Page 24 of Scooter's Endgame
“Well, okay. Sure.”
Hopping down off the barstool, I walk with him toward the door. From behind us I hear Luke. “Where are you going, Uncle Beckett? We haven’t finished our movie yet.” His voice is whiny, and there’s the unmistakable sound of tears in his voice too. So unlike my boy.
Without hesitation, Beckett turns and walks back to where Luke’s sitting up on the sofa. “Just going to grab a quick shower, bud. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone. And then we can finish watching. Yeah?”
“Promise you’ll come back?”
My heart squeezes hard at his words. Despite the lack of meaningful interaction between him and Jeff, I never realized how much Jeff’s leaving has affected Luke. I can only imagine that he’s worried about being abandoned again after Beckett has been so kind to him. Giving him attention like his father never did.
“I promise, bud. I won’t be long. Okay?”
The doubt I see in Luke’s eyes breaks my heart. No child his age should ever have that look. Sadly, it’s a lesson learnt the hard way, being let down and disappointed by Jeff more times than any kid should be. But in the end, all he says is “okay” in a voice so tiny we have to strain to hear him.
He rolls over on the sofa and pulls his blanket up around his ears. Apparently not one to easily be deterred, Beckett reaches out a hand and ruffles Luke’s hair. “See you shortly, bud.”
I walk him back to the door, mouthing an apology as we reach it. He shakes his head, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “Don’t sweat it. I understand. More than you know. But that’s a story for another time, maybe.”
With that he lets himself out, leaving me to wonder about his parting comment.
Once again, proving he’s a man of his word, he’s back barely ten minutes after he left, a pizza box in hand. “Met the delivery guy coming up the walk.”
Before I have a chance to reply, my son beats me to it. “Yay, you came back.”
“Promised I would.”
“Yeah, you did.”
My eyes meet Beckett’s, and I swear I see the pain at Luke’s words reflected there. That, however, is a topic for a different day. Still feeling a little punch-drunk from our all-nighter at the hospital, despite sleeping so well for the few hours earlier, I decide to let things be for the moment.
The evening passes quickly with good conversation, good food, and mindless television. Before I know it, Beckett is getting to his feet, smothering a yawn behind his hand. He starts to gather up the debris of our dinner, and for a moment I’m too surprised to respond. Then my brain catches up.
“No, Beckett, you don’t have to do that. I’ll clean up.”
“It’ll take me two seconds. You relax, I’ve got it.”
“Please, I –”
He pauses what he’s doing to look at me. I can’t read the expression I see there. “I’m not him, sweet pea. I’ve got this.” His voice is quiet, his tone gentle.
In that moment, I feel seen. And I feel vulnerable. It’s as if the man can see beneath the scar tissue that covers wounds Luke and I carry from experiencing life with a parent that doesn’t care.
My scars were not my fault. They came from the circumstances of my life. Luke’s, however,aremy fault. They come from mistakes I’ve made, repeating unhealthy patterns, and making choices based on the only life I knew. That’s on me, and something that I will forever regret.
When he’s done, he comes over to Luke and gives him a hug. “Sleep tight, and be good for your mama. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rubbing his eyes sleepily, Luke nods, then replies. “I will. See you tomorrow.” Beckett holds a fist out, and Luke bumps it with his own.
“Night, bud.” He gets a smile and a wave in reply.
“Go on and brush your teeth. I’ll be there to tuck you in shortly, baby.”
“Walk me out?” I follow Becket over to the door. He checks over my shoulder. “I know I said I’d organized a couple days off to help you out with Luke, but will you be okay on your own tomorrow?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” I say out loud, when what I’m thinking is, no, stay with me.
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
