Page 26 of The Fix-Up

UNKNOWN NUMBER:This is Gilbert Dalton. I got your number from the attorney.

ME:Right. Gil.

GILBERT:Gilbert.

ME:That’s what I said.

GILBERT:No, you said Gil. My name is Gilbert.

My mouth twitched. For some reason, I could picture him frowning, all stern-faced and laser-eyed and school principal-like, annoyed at me for daring to call him something other than his full name.

ME:So I’ve heard.

I swore I could hear his sigh of exasperation via text.

GILBERT:I’ll be in town around 2p.m. Don’t worry; I have a tent.

ME:Roger that, Gil.

He did not respond back. I saved him in my phone as PRINCIPAL GIL.

NINE

Love is when you like something really much.

—MERIC, AGE 9

By the time I closed up the café, prepped as much as I could for Monday, ran a couple of errands, and made it back home, it was after two. Gil was already there.

I had a feeling Gil was never late for anything.

If his car in the driveway wasn’t enough of a clue, when I went to change into something that didn’t smell like maple syrup and bacon, I saw the tent. In fact, it was hard to miss seeing as he’d erected it to the right of the broken-down trailer, about twenty yards from the house, and directly in front of my bedroom window.

The tent was neon-highlighter yellow, so bright it probably glowed in the dark. It was smaller than I expected, big enough for perhaps two adults with a little neon-yellow awning over the entrance. Beside it, he’d placed a camping chair (blue, not yellow) with what looked to be a portable firepit in front of it.

It was early February. In Texas, that could mean anything from twenty degrees to eighty. Thankfully for Gil, it had been amild winter, and the temp hovered around sixty-five. Perfectly acceptable tent weather. Even if it was supposed to dip into the forties tonight, he’d be fine.

Probably.

Oliver had his face pressed against the large window that faced the backyard when I made it back to the kitchen lugging a basket of clothes to throw in the wash. “That’s a cool tent, Mommy. Look!”

“I saw it.”

“Can we go say hi, please?” He bounced over to me. “Pretty please?”

I guess it would have to happen sooner than later. With a sigh, I set the basket of clothes on the kitchen counter and ushered Oliver to the side door. But when I opened it, Gil was in front of it, a hand raised to knock.

I startled and then got annoyed I’d been startled. “What do you want?”

“Thank you for such a warm welcome,” he said dryly. “I was hoping I could see the kitchen and bathroom since I’ll need to use them. My tent didn’t come with plumbing.”

“Right. Come on.” I stepped aside and let him into the kitchen. I may want him to sleep outside for Oliver’s safety, but I’d already come to terms with the fact that he would need to use the bathroom and kitchen. I didn’t have to be happy about it, though.

Oliver pressed against my side. I put a hand on his head. “This is Oliver. Oliver, this is Mr. Dalton.”

Gil crouched down to Oliver’s level. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too. I like your tent. It’s the same color as a banana. Is yellow your favorite color? My favorite color is red or sometimes blue,” Oliver said. “When I grow up and go be a pale-tologist and study dinosaurs, I’m going to live in a tent. Maybe just like yours.”

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