Page 55 of Hold on Tight

She kissed Sam again, naming the body parts as she went. “Forehead. Cheek, cheek. Nose. Chin. I love you, buddy.”

“G’night, Mommy.”

“G’night, Sammy.”

She pushed the edge of his comforter more securely between the bed and wall, then turned and went out, shutting off his light. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated.

Do I hope he’s down there, or that he’s not?

Her mind had no answer for her.

She went downstairs. She could hear him pacing. There was only the slightest unevenness to his tread—as if his weight didn’t come down as heavily on the artificial leg as the natural one. Her heart contracted, not quite a leap, not quite a palpitation. Something wedged halfway between anticipation and fear.

He was in the kitchen, wiping the table clean with a sponge. He set the sponge down. “I’m still here,” he said. There was a question in his tone and on his face.

Something unfurled in her chest, like the release right before tears.

Chapter 17

She looked different. Relaxed. A little rumpled, as if from the mere proximity to a bed. He wanted to rumple her more.

“Yeah. You’re still here.”

They stood facing each other. He wasn’t sure where things went now. It had seemed more possible, before she went upstairs, to pick up again where they’d left off. Now complications loomed again.

“Let me get you another beer.”

He nodded, and she went to the fridge, pulled out two beers, and poured them. He could get used to the frosted stein thing. Maybe he should buy himself a set. Or just spend more time at her place.

It was disturbingly easy to contemplate.

“Couch?”

They took their beers into the living room and sat at either end of the couch. She tucked herself into the corner in a way that was so wholly feminine, it made him want to smile.

“Your kid’s cute,” he said, to give himself a little space.

She shook her head and smiled. “He’s your kid, too.”

“You did all the hard work.”

The whole childbirth thing was an act of heroism, women humping thirty pounds on their fronts, down low where it had to beat the shit out of your lower back. Passing a bowling ball between their legs. And then, in Mira’s case, being a single mom. As for his own mom …

She’d let him down. Sometimes. Often. Drunk when he’d needed her, cringing when he desperately wanted her to stand up for herself. But other times she’d hung in and shielded him as best she could and she’d given some normalcy to his childhood, cooking dinners and tucking him into bed and—when sober—helping him get his homework done, which was way more than he could say for his dad. And after his dad died, she’d gotten it together. Quit drinking, started managing one of the shops in the Oregon beach town where she lived. She’d rebuilt herself quite handily.

Not a saint, but there was some heroism to her, too.

She had a grandson she’d never met.

“I’d love to take Sam down to the Oregon coast sometime, to meet my mom. Once we tell him. If we decide to tell him, that is.”

“God,” she said. “I sort of forgot. I forgot this means Sam has a whole other family. You have siblings, too, right?”

“Yeah. He should meet his aunt and uncle, too. I’ve got a sister in Vancouver, Washington, and a brother in Portland, who has two kids. So, a boy and a girl cousin.”

“I don’t have brothers or sisters,” Mira said. “Sam doesn’t have cousins. Until now, I mean. Except, I guess, he’s had them all along, right? Only not known it. How weird is that?”

“I’m going down tomorrow, and my brother and sister are coming to the beach house, but that’s pretty short notice. Maybe in a couple of weeks. You could come with us. The house is kind of crappy, but the setting is beautiful.”

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