Page 23 of One Little Mistake

I exhale, finally allowing myself to relax.

Well… here goes nothing.

I step out of the car and make my way toward the house. A scruffy black mutt comes charging at me, baring its teeth in what I guess is supposed to be a threatening growl, though its size makes the whole act kind of ridiculous. I let out a quiet chuckle.

Scanning the yard, I silently hope someone spots me. Relief washes over me when an elderly woman appears on the porch at the sound of barking.

“Who’s there?” she squints, calming the dog with a flick of her hand.

“I’m here about Erin,” I call out, raising my voice, already bracing myself for the dreaded reply that no one here knows who that is.

Her brows knit together as she tosses a shawl over her shoulders and walks toward me.

“Did something happen?” she asks, her eyes searching mine with genuine worry. I hesitate. Dropping a bomb like she’s in the ICU isn’t exactly how I want to introduce myself to her family. But of course, I get the honor of delivering the bad news.

“No, everything’s fine,” I lie, glancing away and pretending to study the red shingles on the roof, avoiding her faded blue eyes. “I just wanted to speak with her parents. Are they home?”

“Her mama’s overseas,” she replies with a short pause. Not a word about her father. “And who exactly are you to our Erin?” she adds, cautious now.

“I’m… a friend. Max.”

Surprise flashes across her wrinkled face, quickly replaced by a warm, welcoming smile. She looks me over from head to toe, then nods approvingly.

“Well, I’m Mrs. Hoover, Erin’s grandma. But you can call me Margaret. She’s told me all about you.” Her eyes soften even more. “Didn’t know you were back, Max. Come in, come in.” She nudges the little mutt out of the way—it keeps trying to latch onto my leg. “So… where is my granddaughter?”

Her eyes wander to my car, clearly expecting Erin to step out of it any second. And that’s when the guilt hits me. How do I tell this sweet old woman that Erin’s been unconscious in intensive care for a week?

“She… she gave birth,” I start slowly, “and she’s still at the hospital for now.”

“Oh, bless her heart!” Margaret clasps her hands together in joy. “Come on in, Max. You can tell me everything. Is the baby healthy? Who does he look like?”

“Yes,” I reply shortly, without much detail. Then I reluctantly follow Mrs. Hoover into the house.

On my way here, I didn’t really think through what I was going to say to Erin’s family. Well—scratch that—I had planned to walk in and drop the bomb about her condition right away, but turns out that’s easier said than done. Now I’m sitting here, completely unsure how to start. And the worst part? There’s still no one to take the baby home. I seriously doubt this seventy-something woman could handle an infant on her own.

“Sit down, Max, make yourself comfortable,” Mrs. Hoover says warmly. “I’ll put the kettle on. Baked a pie with homemade jam this morning. Something told me I’d have company.”

The house is modest, but clean and cozy. A newer microwave and electric kettle look out of place against the backdrop of well-worn cabinets and a crocheted table runner. I rest my arms on the table and sneak a look at the time. It’s getting dark soon, and I’ve still got a long drive back.

While Mrs. Hoover moves around the kitchen, fussing over the teapot, I glance around the tiny room, trying to figure outwhat the hell I’m supposed to do next. Do I tell her the truth or not?

“Erin didn’t talk much about her family,” I start cautiously. “From what I understand, it’s just her mom and you?”

“Her daddy left a long time ago. She doesn’t remember him,” Mrs. Hoover replies with a sigh. “My daughter and I raised her together. Ellie’s been working overseas for years, and we stayed here. Erin grew up so fast… sometimes I can’t believe it.”

Her eyes glisten with tears, and as she reminisces, the deep lines on her face seem to soften.

“Hard to believe my little girl is a mother now. Feels like just yesterday she was running barefoot through the yard.”

“When is her mother coming back?” I ask after a short pause. “Erin’s probably gonna need help with the baby.”

“Probably by summer. Ellie wanted to be here for the birth, but Erin talked her out of it. Said she’d manage. Ellie’s met a good man over there, might even get married soon. Erin didn’t want to pull her away from that. And honestly, it’s about time. Poor girl’s almost fifty and still hasn’t caught a break. Would be nice to see her finally happy for once.”

She shakes her head and lets out a long breath.

I answer her questions about my relationship with Erin in short, vague replies. I don’t deny being “that Max,” but I don’t confirm it either. And when Mrs. Hoover asks why Erin hasn’t called, I lie and say she lost her phone right before the delivery—but wanted to send her love.

I just can’t bring myself to say out loud what kind of shape Erin’s actually in.

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