Homecoming Day

And how-it-was-now was that JT was going to paint a beautiful mural, and Seth was going to assemble the baby’s furniture.

How-it-was-now, was that she was going to gather all the baby’s clothes and wash them, then fold them and put them in drawers.

Laura forced herself into the room and pulled a bunch of Onesies out of a box. She’d ordered them from an online store. It’s how she’d bought most of the baby’s things. It seemed so much easier than traipsing to stores and having people ooh and aah over her ever-expanding stomach. Each time someone did that, she was hit anew with the thought that Jay should be there.

Stop.

She needed to stop thinking about Jay.

Which sounded so simple and was anything but.

She pulled out a Onesie. It had a picture of Einstein and the caption said Brilliant Minds Have Bad Hair Days, Too. She smiled. She could do this.

She marveled at how small the tiny sleepers were. Within weeks, Bbog would be wearing them as she held him or her.

She took off tags and filled the laundry basket with the baby’s clothes, then struggled to her feet. She was so ready not to feel like a turtle who was stuck on his back, scrambling to find some way to right himself.

The doorbell rang.

Basket in hand, she opened the door to Seth.

He looked different out of uniform. Approachable.

Cute.

Thinking of Seth Keller as cute was disconcerting at best, downright disturbing at worst.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked by way of a greeting.

For a moment she worried that he knew she’d thought he was cute, but he came in, shut the door behind him and stared pointedly at the basket in her hand.

Laura felt a flood of relief. “Laundry? I mean, I’d have thought it was evident, but maybe not.”

“You shouldn’t be carrying anything.” He took the basket from her hands.

“I can carry a basket of baby clothes. They weigh less than the grocery bags tend to.”

“You shouldn’t carry those eith—”

She was saved from another lecture and more disturbing thoughts about the man’s cuteness when the doorbell rang.

Laura opened the door to find the once again scrubbed-looking JT wearing oversize denim overalls and a tight white shirt, carrying a small bag. Her mother was in the car and didn’t look as if she was going to get out.

“Hi, Ms. Watson. Let’s make some pretty pictures.”

Seth put the basket down and went past them to JT’s mother’s car. He talked to her for a minute, then returned to the house. “I told her I’d take you home, if that was okay, and it was.”

JT nodded. “Thanks. So, Ms. Watson, wanna show me the room?”

SETH LISTENED TO JT and Laura chatter away about painting techniques and the mural as he opened up the box that contained the crib. The instructions may as well have been in Greek.

Now, he was sure Greek was a fine language. He had friends who were Greek and Lori and Tony had a habit of calling each other Greek endearments, which he was sure Laura and JT would think was sweet. But he wanted his instructions in English. Not rocket scientist English, but rather plain old everyday English.

He examined the parts, assessing what he had and trying to picture what he had to do in order to turn them into a crib.

Laura left to start a load of baby clothes in the machine, and he said, “JT, look at this paragraph. See if it makes sense to you.” He thrust the instructions at the girl.

She studied them for a moment and shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

“Could you read that paragraph while I try to follow along?”

JT studied the text, then shook her head. “No.” She turned her back on him and started to sketch outlines on the wall.

He looked up and saw Laura standing in the doorway with a puzzled expression on her face as she stared at JT. “Why don’t I help you?” she asked him. Laura read the instructions, step-by-step. And gradually, he made progress. She held a side as he screwed the headboard in place.

Forty-five minutes later, they had a crib.

“I’m gonna paint soon, Ms. Watson. You shouldn’t be in the fumes.”

“Okay. I’ll make lunch.” Seth jumped to his feet and offered her a hand. At first, he thought she wasn’t going to take it, but good sense won out and she did. He got her to her feet and she headed into the hall.

Seth hung behind. “Can I do anything to help, JT?”

JT shook her head. “Nah. I like working on my own.”

“I get that. But sometimes everybody needs a hand. Remember, I’m here. So’s Ms. Watson. We’re here to help with whatever you need.”

JT turned toward him. “I know we’re talking about more than helping with a mural. You’re trying to be real sly and make sure I know that you two care. I sort of already figured it out. I don’t know why. Why do you like me? I’m not the kind of kid most cops latch on to. And I can’t figure out why Ms. Watson likes me. She’s the only teacher at the school who does.”

“That’s not true.”

JT snorted. “Yeah, it is. Of course, I’m a pain in the ass in class. I don’t turn in homework and don’t apply myself. I’m disruptive and according to one very helpful teacher, there’s a chance I’m heading for a life of crime. She’s got a whole list of things I do and don’t do. Most of the time what I do do, I shouldn’t. And what I don’t do, I should. It’s no way to endear yourself to the powers-that-be. I guess they have a reason not to really like me, which only makes it weirder that Ms. Watson seems to.”

“So, why not apply yourself?”

“Why should I?”

Seth couldn’t help but think of his mom. He knew exactly what she’d say if she were here. “My mom had this option speech. She’d say, you should always do your best in every class, no matter how much work it takes because each of those grades represents your future options. Maybe your future job won’t depend on your grade in biology, but maybe you’ll decide you want to be a doctor. Maybe you’ll have this burning desire that eats at you—a feeling that your life won’t be complete unless you become a doctor. Well, if you flunked out of your science classes, you won’t have that option.”

He’d heard the speech so many times growing up, it was like he was channeling Deborah Keller. “If she said that to me once, she said it a thousand times. For her, it wasn’t about the grades, or the teachers, it was about me. About giving me the world. So, maybe you should give yourself as much of a chance as possible.”

“Maybe I’m dumb enough that all the chances and all the trying in the world won’t give me many choices, so what does it matter?”

Before he could come up with a response, JT pulled out some earbuds, stuck them in her ears and turned on an iPod, effectively tuning him out and his obviously unwanted advice.

He went back to the boxes and pulled out the pieces of a highchair. It was much easier to put together than the crib. Twenty minutes later, he carried it to the kitchen. “Where should this go?”

Laura smiled. “It’s great, isn’t it? How about we put it here.” She gestured to the side of the table. “I normally use this chair, so it will be close. I bought a little cloth cushion for it. It’s somewhere in all those boxes and bags.”