“Thanks.” I felt so guilty for not asking his name.
But before he closed my door, he hollered back, “Hey, someone else is here.”
“Crap. I’m not expecting anyone.”
“It’s some guy,” the kid said. “He’s in black town car.”
“Will you ask him what he needs, for me?”
“Sure, no problem.” I listened as the kid stopped the man. “Hi, can I help you?”
“I’m with the Double Tree and have brought Mr. Skkye’s things from his room for him.”
“I can take those for him. Is there a bill or anything?” the kid asked, all professional.
“No, the bill has been taken care of, and a copy was emailed to his assistant.”
“Okay, have a nice evening.” The kid headed back toward me, so I opened the door for him.
“You handled that perfectly. I owe you. What’s your name?”
“Logan, Logan Greiner.”
“Thanks, Logan.”
“Any time. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Logan left, and I opened the boxes to see what was sent over and smiled.
Steak and potatoes. Heidi knew me so well. Then I moved to another large box, which was chicken fingers with french fries and then I opened the last large box, which was spaghetti with meatballs, both were kid-size servings. Quickly opening other foil-wrapped items, I found fresh cookies and all the condiments we would need. Plus, there were several individual-size bags of chips. I shook my head; Heidi was a nurturer.
I just needed to persuade Ireland to join me. Tapping my knuckles a few times on her door, I called out, “Ireland, dinner is here.”
“Not hungry,” she called back, but her voice was soft and broken. I twisted her doorknob and found the door locked.
“Ireland, please unlock your door. There’s spaghetti and chicken fingers with french fries, you can have whichever you want or a little from both. There are also fresh cookies.” She still didn’t reply. I stretched out on the floor, my body straight out in the hallway since her room was at the end. Resting my chin on one hand, I slid my other under her door and wiggled my fingers. “Ireland, please.”
“I want to be alone.”
“I understand that.”
“No you don’t, you had parents, I don’t.”
“I didn’t have a dad.”
“Everyone has a dad, it takes a dad to create a baby,” Ireland stated, as if I were dumb.
“It takes a man not a dad, a dad is a word that is earned, dad means he loves his child, takes care of them, is there for them. I never had a dad and never knew who the man was that helped create me.”
“But you had a mom,” Ireland rationalized.
“Yes, I had a mom, but I’m going to tell you something about my mom, something that many people don’t know. Your parents knew this, though. My mom was very, very, sick.”
“She died too?” Ireland’s voice softened, but then I felt a wisp of pressure against my fingers before her fingertips landed on mine.
“No, but when I was little, my mom used to leave me alone for days. I had no way of getting food or even changing myself, I was that little. I’d crawl into our cabinets, but there wasn’t anything. So, I’d leave my house, and eventually, someone would call the cops, and I’d get placed into a home with strangers until they found my mom.”
“Where was she?”
“Do you know what drugs are?” What age did kids who didn’t grow up around them learn about drugs? I felt like I always knew what they were.
“Yes, they’re bad for you. They can kill you.”
“Yep, but they will also make you think things that aren’t true and make you forget things that are important, like that you have a child.”
“Your mom forgot she had you?” Ireland’s voice was louder, a little more in awe.
“Many times, and when she did, I would get put with a strange family until my mom got some help and I could go back to her.”
“Were the families nice?”
“They weren’t mean, but they had their own children to take care of, and they were just watching me.”
“I’m sorry.” Ireland’s small hand tightened around a few of my fingers. “Where’s your mom now?”
“She’s in a place where she can’t get drugs. But she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know anyone, she doesn’t even know who she is. Drugs made her forget everything.”
“Do you see her?”
I hadn’t seen her since the judge awarded me my emancipation, and I chose to spend my senior year in the apartment above my algebra teacher’s home. “No, she wouldn’t know who I was. She mostly sleeps all day. I check on her, though, and call the home where she lives and ask about her.” I felt Ireland’s grasp release, and my heart paled.
The click of the lock had me getting to my knees, but before I was up, Ireland opened her door. “Can I have the spaghetti?”
My soul soared. “You can have whatever you want. We weren’t sure what you liked.”
“We?” Ireland glanced up.
“Heidi, she is my assistant, she helps with a lot of things.”
“Is she your wife?”
I laughed. “No, Heidi is married to someone else and has two sons. They’re actually close to your age.”
Ireland stopped by the bathroom and washed her hands before heading into the kitchen to grab silverware.
I popped her spaghetti into the microwave and then slid it onto a paper plate that had been sent with the food while my steak and potato heated.
“What smells yummy?” Ireland asked.
“Steak, you want some?”
She nodded. “You can have some of my spaghetti.”
“We also have chicken fingers and fries,” I reminded her.
“Don’t forget the cookies, I have those,” Ireland said as she balanced the plate of them in the crook of her arm without a cast on the wrist and brought them to the table.
“Yeah, let’s not forget those.” I rolled my eyes.
I wanted to pause this moment, take it in, because I
