Page 13 of Child of Mine

“Ow!” I scoot away from her. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. There are things I need to do with my career, and I can’t do them here. Christine hates how much time I spend at work as it is. Moving with me somewhere that she doesn’t know anybody wouldn’t make her happy. You know it, and she knows it.”

She sighs, starts to say something, but then stops herself.

“What?”

She sighs again. “It’s not like you could’ve saved him.”

“I missed a lot of time with him.”

“Yet another reason to stay here. With your family.” She bumps shoulders with me. “There are other women in Raleigh. It doesn’t have to be Christine.”

I’ll never admit it, but my sister’s right. Not about Christine, but about a lot of things. Still, something is telling me that I need to do this, that I’ll lose a piece of myself if I don’t at least try with this job.

“This is an opportunity I don’t want to pass up. Public television stations like WGBH put out all kinds of shows that are entertaining and revolutionary and interesting. I don’t want to work with a cowboy anymore.”

“You’re still working with kids,” she pouts.

“But not whiny little kids. Teenagers. Or almost teenagers.”

“They’re worse. Don’t you remember what an asshole you were at that age?”

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“Not.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Pfft. You weren’t exactly a princess.”

“I’m still a princess.” She ends the argument with a regal sniff.

Kicking her gently, I whisper, “I am going to miss you, Jilly Billy.”

She whispers back, “I’m gonna miss you too, Corny.” And then she kicks me—hard enough to make me wince.

* * *

On my wayout of town, I stop by my mom’s house for a final goodbye. I wish I didn’t feel compelled to make my own mark on the world, taking myself away from the people who love me despite the fact that I stick out like a sore thumb around them. I feel guilty leaving again, but I know I’ll just make everyone around me unhappy if I stay. “I yam what I yam,” as Popeye would say.

If I couldn’t make my dad happy by being what he wanted me to be, I’ve got to at least take what might be my last shot to be whatIwant to be.

At least I’m leaving things in good shape. The family business is thriving. My siblings and my mom will do fine without me. Sometimes I wonder if they’ll even miss me.

My mom’s hug is comforting, but she pushes me away after just a few beats. Before I can open my mouth to say I’m sorry for leaving again, she pats me on the shoulder and practically pushes me down the front steps. “Henry, I love you and you’ve been my rock the past few years, but now you need to hightail it out of here and get yourself on the road. Lord, you’d think I wasn’t a grown woman who can take care of herself.”

“Mama, you know I don’t think that.”

“Well, it was true right after your father died. I did need help. I needed my babies around me, and I’ll be forever grateful that you put your own life on hold to come back here.”

Hanging on to the wrought-iron railing at the bottom of the front steps, I toe at a divot in one of the bricks. “I missed y’all too. It’s not like I’ve hated living here.”

“And we will be glad to have you back on every major holiday or”—she waves a hand in the air—“whenever you can get away. I know TV doesn’t necessarily behave the way the rest of the world does. But you know how I am. I won’t be able to relax until you get to Boston, so you’d best get on your way.”

Following me to my car, she gives my dog a final scratch behind the ears before I hustle him into the passenger seat of my truck, and then we’re off. Within minutes, the street I grew up on disappears from my rearview. Again. Ten years ago, I was fresh out of college and headed for a hard-won job in New York City. My dad stood next to my mom, waving as I drove down the block.

As I merge onto I-85 North, memories of that time pop up one after the other. The crappy two-bedroom apartment that I called home in Hoboken, shared by three other guys who were all as wet behind the ears as I was, each of us ready to conquer the big bad city in one way or another. The polyester uniform I wore for that first precious job as a page. The tourists who were as excited to see what happened behind the scenes of the headquarters of a television network as I was to share it.

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