Page 105 of Bountiful
As we walked, he told me a funny story about the time his sister was on the freeway when her little boy started to throw up in his car seat, and she couldn’t pull over to help him. “They had to get that car detailed the verynextday.”
Nicole’s cries had quickly begun to sound less insistent, and then they stopped entirely. She leaned to the left, toward the river, maybe watching something in thewater.
“What’s she doing back there?” Iasked.
Castro looked and then laughed. “She’s passed out cold. Looks like you on the team jet after a four-gameroadtrip.”
“Veryfunny.”
“Funny ’cause it’s true!” We walked in silence for another minute. “You still afraid ofthebaby?”
“No. She’s not veryfierce.”
“Wait’ll she’s sixteen and telling you her current curfew is too early, and that she needsyourcar.”
There was nothing about that scenario that I could picture. Fifteen years from now sounded like another epochintime.
Thinking back, I tried to picture Bess at sixteen. She’d never given anybody sass. Neither of us had. We lived our teen years on tenterhooks, hoping that the scowling grandfather who’d taken us in wouldn’t find us to be too much trouble. “Hey,Castro?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever thought you were on top of your shit? And then you realize you really haven’t dealt with your shitatall?”
“Wait—what kind of shit are we talkingabouthere?”
“Baggage.History.”
“Maybe? I used to lose it whenever someone in the minors would use a slur against me. But mostly I’m over it now. I’m like—take that, fuckers. I made the big league and you didn’t. But once in a while a fan will say something stupid, and I realize I’mnotreally over being the only brown guy on the ice. Is that the kind of shityoumean?”
“Pretty much. I thought I was really over mine. But every night lately I’m dreaming about my dead mother or my asshole father.” Last night I’d been standing in our old house while my father swung his fists at me. And while Nicole cried from another room. Not Bess,Nicole. All my baggage was swirling around in my mind, intechnicolor.
The only night I hadn’t had at least one weird dream was the one I’d spent in Zara’s bed. Gofigure.
“That’s just your brain trying to scare you into doing better,” Castro said. “Like when I have that recurring dream about showing up to practice without mypantson.”
I laughed and tipped my head back to feel the sunshine on my face. Nothing about this summer was happening like I planned. But maybe it wasn’t a badthing.
We walkedfor a good ninety minutes. The baby slept for only a little while, but she woke up in a better mood. I felt small hands playing in my hair as we moved through the forested path at theriver’sedge.
It was after five o’clock when we headed back toward the coffee shop, and my phone pinged with a text from Zara.I’m all done here. Heading up the hill to find a burger for dinner.Wantone?
Yes, I replied quickly.Can we eat them in the Tudor? I want to give you a set of keys. The realtor left them in the mailbox afterclosing.
You bought the place already?Shefiredback.
Sure did.Meet methere?
Twenty minutes later I arrived at the house. It was just me and Nicole. I’d sent Castro home. I found Zara inside, walking around the empty rooms, lookingthoughtful.
Nicole squealed with delight at the sight of her mother. And I didn’t blame her at all. I felt like making happy noises every time I set eyes on the woman, too. Not waiting for an invitation, I walked right up to Zara and kissed her on the neck. “Did your electricianshowup?”
“He did,” she said into my ear. “He replaced something that I’ve already forgotten the name for, but swears it will do the trick.” Her hands caught my stubbled face before I could kiss her more thoroughly. “Let’s eat, okay? I’mdying.”
I followed her into the kitchen, still wearing the baby. When I removed the shoulder straps, Zara eased the pack off my shoulders and unclipped her babbling little girl. “Did you have a good walk? I have some foodforyou!”
Nicole ran away. We could hear her toddling around the empty living room, her squeals echoing off thewalls.
“Come here, baby girl,” Zara said, calling her back to the kitchen. “I brought your clip-onchair.”
