Page 12 of Scooter's Endgame
Jeff saw him as weak and underserving of his love and attention. He never saw the beautiful heart and loving personality. All he saw was the financial drain and “wasted time” of hours spent in the emergency room. Missing out on the incredible little human his son is behind all the illness.
Illness that he caused. Luke’s health issues all stem from being born around twenty-eight weeks, after he pushed me down the stairs in a drunken rage over losing at the tables. In his twisted mind, Luke’s worth nothing to him, and I’m to blame.
“That’s an awful lot of sighing going on over there. Everything okay?” I jump at the sound of Beckett’s voice.
“Yeah. Sorry. Got a little too caught up in my own head for a second.”
“No need to apologize.” He turns briefly to smile at me before turning back to the road. “So, about that celebratory dinner. You in?”
After all the crap we’ve been through the last couple of weeks, I decide we deserve a treat. “I graciously accept your kind offer,” I reply, throwing caution to the wind and allowing someone to do something nice for us for a change.
“Excellent. I have just the place in mind.”
Doing a little happy dance inside, I hug my excitement to myself, while giving Beckett directions to Luke’s little friend’s house. “I’ll just be a moment,” I say as he pulls up to the curb.
As I hurry up the path to the front door, I permit myself to feel cautious optimism over a future that has suddenly turned promising. For the first time in my life that I can remember, I seem to have someone who’s on my side. It feels weird, but so, so good to know I have a friend in Beckett. A luxury I’ve not really had before.
Friendship requires trust – a commodity I’m a little low on. Life, and my mother, taught me early on that I can’t rely on anyone other than myself; and that made it difficult to form friendships.
I’ve gotten better at it over the past few years living on base. It’s a different kind of community to the rest of the world, a place where you learn to lean on each other in times of need. The only place I ever felt any kind of sense of family. A community that brought Beckett into my life.
“Hey, Mama,” Luke’s happy little voice pipes as he walks up to the door.
“Hi precious. You got all your things?” He nods. “Great. Then let’s get going.” Turning to the woman at the door, I continue. “That’s so much for having Luke over this afternoon. Maybe we can organize a playdate next week for Liam to come over to us?”
“That sounds lovely. I’ll chat with you then.”
“Terrific. See you.”
We walk toward the car, and Luke’s spots Beckett standing beside the passenger door. “Hey, Uncle Beckett. Hi,” he calls out, a smile on his face.
“Hey, little man. You hungry?”
“Yeah.” Luke’s enthusiastic response is unexpected. He’s generally a reserved child, especially when it comes to men — the legacy his father’s treatment has left him with. Opening the door, Beckett waits for Luke to hop in and secure his seatbelt before moving to my door. He repeats the gesture, waiting for me to climb in.
We’re not even underway when Luke starts regaling us with the events of his afternoon at Liam’s house, sharing all the things they did, what they ate, programs they watched. While enjoying the interaction with my son, I’m blown away with how animated and comfortable he is in Beckett’s company.
But what surprises me more is just how natural and engaged Beckett is. A warmth around the region of my bruised and battered heart spreads through my chest as I sit quietly, absorbing the moment. And on the tail of that feeling comes an unexpected yearning for this to be reality. How amazing wouldn’t it be if this was an everyday, normal moment? Someone who cares what happens to us, who cares for us and about us.
During a lull in Luke’s verbal tsunami, Beckett gives me the side-eye before looking at my son in the rearview mirror. “So, your mom has some pretty exciting news to share.”
“What is it?” he shouts, bouncing in his seat.
I have to take a second to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t expected to have it sprung on me like this. I thought I’d have time to tell Luke at my own pace, possibly over dinner. But here we are. “You know how I’ve been looking for a job and a new place for us to live?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I found both today.”
“Does that mean I get to watch TV again, Mama?”
My heart clenches at my child’s words. Television has always been his escape from the reality of his health issues, and while we’ve been at the shelter, he’s been unable to watch TV. There’s a common room where a large flatscreen is available to share, but with a group of women all vying for screentime, he’s not been able to watch the kiddies’ programs.
“Yeah, baby, it does. You even get your own room again.”
“Yay.” The backseat bouncing recommences with more energy than before.
“Uncle Beckett’s going to take us to fetch our stuff out of storage so you can have all your toys back tonight.”
