Lynnette Kent - Single with Kids

“Ginny doing well?”

“Sure. We enrolled in the Girls Outdoors! troop at school this afternoon. I’m gonna be assistant leader.”

“Girls Outdoors?”

“Like the Scouts. Camping, hiking, all that jazz.”

“With a bunch of little girls?” Pete shook his head. “Man, that’s gotta be crazy.”

They sat for a long time, talking a little now and then as the August twilight deepened and the air cooled. Just before dark, the door behind them opened and Ginny came out slowly, using her crutches without leg braces.

“Hi, Uncle Pete.”

She couldn’t sit easily beside him, so he gently hugged her around the hips. “Don’t you smell good? Like bubblegum. Be careful—somebody’s gonna chew you up.”

Ginny giggled. “You’re silly. Where’s Joey?”

“His mom has him at a party, and I imagine he’s being spoiled rotten as we speak.” Pete got to his feet as Jen came outside. “So how’s your first month on the EMT service going?”

She smiled, the mask firmly back in place. “Excellent, thanks. I’m sure it’s the right thing for me to do.”

“That’s all well and good, but we sure do miss you in the shop,” Rob said. “You don’t even want to know what your files look like at this point.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “I can imagine. Dad takes ’em out of the drawer and just piles them on the desk when he’s done. I guess he expects the file fairy to come in overnight and put everything back. I’m off this weekend—I’ll take a few hours and straighten up the mess.”

Rob nodded. “That would be a godsend. I’m getting so many calls these days I don’t have time for paperwork except at night. I hate having those files piled high and getting mixed up or, worse, lost.”

Jenny put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, bro. You don’t have to do everything.”

“Amazing how many people get locked out of their houses or cars, isn’t it?” Pete shook his head. “I did it myself just after Joey was born. Walked out the door to visit the hospital and left the house keys inside.”

Rob thought back seven months or so. “I don’t remember getting a call from you.”

“I climbed in through a window.” The state trooper winked at Rob. “And you don’t need to tell me about home security, or being sure your windows are shut and locked. That’s my line. I am thinking about an alarm system, though. That way, I’ll feel better about Mary Rose and Joey at home without me. Can you give me a good deal?”

“Don’t I wish. I keep nudging Dad toward the security business—electronic locks and alarm systems. But he digs in his heels every time. ‘Three generations of Warrens have made locksmith work their life.’” Rob imitated his dad’s gruff tone. “‘It was good enough for my daddy, it’s good enough for me. Why the—’” He glanced at Ginny and changed his words. “‘Why in the world ain’t it good enough for you?’”

“Too bad.” Pete stirred, stood up and stepped off the porch. “I guess I’ll get myself home again. I’m a grown man—I ought to be able to survive an hour or two on my own.” But still he hesitated, a lost look on his face. “How long can a wedding shower last, anyway?”

When Pete had gone, Rob turned to Ginny. “You ready for bed, sweetheart? If you want to go on inside, I’ll say good-night to Aunt Jen and be there to tuck you in shortly.”

Ginny frowned. “Do I have to go to bed? It’s Friday night, and there’s no school tomorrow. We could watch a movie, right?”

The tired ache in his shoulders felt like a boulder sitting on his neck. “I’m pretty much worn out, Gin— I don’t think I’ll make it through a movie, starting this late. How about we plan to watch a movie tomorrow night?”

“I’m not tired.” The crossness in her voice belied her words. “I want a movie tonight.”

Jen stepped up and put an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “Come on, Gin-Gin, I’ll tuck you in. We can read abou—”

“No.” Ginny couldn’t stomp her foot, so she banged her crutch on the porch floor, scaring Mat the Cat back into the grass. “Other kids get to stay up late on Fridays and watch movies and eat pizza and candy. I never get to do fun stuff like that.”

Rob put up a hand. “Ginny, that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. I get boring dinners and a bedtime like I was a baby. Joey’s not in bed yet and he’s only seven months old. He’s at a party!” She maneuvered around to face the door and fumbled with the door handle. When Jen reached out to help, Ginny slapped her aunt’s arm away. “I can get it myself. I’m not a total freak. I can open a door.”

Jen stepped back. “I was just trying to help.”

Ginny was past noticing anybody else’s feelings. “I don’t need help. I need a real life.” She got the door open, propelled herself into the kitchen and then managed to slam the panel behind her. Rob chuckled as he heard the lock click.

Jen looked at him, her eyes round. “She locked you out?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “She does, every once in a while.”

“But—”

“It’s okay. After the first time, I made sure never to leave the house without my keys, even to take out the garbage.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he gave her a hug. “Thanks for helping out tonight. Sorry you got such lousy feedback.”

She shook her head and started down the steps. “You know I love being with Ginny—even when she’s throwing a tantrum. Mom said to tell you she’d be over tomorrow night as usual.”

“I might call and ask if she can make it earlier, so we can have this movie night Ginny wants.”

“I’m sure that’ll work. ’Night, Rob.” She crossed the backyard to the stand of yellow oak trees they’d planted between his house and hers. “Get some sleep yourself.”

“I will.” He raised his hand in return to Jen’s wave, until she disappeared into the shadows under the leaves.

After another minute of peace and quiet, Rob dug his keys out and unlocked the kitchen door. Inside the house, the television was defiantly loud. A ghostly flicker filled the living room. Ginny had put on her movie.

His little girl lay in front of the TV on top of her big soft floor pillows, with her crutches discarded nearby. Her eyes were open, but she pretended to ignore his presence, punishing him for the treachery of exhaustion.

With a sigh, Rob sat in the recliner in the corner. The cool leather embraced him, molded to his body by years of use. He’d slept in this chair many an hour, holding his daughter through a long, disturbed night. He could do it again. Even with loud cartoon voices and sound effects in his ears.

Along about midnight, though, when the movie had ended and the videotape had rewound, and when Ginny had fallen fast asleep, he got up and knelt to lift her from the floor. She hardly weighed a hundred pounds, no burden at all for him to carry. He set her gently down on the bed in her room and pulled the covers close—she would be chilled if she didn’t use the blankets. After a return trip to the living room for the crutches, he stood for a little bit watching her sleep.

The daytime lines of effort and disappointment vanished from Ginny’s face when she slept, so she appeared carefree in a way she never did when awake. He could see her mother in her thick reddish hair, the soft rose tint of her cheeks. Leah had been beautiful, enthusiastic, vibrant with life. If she had lived, she might have helped them discover the joy amidst all the compromises, limitations and accommodations. Rob knew they were lucky—Ginny’s disabilities could have been much worse.

As things stood, though, Ginny and he had struggled from the very first time he’d heard the words “cerebral palsy” applied to his child. Rob had long since given up believing that one day the struggle would end.