Page 16 of Outlaws' Single Mom
A little shrug.
“Did you do something you're not supposed to? It's okay. Things have been a little weird the last few days. Sometimes we do weird things.”
I slide down to the floor and pat my thigh, giving him the option to come in for a hug. After a couple of moments of consideration, he climbs into my lap and lets me put my arms around him while he presses his face into my chest. I stroke my fingers through his curls, waiting for him to figure out how to start.
“When I was little my mommy used to tell me that the longer you keep problems inside, the bigger they grow, until it gets harder and harder to make them come out. But talking to other people means you share them, and they get smaller, like when we do chores together. It makes it easier.”
He curls up a little tighter in my arms. “Auntie Georgia…”
“Did something happen while you were with Auntie Georgia? Did she do something?” I kiss the top of his head, and rub his back while holding him close. “Did she tell you something?”
“I promised.”
“And it’s important to keep our promises, right?”
He nods. “She’s gonna be mad.”
“No, no she won’t, Lo.” My throat gets thick and painful. It’s hard to hold back the tears. “Auntie Georgia loves you and knows you’d never do anything bad on purpose.”
“It's okay?”
“Do you trust me?”
He nods.
“I’ll make it okay. No matter what.”
Logan pushes out of my lap and crawls under the bed again, coming back out with his treasure box. It’s an old metal briefcase I bought for him at a garage sale a couple summers ago. It’s where he puts all the little things he wants to save. Everything from cool rocks to photos and birthday cards.
“What’d’ya got there?”
“I broke it,” he whispers, holding the box out for me to take. “Didn’t mean to.”
“What did you break, honey?”
After a long pause, he finally answers. “Her phone. She said—shesaid to keep it safe.”
Slowly, carefully, I take the case and open it up. Georgia’s phone, the one with the hot pink cover, is nestled inside. The screen is cracked straight through the middle, splintering off in several directions.
He hangs his head. “I fell.”
“Oh baby, it was an accident. Everybody has accidents sometimes. Thank you for telling me.” I give him a hug, staying calm on the outside while I’m freaking out a little inside.
“Can we fix it?”
“I bet we can. Phone screens break all the time, and I think she’d be very, very proud of you for doing your best. Now let’s get you changed and your teeth brushed, okay?” I ruffle his wild mop of hair.
Logan falls asleep quickly, safe in his belief that I’ll make everything okay. We only make it a few pages in the latest Mr. Penguin Mystery when his arm goes limp in my lap and he starts snoring softly. It’s tempting to stay and watch him sleep, but I take his treasure box and tiptoe out of his room. Georgia’s phone might be my only chance to find out what she was up to before all this happened. If she was desperate enough to make Logan promise to keep itsafe, she must’ve been scared of something, and if she didn’t tell him to give it to me, then maybe she was planning on coming back?
I’ve tried asking Logan about what happened, but when I push, he shuts down, so I’ve been trying to give him chances to talk about it, and then letting him lead when he opens up. He knew leaving pre-school with Georgia was against our rules, so it took a while before he told me she said it was a surprise for me.
Which ended up being true, but not quite the way he thought.
The candles stay unlit, but I do curl up on the couch with Georgia’s phone and Logan’s treasures. Her phone turns on, but the screen is wrecked and it’s almost out of power. I can see there are missed calls in the notification bar, but even if I knew her unlock code, the display is a spider web of distorted colors and doesn’t react to my finger. I can charge the battery, but to find anything out, I’m going to need to take it to someone with more know-how.
I put it down on the table and keep going through all the odds and ends my baby thinks are important. There’s a scratch off lottery card from Easter thatalmostwon a hundred dollars. Lots of colorful junk we pick up on our walks. Arcade tokens from the mini-golf place we go to during the summer. And his photo album. One of those cheap ones from the dollar store with single pockets you can flip through.
Most are things I’ve let him use my phone to take pictures of. The two of us, the reading tree at the library, and a bunch of wallet sized photos from his pre-school friends that they traded after picture day. My finger traces gently over a grainy printout of him with Georgia at the beach. A row of motorcycles we saw one weekend.
