A Mother's Wish / Mother To Be: A Mother's Wish

“Yeah, I know.” He paused. “My mom died. Right before Halloween last year.”

“Oh, honey…I’m so sorry,” she said, like she really meant it. “My folks died, too, when I was about your age.”

He looked at her, curious.

“How?”

“In a car crash,” she said softly.

“Oh.”

He’d never known anybody else whose parents had died when they were still a kid. Maybe that’s why she didn’t go all stupid and act all embarrassed and stuff like a lot of other people did, either treating him all fake nice or refusing to look right at him. Before he knew what he was doing, he sat on the step beside her. The dog brought him a stick to throw.

“What’s her name?”

“Annabelle. Although sometimes I call her Dumbbell.”

Robbie almost laughed. He threw the stick for the dog, then heard himself say, “When Mom was sick, I’d come here a lot.”

“Just to be by yourself?”

“Yeah. And now it’s almost like…”

“What?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d almost told her about feeling like Mom was here now. Like she’d moved into the Old House after she’d died. “Nothin’,” he said, shrugging. “I forgot what I was about to say.”

“I do that, too,” Winnie said. Robbie looked at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Lots. It used to drive my grandmother crazy. She raised me after my parents died. She’s dead, too, now. Hey—you want a banana? Or a granola bar? I mean, if you think it’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” He thought. “Could I have both?”

“Sure,” Winnie said, getting up, her voice kinda shaky when she told the dog to stay outside with Robbie.

Her eyes burning, Winnie collapsed against the wall next to the door, the plaster rough through her cotton top as she willed the shakes to stop. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she wasn’t supposed to fall so hard, so fast…

Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl, pull yourself together. Jerking in a sharp breath, she crossed to grab a couple of bananas and a granola bar off the table, then headed back outside. Half of her wished like hell her son would be gone, the other half…

The other half was laughing its fool head off.

Robbie had just tossed the stick for Annabelle again when she walked out onto the porch. He took the banana, started to peel it. Desperately trying for nonchalant, Winnie lowered herself beside him again, peeling her own, trying not to react to his innocent, dusty scent. The confusion seeping from his pores.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

“You got any brothers or sisters or anybody?” he asked around a full mouth.

“Nope.”

He looked at her. “You mean you’re really all alone?”

Thanks, kid. “I really am.”

Robbie frowned at his banana for a moment, then took another bite. “I have a Mam and Pap in Ireland. That’s what they call grandparents there. But I’ve only seen them a couple of times, and once was right after I was ‘dopted, so that doesn’t really count.”

The damn fruit was burning a hole in her stomach. Please don’t say anything more about being adopted, she prayed. Please. “It probably does for them.”

“I guess.” Robbie finished his banana, then ripped the wrapping off the granola bar. “Chocolate chips! Cool.”

“You didn’t strike me as a raisin kind of kid,” Winnie said, laughing when he made a face.

Annabelle sat in front of them, polite but doleful. “Can I give her a piece?” Robbie asked.

“She’d be cool with it, but chocolate isn’t good for dogs. So, no.”

The child gnawed off the end of his bar, frowning. “You know what really sucks?”

Winnie held her breath. “What?”

“The way people keep all the time saying that Dad’ll probably get married again some day, and then I’d have another mother.” When he looked at her, she could see how close the tears were to falling, and her heart broke. “And how dumb is that?”

“Pretty dumb,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice how shiny her eyes probably were, too. “Because nobody can ever take your mom’s place, right?”

“No way. I mean, when your mom died, did you ever think about having another one?”

Winnie shook her head. She’d been devastated when her parents died, naturally, but after all this time it was more about remembering the pain, not feeling it. “Not that there would have been any chance of that, but…no.”

“Dad would never marry somebody else. He’s too sad. And anyway, Florita says he’s such a grouch nobody else would have him.”

The laugh popped out before she knew it was there. Still, she said, “Sometimes when people are really sad, they get angry. So your dad might not be like that forever.” Then again, Aidan Black seemed to positively enjoy his crankiness, like a cup of good, hot coffee on a chilly day. She reached down to brush clay dust off her boot. “I bet your mom was a real special lady.”

Robbie frowned. “Why do you think that? Did you know her?”

“No. But it takes a special mom to raise a special kid.”

He frowned harder, almost comically. “You think I’m special?”

Dangerous ground, honey, she heard in her head. Proceed with extreme caution. “Well, I don’t know you very well, either, but I’m pretty good at reading people.”

“Reading people? Like a book?”

“Sort of. Except instead of reading words, I get these feelings about who people really are by watching their faces, listening to their voices, paying attention to how they act. I’m not always right, but mostly I am. And I’m guessing…” She looked at him with narrowed eyes, thinking, Will you even remember this conversation a year from now? Will you remember the crazy lady with the hyperactive dog and too many pumpkins on her porch? “That…you get in trouble sometimes, but never anything too serious. Just regular stuff, like most kids. That you probably do okay in school, but you like weekends better. That you still miss your mama a lot, but maybe…”

“What?”