THORNE
By midday, the August air was unforgiving. Even on the short walk between the hospital exit and my car, I could feel my shirt start to dampen with the humid heat — and it didn’t help to have a little
furnace of a kid over my shoulder. If it was uncomfortable to me to be beneath the overbearing sun, I could only imagine how it felt to my poor, feverish son.
“Is hot,” Mason said, cuddling tighter into my shoulder until his words were muffled by the fabric. “Not like it.” He was young enough that being closer to Dad was the solution to every problem, even if my body heat actually made it worse.
He probably had the right idea. Being around him always made me feel better, too.
“I know, buddy. Hang in there. We’ll be in the nice cool car soon.”
It made sense that he’d be uncomfortable. Daycare would never normally allow him to be out under direct sunlight during the hottest part of the day — never mind how having a fever and a stuffy nose made it worse. Even I would likely be heading for a break from the construction site around now, relieved to be indoors and out from underneath the stifling heat of my safety helmet.
I certainly wasn’t feeling the loss of the hard labor today, but I couldn’t miss any more work. It was one thing to beg for a last-minute personal day so I could take my son for a hospital checkup, and something else to take a couple of days to help him get better. Kind of a tough situation, really, as he couldn’t go back to daycare while he was sick.
Recently I’d been thinking about finding a nanny for him — or, to be more specific, a manny. I’d been needing a little help with childcare for a long time. With this sickness posing a problem I couldn’t deal with alone, I guessed I’d finally have to start looking into potential candidates.
Back when I first saw the shape of him in Molly’s stomach, black and white and blurry on the readout, I never could have imagined the constant worrying that came with being a dad, or the practical day-to-day problems it created.
Then again, I could never have imagined doing it without Molly, either.
This was why it had to be a male nanny in particular. Maybe it was stupid, but I’d long worried that Mason was too young to distinguish between new women in his life and his mommy. Sadly, he would never have any memories of her, so it felt even more vital for me to hold that place for her in his life until he was old enough to know the difference.
Maybe it was selfish of me. I knew it would hurt more than words could express if I ever heard him call another woman Mom.
With Mason’s second birthday not long past, I had been spending a lot of time reflecting on our loss. Losing her during childbirth had been a unique and bitter pain; it kind of spoiled the happiness of celebrating Mason’s birthday, and I guessed it always would. Two years in, the grief still seemed as deep and as fresh as it had on that very first day when I held Mason in my arms for the first time, and Molly for the last.
Every time I thought of her, it was like shaking up a snow globe. Even when it all seemed settled, it didn’t take much to stir it up into a flurry all over again.
“Lovie tired,” Mason announced at my shoulder. “Uh-huh? She is? And how about Mason?”
Judging by the way he yawned against my shirt, my translation was correct. Any time that little elephant felt something, it was — by some strange coincidence — remarkably similar to what Mason felt. This could be mighty convenient.
Lovie, for example, was very fond of McDonalds, and you could be sure he’d say so whenever vegetables were on the horizon. Fun aside, it could also be really helpful for Mason to let me know when “Lovie” was afraid or sad. When he was a little older, I hoped that we could be more direct and open with each other about our feelings, but for now, she was a tool I was willing to work with.
Besides, it was a bit of fun and imagination. It warmed my heart to see that stuffed elephant carried around with such affection and held in such high regard. When she was squeezed tightly enough, after all, the voice that Lovie spoke with was Molly’s. She had picked out the toy for him and recorded her voice to sit inside while we were still preparing for his arrival, unaware of what faced us. He was too young to understand it yet, but a small, sealed vial of her ashes was now sewn safely in there, too. For me, it felt like the closest possible thing to having his mom with him.
I cradled the back of his head, awkwardly supporting him with my hip and opening the door with my free hand. This was another aspect of parenting logistics I hadn’t really banked on — the constant juggling act. Especially with Mason already flat-out asleep, it wasn’t easy to maneuver him into the car seat.
By the time I had him strapped in, I was more than ready to get into the cool car myself, pull out of the parking lot, and get on our way home. At least Howling General Hospital wasn’t such a long drive away from home. It was especially hard remembering the day I’d brought Mason home without Molly.
I shivered in my seat and adjusted the thermostat. Maybe it was too cold in this car after all.
We pulled up to the driveway of our log cabin house. Memories of Molly were everywhere here, too. As I shut off the engine, hands still tightly gripping the steering wheel, I could almost see my own ghost building the place, sweating in the California heat. When Molly got done with her job at a preschool, she’d put on a pair of overalls and help out as much as she could.
Back then, how could I have known that we only had a few more years together?
I heard Mason stirring in the back of the car, and took it as my cue to stop thinking and get moving. One day, once she stopped being Mommy and started being Mom, he’d be old enough that we could talk about her together, and maybe we’d get over the loss together too. Right now, he just served as a very lovable distraction — and one I was very grateful for.
“All right, kiddo,” I said, opening his car door and unstrapping him. “Was that a great nap, all the way back from the hospital?”
“Yeah.” He held his arms out for me, reaching even before I had fully unbuckled him.
I leaned forward to pick him up, cradling him to my chest like the priceless treasure he was. “That’s good, buddy. How does your poor nose feel?”
He didn’t answer. At first, I guessed he might still be half asleep. Then, I felt him leaning forward, struggling to get out of my grip with hands outstretched.
“Careful, Mason.” “Want Lovie.”
“Oh — sure.” How could I forget? “Here we go. Where’s Lovie?” I shifted Mason’s weight to one side and crouched down to look into the car. Since I couldn’t see her, I frowned and craned my neck. Had she fallen on the floor?
“Lovie!”
“I know, buddy,” I said, struggling to look and keep him still at the same time. Still, I was beginning to feel a little panicked too.
Already overtired from being sick, Mason gave up the fight and began to cry. I cradled him close to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, it’s okay, baby. I’m sure she’s just helping Harvey in the hospital. That’s a kind thing to do, huh?”
As he kept crying, I carried him towards the house — car door still wide open — and started pulling my phone out of my pocket. I hit the speed dial for Harvey Kilbourne, pinning the phone between my shoulder and my ear to unlock the front door.
“Hey, Harvey,” I said, trying not to sound too worried, even if every part of me was mostly thinking shit, shit, shit, and fully aware that he could definitely hear Mason crying over the phone. “Lovie’s hanging out with you in the ER … right?”
