Deciding to end on that note, Denise put on a pair of pajamas, set the oscillating fan on low, and crawled under the sheets before turning out the lights. The whir and rattle was rhythmic, and she fell asleep within minutes.
With early morning sunlight slanting through the windows, Kyle padded through the bedroom and crawled into bed with Denise, ready to start the day. He whispered, “Wake up, Money, wake up,” and when she rolled over with a groan, he climbed over her and used his little fingers to try to lift her eyelids. Though he wasn’t successful, he thought it was hilarious, and his laugh was contagious. “Open your eyes, Money,” he kept saying, and despite the ungodly hour, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.
To make the morning even better, Judy called a little after nine to see if they were still on for their visit. After gabbing a little while-Judy would be coming over the following afternoon, hurray!-Denise hung up the phone, thinking about her mood from the night before and the difference a good night’s sleep could make.
She chalked it up to PMS.
A little later, after breakfast, Denise got the bikes ready. Kyle’s was ready to go; hers was draped with cobwebs she had to wipe off. The tires on both bikes, she noticed, were low but had enough air to get into town.
After she’d helped Kyle put on his helmet, they started toward town under a blue and cloudless sky, Kyle riding out in front. Last December she’d spent a day running through the apartment complex parking lot in Atlanta, holding on to his bicycle seat until he’d gotten the hang of it. It had taken him a few hours and half a dozen falls, but overall he had a natural instinct for it. Kyle had always had above average motor skills, a fact that always surprised the doctors when they tested him. He was, she’d come to learn, a child of many contradictions.
Of course, like any four-year-old, he wasn’t able to focus on much more than keeping his balance and trying to have fun. To him, riding his bike was an adventure (especially when Mom was doing it, too), and he rode with reckless abandon. Even though traffic was light, Denise found herself shouting instructions every few seconds.
“Stay close to Mommy. . . .”
“Stop!”
“Don’t go in the road. . . .”
“Stop!”
“Pull over, honey, a car’s coming. . . .”
“Stop!”
“Watch out for the hole. . . .”
“Stop!”
“Don’t go so fast. . . .”
“Stop!”
“Stop” was the only command he really understood, and whenever she said it, he’d hit the brakes, put his feet on the ground, then turn around with a big toothy grin, as if to say, This is so much fun. Why’re you so upset?
Denise was a nervous wreck by the time they reached the post office.
She knew then and there that riding a bicycle just wasn’t going to cut it, and she decided to ask Ray for two extra shifts a week for the time being. Pay off the hospital deductible, save every penny, and maybe she’d be able to afford another car in a couple of months.
A couple of months?
She’d probably go nuts by then.
Standing in line-there was always a line at the post office-Denise wiped the perspiration from her forehead and hoped her deodorant was working. That was another thing she hadn’t exactly expected when she’d started out from the house this morning. Riding a bike wasn’t simply an inconvenience, it was work, especially for someone who hadn’t ridden in a while. Her legs were tired, she knew her butt would be sore tomorrow, and she could feel the sweat dripping between her breasts and down her back. She tried to maintain a little distance between herself and the others in line so as not to offend them. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.
A minute later she stood in front of the counter and received her stamps. After writing a check, she slipped her checkbook and stamps into her purse and walked back outside. She and Kyle hopped on their bikes and headed toward the market.
Edenton had a small downtown, but from a historic perspective the town was a gem. Homes dated back to the early 1800s, and nearly all had been restored to their former glory over the past thirty years. Giant oak trees lined both sides of the street and shaded the roads, providing pleasant cover from the heat of the sun.
Though Edenton had a supermarket, it was on the other side of town, and Denise decided to drop into Merchants instead, a store that had graced the town since the 1940s. It was old-fashioned in every way imaginable and a marvel of supply. The store sold everything from food to bait to automotive supplies, offered videos for rent, and had a small grill off to one side where they could cook up something on the spot. Adding to the atmosphere were four rocking chairs and a bench out front, where a regular group of locals dropped by for coffee in the mornings.
The store itself was small-maybe a few thousand square feet-and it always amazed Denise when she saw how many different items they could squeeze onto the shelves. Denise filled a small plastic basket with the few things she needed-milk, oatmeal, cheese, eggs, bread, bananas, Cheerios, macaroni and cheese, Ritz crackers, and candy (for working with Kyle)-then went to the register. Her total came to less than she expected, which was good, but unlike the supermarket, the store didn’t offer plastic bags to pack them in. Instead the owner-a man with neatly combed white hair and thick bushy eyebrows-packed everything into two brown paper bags.
And that, of course, was a problem she’d overlooked.
She would have preferred plastic so she could have slipped the loops over her handlebars-but bags? How was she going to get all this home? Two arms, two bags, two handles on the bike-it just didn’t add up. Especially when she had to watch out for Kyle.
She glanced at her son, still pondering the problem, and noticed he was staring through the glass entrance door, toward the street, an unfamiliar expression on his face.
“What is it, honey?”
He answered, though she didn’t understand what he was trying to say. It sounded like fowman. Leaving her groceries on the counter, she bent down so she could watch him as he said it again. Watching his lips sometimes made understanding him easier.
“What did you say? ‘Fowman’?”
Kyle nodded and said it again. “Fowman.” This time he pointed through the door, and Denise looked in that direction. As she did so, Kyle started toward the door, and all at once she knew what he’d meant.
Not fowman, though it was close. Fireman.
Taylor McAden was standing outside the store, holding the door partially open while talking to someone off to the side, someone she couldn’t see. She watched as he nodded and waved, laughed again, then opened the door a little more. While Taylor ended his conversation, Kyle ran up to him and Taylor stepped inside without really paying attention to where he was going. He almost bowled Kyle over before catching his balance.
“Whoa, sorry-didn’t see you,” he said instinctively. “Excuse me.” He took an involuntary step backward before blinking in confusion. Then-sudden recognition crossing his face-he broke into a wide smile, squatting so he could be at eye level. “Oh, hey, little man. How are you?”
“Hello, Taylor,” Kyle said happily. (Hewwo, Tayer)
Without saying anything else, Kyle wrapped his arms around Taylor as he had that night in the duck blind. Taylor-unsure at first-relented and hugged him back, looking content and surprised at exactly the same time.
Denise watched in stunned silence, her hand over her mouth. After a long moment Kyle finally loosened his grip, allowing Taylor to pull back. Kyle’s eyes were dancing, as if he’d recognized a long-lost friend.
“Fowman,” Kyle said again excitedly. “He’s found you.” (Eez foun you)
Taylor cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”
Denise finally snapped to attention and moved toward the two of them, still having trouble believing what she’d seen. Even after spending a year with his speech therapist, Kyle had hugged her only when prodded by his mother. Unlike this, it had never been voluntary, and she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about Kyle’s extraordinary new attachment. Watching her child hug a stranger-even a good one-aroused somewhat contradictory feelings. Nice, but dangerous. Sweet, but something that shouldn’t become a habit. At the same
