Page 7 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
Christ. Was I really doing this? I glanced out the window and saw angel cotton floating past. Shit. I guess I was doing this.
“Right now, not much. The courts in Missouri will check my background. I’m kind of stuck here until that clears, which could be another fourteen days.”
“Hmm, let me see if I can nudge that along a bit for you. Please stay there and get to know your niece. I assume there will be a funeral to attend? Do you have the funeral parlor lined up?”
I rattled off the name of the crematorium Mrs. Wickens had passed along. Since Aida had left no specific wishes, I planned to have her cremated and take the ashes to my bungalow in Nantucket and scatter her ashes on the nearby beach. She always loved the seaside when we were little. I relayed all of that to Marty.
“That sounds nice.”
“I think she’ll like it.”
“I’m sure she will. Wes, I mean this in all sincerity. Take as long as you need to get settled. This is a big responsibility you’re taking on. Make sure, absolutely sure, you’re ready to commit to this child. It’s not like picking a puppy from the pound then returning it when the vibe is off or it shits on your pillow one too many times. That little girl has no one now. She will need toknow you will always be there for her. Even if she breaks one of your porcelain African sculptures.”
I shuddered at the mere thought. “Don’t put that negative energy out there. I’m nervous as hell about this as it is.” He chuckled gruffly. “Thank you for the kindness. I’ll keep you informed of how things are progressing and when I can return to work.”
“Please, don’t worry. Your cases will be handled. Take a hiatus for the summer. You’ve accrued a few months. Get to know your niece, memorialize your sister, and start the healing process for both of you.”
I nodded just once. “Oh, and one small question,” I said before the call ended. “Where would someone find socks with bunnies on them?”
Marty laughed out loud. “Oh how the mighty ice man hath melted.” I gave him the middle finger and hit the end call button with attitude. Then I started searching online for bunny socks for little girls.
Chapter Four
Thank goodness Valeria was potty trained, so I didn’t have to handle diapers. Truly, that might have been a dealbreaker. However, the child had had a few accidents of late. Though I’d been assured by the social worker and forums online that it is natural, given her stress levels brought on by sudden loss and change. I could relate. No, I’d not urinated in my undies obviously, but the pressure was affecting me as well. Before we’d left for Boston, we were at the St. Louis Galleria shopping for her bunnies, and I found myself in a whole new conundrum that I, as a single, childless, gay man, have never encountered before.
Did I take the child into the ladies’ room to change her wet pants, or did I take her into the men’s room? Neither had seemed fitting. I’d stood there outside a gaming store with a whimpering little girl and had no clue how to proceed. I shot several looks at Mrs. Wickens, who was chewing on a pretzel.
“Tough call,” she had said before swallowing her bite.
“I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to take her into the ladies’ room.”
She’d snorted and waved at a sign for a family bathroom on the second floor of the mall. I left the new suitcase—pink with bunnies—and several bags of new clothing with the pretzel nibbler, then took my niece by her little hand to the family bathroom. The process took much longer than it should have as I had to assure her I wasn’t mad about her piddle accident, followed by her fascination with the hand dryer, which blew into her face and made her giggle.
After fifteen minutes of hot air and teehees, I took the child by the hand and tossed her old, soiled clothes into a trash can as we left the bathroom. I was willing to do many things, such as kneel outside a stall and hand purple undies under a bathroom door, but I was not about to stand at a sink in a mall restroom and wash dirty clothes by hand. That was a newly discovered line in the sand. I was sure I would find more.
Ten days after my sister’s memorial, our flight to Boston left St. Louis, and I discovered the new joy of traveling with a chatty preschooler.
“Uncle Wes, is there cookies for us?” Valeria asked as I snapped her into her seat.
“I think Mrs. Wickens packed us a travel bag, but we have to wait until the plane takes off before we can eat or drink,” I said, giving her head a pat.
“Okay.” She stared out the window for a millisecond. “When will the plane take off?”
“Soon,” I said, leisurely scrolling through my messages as the plane slowly boarded. I’d touched base with Rissa on a few of our cases and was hoping to line up quality daycare when I returned to Boston. Then, if things went well, I could return to my office and my clients at least part time while giving Valeria her first step into quality education. Being left with an old Polish lady all day was not exactly the stepping stone for acceptance into Harvard Law.
“Okay.” I smiled at her from across the aisle, happy to be in first class for the flight home. Forty-two seconds passed in silence. “Is the plane flying soon?”
“Mm, yes, soon, just watch the men outside,” I said as I scanned a slew of papers that had come in from child services. I was no stranger to paperwork, but this was a whole new level of bureaucracy.
“Can I have a drink?” I glanced over at the tiny brown child looking at me with her finger in her nose. Needless to say, we had to run to the bathroom to wash said finger, then she had to use the toilet, then we had to wash hands again and re-buckle. “I’m still thirsty.”
“One sip,” I whispered before digging into her carry-on backpack—pink with bunnies—to find a juice box. “Don’t drink it all or you’ll have to go to the bathroom again.”
“I won’t.” Fifteen seconds later, she handed me the empty box and then took off her sneakers to show the flight attendant her new socks. She was quite proud of them. Had the child ever had new socks before? Probably not. Given the condition of her wardrobe as well as my sister’s…well, it was apparent neither of them was prancing about in new threads. I had to buy a dress for Aida to be cremated in. A tasteful cream Ralph Lauren with long sleeves. She looked very beautiful. Valeria had cried softly as we looked down on her mother. The funeral director, Mrs. Wickens, Valeria, and I were the only ones present. The old Polish woman had sent flowers. A nice touch. I’d told the mortician to place the flowers in with her, then led Valeria away from her past and into her future.
The ashes were in my carry-on bag along with all the proper documentation required for them as well as my new ward, who was now picking at her bare toes. Where had her socks gone? Why was she poking at her toes then touching her lips?!
After we found her socks stashed in the back of the seat in front of her, we washed her handsagainand got her buckled in yet another time. The plane was ready to taxi. Valeria was thrilled by the motion until we took off in earnest. Her ears popped, and she wailed in fright. The other first-class passengers gave me the same sour looks I always gave parents with crying kids on a plane. It took a few moments and another juice box, but she quieted down enough to watch a movie on her new tablet using her new headphones.
