Page 85 of Make Mine Sweet
August turns his big blue eyes my way. “Mama, can you make us a strawberry-lemon cake for our birthday next week? We’re going to share a party.”
Now I’m the one left behind. “You’re sharing a what now?”
“We have the same birthday! July sixth. Ian said he wanted to share my presents, but I think maybe we should just share a cake.” August shoots him a look like he wants to be sure Ian’s okay with that. “Strawberry-lemon would be good. Can you make that?”
“Your birthday is really the sixth?” I ask Ian.
“It is.”
Fate? Kismet? Or sheer dumb luck?
“So fun for you, turning forty.”
His eyes sparkle at me in the evening sun. “Flirt.”
“My best friend, Jake, will be there, and friends from my Kindergarten class,” August tells him. “We can invite your friends, too!”
“Oh.” Ian’s sudden frown is a stark contrast to August’s enthusiasm. “That’s sweet, kid, but we don’t need to do that.”
He’s already admitted he hasn’t really tried to get to know anyone in Sunshine beyond his aunts and August and me. Honestly, from everything Amy told me about him before we moved in, he hasn’t spent much time with them, either. But even turning thirty-seven, nobody wants to sit at home by themselves.
Ian won’t be alone for his birthday. Not on my watch.
“What if we have August’s party with his friends in the park, and then we have a barbecue here in the evening?” I offer. “We can invite Ian’s aunts and my mom and Wren. Maybe a few other friends. We’ll celebrate you both together.”
August is all for it, as I knew he would be. But Ian’s vote is the deciding factor. He’s watching me like he’s looking for a trap. Smart. I’m definitely planning one. My encouraging smile is maybe too obvious. If he’s against even this much, I’ll drop it. But if he’s on board…
“Sounds fun,” he finally says.
Perfect. I’ll make some phone calls tonight. Hopefully, we’ll introduce Ian to a few more people around town. Maybe rebuild his community a little. Remind him he’s worth being celebrated.
And if I’m really lucky, I’ll get to see this pirate in a party hat.
TWENTY-NINE
IAN
My spidey senses are tingling.
I showed up at Tess’s apartment at five-thirty this morning for the third day in a row. She was somewhat frazzled to get out the door on time, August was eager to see me and start building Legos, and I saw Tess off to work with a ball of longing lodged in my chest.
All normal so far.
But as the morning drifts into lunchtime, August’s energy is sinking. He barely tried to run in the yard with Dutch, and the solitary tennis ball he threw for him didn’t make it ten feet into the grass. He’s been content to read books inside, and although we’ve done that some each day, it’s never been this much.
No knock against bookish kids, but this isn’t normal for him.
For the twentieth time, I pick up his phone app with the glucose monitor reading on it and the device that syncs to his insulin pump. The one shows his numbers are in healthy range, the other doesn’t reflect any issues with his insulin delivery. It’s unlikely both could go haywire at the same time and reflect normal readings when he has a serious issue.
Unlikely…but those spidey senses keep ringing in my head.
Ten minutes. If he doesn’t perk up, or his monitors don’t show some kind of change, I’m going to do a finger prick and verify his numbers myself.
I lean against the doorframe to his room. He’s sitting on a little cushion on the floor, books spread out around him, his Lego creations abandoned a few feet away. Normally, he’d be reading out loud to himself, at least, but today he’s just looking at the pages.
My heart does this funny thing as if it’s spreading out like our failed batch of cookies last night. That fits. My heart’s probably overly salty, too. I’ve honestly never paid much attention to kids. Haven’t had a reason. But this one…I know him. Something’s wrong, and I need to find out what.
“How are you feeling, August?”
