Page 24 of Between Now and Forever
I place the needle into the rubber. It inflates in seconds. Carter watches with rapt attention.
“That’s magic,” he says, bouncing around on one foot. “I’d use that thing for all kinds of stuff.”
I hand him the basketball and then turn off the compressor. “Like what?”
“I bet I could use it to blow the food off the dishes when Mom makes me help her clean up after dinner.”
“Probably wouldn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“It’d break the dishes, and it wouldn’t sanitize them.”
He looks up at me through thick lashes. “What’s that mean?”
“What’s what mean?”
“Sanitize.”
His endless questions are annoying, so I try to hold on to that feeling. But the longer he stands in front of me with his curiosity and boundless energy, the harder it is to stay that way.
I fold my arms over my chest. “If you sanitize something, it means to kill all the things that might make you sick.”
He nods appreciatively. “That’s great.”
Carter drops the ball and begins to dribble it around the garage. I watch him, trying to figure out how to kick the kid out of here without being a dick. Because it isn’t his fault I don’t want him in my space. He didn’t do anything wrong.
Neither did I.
I watch as he tries to dribble between his legs but fails miserably. I want to give him pointers, to tell him to keep the ball bouncing steadily and closer to his body. But I don’t.
It’s not my problem.
Still, he is so cute with his tongue hanging out while focusing on his coordination. His curls bounce right along with the ball. He gets the hang of it just before it hits his foot and rolls across the floor.
“Oops,” he says, chasing it.
I sort the last of the screws and nails and then close the lid to the toolbox.
“Hey, who is that?” Carter asks.
“Who?”
“That.” He points at the picture beside the calendar. “That girl. Is she your daughter?”
My heart pulls so tight in my chest that it knocks the wind out of me. Aside from Lark, I haven’t talked about her to anyone in four years. She’s resided in my heart and in my mind—a block of sweet memories that no one can take away from me. Not even Melody.
“Is she?” he asks again, his ball tucked under his arm.
I nod, staring at her picture. “Yeah. That’s my little girl.”
Hearing the words aloud sets a sharp pain in motion. It ricochets in my rib cage, puncturing me in as many places as it can.
“What’s her name?” he asks, unaware that his questions are slowly killing me.
He watches me closely, genuinely curious. I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t even know how I got this deep in a conversation with the kid from across the way, but I need to figure out how the fuck to get out of it.
And stay out of it.
