Page 9 of Until Now
Dominique
Where are you? Maxen and Hunter arrived. Get your butt over here!
I scan the text before getting into the Mazda. We’re running too late for me to start a conversation with July. We talked late last night. When she told me the entire story of her kidnapping and rescue by Wes and friends, I was stunned. How did I not know this before?
She said it was important to get past reliving it over and over, so she seldom talks about it. Over the first few years, and with therapy, she processed the trauma. Having Wes by her side was all the healing needed, and when the children came, July learned to put it behind her.
I’ve always thought my friend was strong, but I had no idea the extent to which her strength was tested. Learning Maxen and his friends came to help made me happy. Compassion seems to be a strong suit for him.
“Did you bring your inhaler? What about McFly’s collapsible bowl?” I say to my child as we buckle our seatbelts.
I’m beginning to notice the first signs of eye-rolling. Oh no, he didn’t.
“Don’t do that when I tell you something, Bing. What did I say that was so distasteful to you?”
He turns and faces me. “Mom! You ask me the same questions every time. At some point, you have to know I’m going to remember without you telling me.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t keep asking, and you won’t roll your eyes at your mother. It’s disrespectful. Deal?”
The compromise satisfies, and it shows on his adorable face. There’s still that unkempt mop of sandy-colored hair and the mischievous grin. The freckles are my favorite. But thirteen has changed him. The boy is leaving the room as the man enters. Just the thought tugs at my heart.
It’s been he and I for nine years now. Becoming a single mother of a three-and-a-half-year-old was life’s most dramatic plot twist. The circumstances will be etched in my mind forever. But today is for fun, so I shake off the cobwebs of the past.
“There’s going to be a kid at Wes and July’s that I want you to meet. He’s about your age, I think.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t know much. He’s the son of one of my clients. She was in a car accident, and their dog was killed. The uncle is taking care of the boy until his mom gets out of the hospital.”
An expression of compassion crosses his face. “That sucks.”
Here’s one of those moments that give parents pause. I’m not thrilled with the language, but the fact he feels empathy outweighs his choice of words. He’s getting older. His expressions are changing. Sometimes a little rope goes a long way.
“His name is Hunter.”
“The dog’s?”
I chuckle at the question. “No. The boy. Maybe you can make him feel more comfortable. He won’t know anyone, and you’re good at making friends.”
“I’ll show him the bikes Wes has.” As the thought occurs to him, his eyes light up.
“Make sure you have permission to get anywhere near those. Those bikes are …”
“Mom! I’m not ten years old! Give a man some credit!”
That’s Bing’s latest go-to response when he wants to make his mother laugh. I don’t disappoint.
“Okay, big man. I hear ya.”
McFly barks as we turn onto July’s street. His opening bark is usually his last. Bing and I have come to the conclusion McFly is merely acknowledging he’s arrived. It happens whenever we take him somewhere familiar. It’s a statement. A punctuation.
Parking under the shade of a sprawling Oak half a block away from the house, I check the mirror.
“Do I look all right?”
When there’s no response, I glance at my child. That’s definitely a smirk.
“What?”
