Lisa Jackson - Born To Die

“Hey, bud,” Trace said, entering Eli’s room. “We gotta get over to the Zukovs for Turkey Day. Gobble, gobble. Let’s get a move on.” Eli’s room was one of two that faced the front of the house, and as Trace moved into the room, he saw that his son was seated on the floor, some of his Lego blocks scattered around him, cradling his blue cast. “Are you in pain?”

“Do we have to go?” Eli asked, looking up. Trace saw the shimmer of tears in his son’s eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” As Trace crouched to comfort him, Eli shook his head. His little chin trembled, and he swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his good arm. “Is this about your teacher? Miss Wallis is in good hands, son.”

Swallowing hard, Eli stared at Trace with serious, worried eyes. “Where’s Mommy?”

Trace tried hard not to react. It felt as if his heart were being ripped from his chest. What a fool he’d been to think that Leanna’s leaving had been forgotten. He totally got it that Eli losing his teacher had brought these feelings to the surface, but it still threw him for a loop. “I, uh, I don’t really know where she is right now,” Trace admitted.

“She should be here. I want to talk to her.”

Of course he did. “I don’t know how we can do that.” Reaching for the down jacket tossed on the foot of the unmade bed, Trace tried to reassure his boy. “At least not today. But I can try to find her if you want.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“Not at this exact moment.” His guts twisted. Truth be known, he hoped Leanna never showed her face around here again. He prayed she’d leave her son to grow up without her intervention, because she was certain to screw the boy up.

Or was that his own selfishness talking? Maybe the boy would be better off knowing his mother, despite the fact that she was a liar and had left him without a word.

“Sometimes, I’d like to talk to her, too,” Trace said to Eli, still crouching, though it was a bald-faced lie.

“I want to talk to her now.”

“I’ll try to find her. That’s the best I can do. C’mon, now. Tilly and Ed are waiting for us.”

“Promise?” Eli demanded. He wasn’t going to let Trace off the hook.

“Promise.” Knowing this would lead to no good, he agreed nonetheless and tried to help the boy struggle into his damned jacket. The bulky sleeve fit over his good arm; the other side had to flop over his cast. Since Eli was already wearing a thermal undershirt, a long-sleeved sweatshirt, and a down vest, he’d be warm enough for the short span of time he was outside. Trace tried to force the zipper of the jacket, then gave up fighting with the stubborn tab. The Zukovs were right next door. Usually, on Thanksgiving, Trace spent the day alone with Eli. They played games, watched sports or cartoons, and ate a turkey dinner he bought as takeout from Wild Will’s, his favorite restaurant, but this year he’d decided to take the Zukovs up on their invitation. He’d figured Eli was probably tired of being cooped up and needed a change of scenery, and there was also the sadness and shock over losing Miss Wallis.

Now, as he and Eli clambered down the stairs, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. He shook his head. Today wasn’t the first time his son had asked about his mother, nor would it be the last, but every time the subject of Leanna came up, the questions were always unexpected and difficult to answer truthfully.

Get used to it. They’re not going to get any easier as time goes on.

They walked through the kitchen, where Sarge had taken up his favorite spot under the kitchen table. He thumped his tail as they grabbed gloves and hats from the hooks near the back door.

“She should call.” Eli’s little face was drawn into a frown of concentration. “She should call me.”

“Yeah, that she should.” Trace had tried to be honest with his boy from the get-go, but it hadn’t always been easy, especially with the trickier queries.

“Can you call her? Right now?”

That one stopped him cold. He snagged his jacket from a hook and shoved his arms down its sleeves. “I don’t know,” he said, holding his son’s gaze. “I think it would be best if she found us. She knows where we are.”

“You need to call her. Maybe she’s hurt! Maybe she’s dead like Miss Wallis!”

“She’s not dead,” Trace assured him.

“How do you know!”

“If anything happened to your mom, someone would phone us.” He jammed his Stetson onto his head.

“Not if they don’t know our number!”

Trace placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. Even with the padding of his quilted vest and down jacket, Eli’s body felt thin and small. “After Thanksgiving, I’ll call her.”

“Tell her to come back.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Tell her to come back!”

“Eli, it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Trace sighed. “Because. . grown-ups always make things complicated.”

Eli’s jaw jutted out. “Then they should stop.”

“Probably.” He opened the door to the porch and felt the chill of winter seep into the house.

“She should be here.”

“She should be here, but she’s not.” He managed a thin smile. “But you and I, we’re solid.” With a gloved finger, he forced Eli to look into his eyes. “Right?”

“Yeah,” his son said without a lot of conviction, and one more time Trace found himself mentally berating his ex-wife for how callously she’d left her son.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, knowing damned well the boy wasn’t.

Eli lifted one shoulder.

Trace took his kid’s hand and helped Eli down the back steps. “Okay, let’s go see Tilly and Ed.” They trudged through the broken path of snow to the truck. “I think Tilly mentioned something about taking you on at checkers again.”

“She’ll lose,” Eli predicted.

“Big talk.”

“I’ll show you.” For the first time that day, Eli almost flashed his smile.

“Don’t show me. Show her.” Feeling that this latest emotional storm had been weathered, Trace bustled his kid into the truck. The boy really did need a mother, but he’d be damned if he’d go out looking for some woman for the sole purpose of helping him raise his son.

No reason for that.

For a second he thought of Eli’s doctor, Acacia Lambert. She, like Leanna, had auburn hair and a wide mouth, but that was where the resemblance faded. Where Leanna had blue eyes, the doc’s were closer to green and sparked with intelligence.

He wondered about her, what she was doing on Thanksgiving and, as he drove the quarter mile to the Zukovs’ place, had the unlikely pang that he wanted to spend more time with her.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, turning off the plowed road and onto the rutted lane, where several cars had already parked around the Zukovs’ garage and pump house.

“What?” Eli asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking,” he covered up, nosing the truck into a space beneath a winter apple tree where clusters of red fruit were visible as they dangled on leafless, snow-covered branches.

“About what?”

“About what you’re gonna want for Christmas this year.”

“You said ‘Ridiculous,’ ” his son charged.

Trace cut the engine. “That I did, because I imagined you wanted a mountain bike.”

“Sweet!” Eli said, then paused and skewered his father with his concerned gaze. “Why would that be ridiculous?”

“Because you’re wearing a cast, kiddo!” He rumpled his son’s already unruly hair. “How dumb would that be to put you on a bike when you already have a broken arm?”

“I’ll be fixed by then!” Eli said, unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the handle of the door. He hopped down to the snowy ground and was racing to the front porch before Trace could climb out of the truck.