Page 94 of Yearn
I had just started down the path toward the basement when I froze.
Mrs. Patterson stood in her yard like she’d been waiting all night for me to come out.
She had on a green and black floral housecoat and a Bible clutched to her chest with one hand. The other had flapped at three cats that prowled near her porch steps. “Shoo now! Get out of here!”
The cats scattered in three directions.
Then she turned and spotted me. Her face softened into a smile that didn’t seem like it was really a smile. “Morning, Dr. Dominic. I’m out here doing the Lord’s work. Demons come in all types of shapes.”
I blinked, not sure if she was talking about the cats or me. “Uh. . .right. Morning, Mrs. Patterson.”
She tilted her head, studying me with that sharp, church-lady squint that could slice through drywall. “Mighty early to be coming out the house right now. You usually head in there about an hour later for breakfast, don’t you?”
I nervously glanced at my watch. “Yeah, I guess it is. I had a test. Wanted to grab something from the kitchen.”
“Uh-huh.” The “uh-huh” carried centuries of side-eye and intercessory prayer. She hugged her Bible closer and smirked. “I may miss things, but God sees everything.”
“Awesome.” I gave her my best polite smile and walked off, resisting the urge to sprint.
Something is very wrong with that woman.
Once I got to the basement, I washed up and dressed in clean scrubs.
But under it all, I held the memory of her skin pressed to mine, her voice soft in the shower filled with both fear and want, and the knowledge that even if I had to slip away now, I’d be back.
Because some truths didn’t need the kids’ questions to make them real.
Thirty minutes later, we all scrambled in the dining area.
No pancakes this time.
It was cereal, toast, bananas, and Teyonah quickly signing zoo field trip slips.
The kids never clocked that we’d come from the same bedroom. Oliver was too intent on catching her up about some cool cartwheels he learned how to do in the playground yesterday and J was stressed about a spelling test today.
Minutes later, we flew out the door.
Lunches.
Kisses.
I called over my shoulder. “Don’t forget your water bottle, J.”
“Got it, Dom.”
I looked to my side. “Did you pack your sketchbook, Oliver?”
“Sure did.”
“Excellent.”
When I shut the front door behind us, my chest felt terrifyingly, beautifully full.
This is my family.
That morning Teyonah took the kids to school.
At the hospital, the day came at me hard.
