to a desk and find the check for the corvette I’d left to be picked up. Pulling out my phone, I text Baja.

Me: Any trouble with the car yesterday?

Baja: Nope. Left the check on the desk. He seemed pleased.

Me: Yeah, I got it. Thanks.

Baja: How’d it go with your kid?

Me: We’re still getting adjusted. He doesn’t say a lot.

Baja: Feed him. Boys that age eat a lot. Least I did.

Me: Thanks for the advice.

Baja: Elaina and I are down at Connie’s. Come on over.

Me: The corner café?

Baja: Yeah, the place Kate’s mother owns.

Me: Okay. See ya in a few

Five minutes later, I pull into a spot, and we climb out of my truck. Wraparound windows flank both streets, and a bell over the door rings as we enter. The place has a fifties diner atmosphere with booths done in turquoise vinyl padded seats. Elvis croons his hit, Don’t Be Cruel , from a jukebox in the corner.

A waitress stands at the counter, filling salt shakers, and looks up when we enter. “Sit anywhere, folks.”

Baja waves us over from a circular booth in the corner window, and I lead Eli to it.

I grab two plastic menus from the condiment caddy and pass one to him. “Everything’s good.”

He scans it.

“Eli, this is my buddy, Baja and his wife, Elaina,” I say. “This is my son, Eli.”

Baja extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Eli.”

The boy shakes it, his eyes dropping to Baja’s leather cut and the patches, then widening. He glances at me, and I figure a conversation about the Royal Bastards is overdue. I’ll have to take care of that when we get in the truck.

Eli looks at Elaina.

She gives him a big smile. “Hi, Eli. Welcome to Durango. Have you ever been to Colorado?”

He shakes his head.

I don’t know if it’s her beauty or the cut, but he seems tongue-tied.

She doesn’t give up, though. “Do you like shakes? They make the best shakes here.” She holds hers up. “I always get one.”

“Where’s your daughter?” I ask.

“Oh, Lola is watching her. Willow just loves Ariana,” Elaina replies.

“She’s what, seven now?”

“Willow? Yep, she sure is growing up fast,” Baja adds.

“Well, watch out, your little Ariana will be right behind her,” I say.

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters.

“So, how was your day?” Elaina asks.

“Good. We got him registered for school, and he’s going to see about basketball.”

“Maybe,” Eli corrects me.

“Right. Maybe.”

“What’d you think of your ol’ man’s garage, Eli?” Baja asks.

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”

The waitress comes over. “Hey, boys. What can I get you?”

I glance at the menu. “I’ll have the cheeseburger plate and a cola.”

She looks at Eli. “And you, sweetie?”

“Same. And a chocolate shake.”

Elaina grins. “Good choice.”

He gives her the first smile I’ve seen on him since that cheerleader this morning.

While we wait for our food, I text my mother the news that she has a grandson and ask her if she wants to drive down from Silverton for dinner.

My phone immediately rings, and I stand. “Be back in a minute. Gotta take this.” I step outside and answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“I have a grandson? How long have you known this?”

I explain it all to her, and she gets quiet. I can tell she’s crying. “I’m sorry, Ma. I didn’t know.”

“All these years, son. You’ve missed all these years.”

I can hear the unspoken words. She’s missed them, too. “We both have.”

“Twelve years old. Your father would have been alive. Oh, I wish he could have met the boy.”

“Me too, Ma.”

“Does he look like you?”

“I think so. You gonna come meet him?” I stare at the sidewalk, the phone pressed to my ear, and emotion choking me.

“Try and stop me. I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too, Ma.”

“I’ll be there at six, and I’m bringing a pan of lasagna.”

I disconnect with a smile on my face and walk inside. When I slide into the booth, I look at Eli. “Your grandma’s coming to meet you. She’s bringing lasagna for dinner.”

Baja elbows him. “I’ve had it, kid. It’s really good. Granny can cook.”

“Do I have a grandpa?” he asks.

I shake my head. “He died about nine years ago. Guess you would have been about three. He would have loved to know you.”

“What was he like?”

“He did a lot of woodworking. Loved making things. He made that dresser in your room.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

My throat grows tight. “Yeah.”