Page 59 of The Fix-Up

“The last time your sister watched him, she put red streaks in his hair, let him stay up too late and eat as much ice cream as he wanted. Which he puked up at two in the morning. Hard pass.”

I turned and smiled at Oliver, but he was deep in conversation with Gil, their two heads pressed together as they whispered.

“I’m sure someone’s around. What about Susie next door?”

Susie Alcorn was in her late seventies and blinder than a bat wearing noise-canceling headphones. Also, she hated kids. Even Oliver, who was the best kid in the world. “Not happening.”

Gil nodded at something Oliver said and straightened, his toolbelt jangling merrily. Had he grown several inches since I met him? I was sure he’d been shorter. But even with my wedges on, he was taller than me. Maybe that toolbelt had secret powers.

“Let me think,” Mae said.

“It’s fine. I can reschedule. Oliver and I will have a movie night, or something.” And to be honest, an evening of secretly watching Gil fix things wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

“I’ll watch him,” Gil said.

I shook my head and waved him off.

“It’s no problem. I’ll keep him busy.”

“Who said that?” Mae asked. “Is it Gilbert? Say yes, you dummy. Then run out the door.”

“That’s nice of you to offer but it’s Friday,” I said. “You always leave for the weekend on Fridays.”

He shrugged. His hand settled on the handle of the hammer in his toolbelt. I forced myself not to look. “I’ll leave early tomorrow. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No. You clearly have plans. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

It only took him three long strides to reach me. Gently, he pulled the phone from my hand, his fingers brushing mine, and spoke into it. All the while his gaze never left mine. “I’ll watch Oliver tonight.”

“Hey, Gilbert,” my brother said. “That would be great.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I’ll owe you one,” Chris said.

Gil’s eyes crinkled in the corners—a not-smile smile.

No, I thought, I think I’d be the one to owe him something. I just wondered what it was he’d want.

TWENTY-THREE

Love is like you can love a person. Love is a heart.

—JACK, AGE 7

“Is he here? What do you think?” I asked.

Liliana looked up over the top of her glasses. “He is…punctual.”

I waited to see if she’d add anything else. “That’s it?”

She glanced over the half-wall that divided the front counter from the seating area at the Texican. “He’s polite.”

“Polite?”

“Si. He said please and thank you. That’s…polite.”

“Liliana.”

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