Page 11 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
I stripped and showered, my head muzzy, and took the time to trim my facial hair before I slogged back to the kitchen. Rissa had fried some eggs and made toast. And filled my glass with more orange juice.
“Do not evenlookat that Balmuda,” she warned as I stared lovingly at my coffee maker. “You need good food and sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when the baby sleeps. That’s what the moms online say.” I sat, picked up my fork, and dove into the scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and coarse pepper. They were divine. Even the toast was toasted perfectly. “If I were straight, I would marry you.”
“Lyle might have something to say about that.” She tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the edge of my plate. “Eat. We’ll talk after you get done.”
I was pretty sure her husband would understand my love for her egg-frying skills. And legal skills. She was skilled. Why was I using the word “skill” so much? Damn, I was punch drunk tired.
When I was done, I sighed in contentment. My paralegal cleared her throat to pull my attention from the sun shining through the windows.
“Okay, so you need to get Valeria into some sort of counseling for those night terrors,” she opened with, and I frowned. “Look, I know you dislike people poking around in your personal affairs, but this is something you are required to do as part ofyour guardianship. She’s to speak to a counselor at least once a month.”
“I don’t know any counselors who deal with children,” I parried and sighed when she shoved a printout filled with names of child psychologists in the Boston area. “I take it back. If I were straight, I would not marry you.”
“Be testy all you want. You know that was part of the judge’s requirements when you were granted temporary custody. That girl has been through some shit, Wes, and she needs to spend time with someone who knows how to help her deal with her grief in a healthy way.” I stared at her openly. It was coming. I could sense it. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to sit down with someone and talk things over either.”
Yep. There it was. “I have no need to speak to anyone. I am perfectly sane.”
She gave me the coldest look ever. “Why are you so averse to mental health care?”
“I’m not. I take vacations all the time for mental health. A few weeks on a beach with white sands, a slim young man in a Speedo, and a tumbler of bourbon fixes all of my stress and alleviates the blues.”
Her lips were papercut thin now. “Fine, be that way aboutyourmental health, but at least get Valeria into a counselor. The courts are going to be checking up on you, and if they see that you, of all people, a highly regarded attorney, aren’t following court mandates, they’ll—”
I held up a hand to stop her closing argument. “You’ve made your point. No need to beat the jury over the head. I will find a counselor for her by week’s end.”
She looked pleased. “Excellent. Now I want you to go take a walk around the park.” I started to argue. She showed me her palm. “No, do not argue. You need fresh air. You’re not running or shaving or cleaning up after yourself. Mrs. P will birth a rhinowhen she sees this kitchen. So you go clear your head while I tidy up. Then we’ll reconvene in an hour to go over these notes. Go. Shoo.”
“But Valeria…”
“Is asleep on that chaise in your room. She does not like her bed—or yours either—at all, which is something you need to discuss with the therapist you choose.”
“You’re not a babysitter, Rissa, you’re a paralegal.”
“Just remember this when you hand out Christmas bonuses.” She pushed me to the front door, hands in the middle of my back. “Slip on some comfy shoes. Go breathe some air that’s not thick with the rank smell of burned hot dogs.”
“I tried to brown them,” I confided as I pushed my feet into some trendy loafers, then shrugged into a light jacket. I had no idea what the weather was outside other than not night.
“Smells like you blackened them.”
She handed me my cell and opened my front door. With a wave of her hand, I was banished to the great outdoors. If you called the Common the great outdoors. I turned to see my door close in my face. Cheeky woman. Still, the respite was kind of her. I slogged to the corner, waited for the light, and then shuffled into the park. It was refreshing to get some exercise. I’d not run since I brought Valeria home. How did single parents ever find time to do anything for themselves? I had to cram basic self-care in when I could. The child followed me everywhere, which, given her circumstances, was understandable. She’d turned her head and lost her mother. She was damn well going to make sure she did not lose her uncle Wes. But understandable or not, it made doing the simplest things like showering or keeping my manscaping orderly nearly impossible. A partner certainly would help, but there was no one to help shoulder the burden. Not that I needed another adult in the house. I was doing fine despite what Rissa seemed to think. We were bothalive, relatively clean, and making damn fine macaroni art while watching reruns of old cartoons all night long.
I made my way around the Common once, then stopped at the café for coffee. With my cup of rejuvenation in hand, I made my way to a fully leafed oak tree beside the statue of Pastor Edward Everett Hale. I shuffled my coffee from one hand to the other to free myself of my jacket. It was warm today, so I placed the J. Crew cotton twill on the recently mowed grass and lowered my backside to it. Back against the tree’s trunk, legs out in front of me, with coffee in hand, I studied the statue of the famed emancipation activist as I sipped and allowed my mind to simply rest.
A soft wind was moving over the area carrying the sounds of dogs playing in the off-leash area as squirrels darted here and there. Several small birds flitted about, landing to pick up bits of food, then taking flight back into the trees. I let my head drop back to the trunk of the tree, just to admire how blue the sky was above the city. Next thing I knew, I was being gently shaken awake by a man with eyes as blue as the heavens.
“Hey, you spilled your coffee,” Lennon Cole, he of the goofy top hat and yellow sneakers, informed me as he crouched beside me. It took my exhausted brain a few seconds to fire the proper signals to the rest of my body. With a gasp, I looked down to see my cup tipped to the side and all my coffee gone. A few drops fell from my cup to the thick grass.
“Well fuck.” I sighed as I righted my empty cup.
Lennon sat down, facing me, his lean legs covered with green denim sliced into ribbons. Call me an old dusty fart but what was the sense of wearing pants that showed most of your legs? Why not wear shorts? Still, the glimpse of fine yellow hairs on his thighs was not unpleasant. The rest of his outfit was just as hipster queer slash urban chic slash pride parade on steroids. Paint-splashed loafers worn with a pink mesh sweater over a redtank. His nails were painted blue, and his hat, thankfully, was not a top hat but a dashing little beret with a rainbow band. This was a man who was not afraid to mix colors.
“I debated whether to come over or not when I saw you resting here.” He handed me his cup of coffee. I shook my head. “No, take it. You look like you need some energy.” I took it with a soft thanks. It was good coffee but far too sweet. Still, the kick of caffeine was what I needed to get me through another day. “Not to sound like a jerk, but you didn’t strike me as the kind of man who naps under trees in public parks. So I wandered over. Also, a squirrel stole the lid to your coffee. I saw him dart up that tree behind you.”
I glanced up and frowned as my sight found Lennon’s. “They’re nothing more than rats with bushy tails. I cheer every time I see one of the young redtails get one.”
Lennon gaped at me and chuckled. “A man who speaks his mind.”
