“That day I brought your cabinets… the way I left. I owe you an explanation, along with the apology.”
I didn’t want him to think that he had any power over me, like I hadn’t spent the last month wavering between hurt and confused to angry and indignant, so I shrugged like I didn’t care.
“You don’t owe me anything. We agreed our time together was only for the weekend, and the weekend was over.”
“I still shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry.”
I wanted to tell him to suck it, but I realized that would be like admitting I’d been affected and holding a grudge.
“Apology accepted.”
“I also wanted to talk about a proposition I have for you, regarding your cabinets.”
My heartrate sped up as thoughts of the dirty fantasy I’d had about him wanting sex as payment raced through my mind.
I swallowed hard before squeaking out, “What kind of proposition?”
Gabe gestured behind me.
“Can I come in?”
****
Gabe
Gretchen let me in her front door. That was a start.
I smiled at the small towheaded boy staring at me with big blue eyes while his mom held him, then I glanced cautiously at her.
“Is it okay if I give this to him?”
She nodded once, then set him on his feet, and I immediately knelt to offer him the toolbox.
“Here, buddy. This is for you.”
He clung to Gretchen’s leg with one hand while staring at the carpenter set full of oversized, colorful plastic tools.
I set the bag with the cheesecake on the ground so I could take the toy hammer out and demonstrate how it worked on a make-believe nail on the floor.
He let go of his mom’s leg to take it when I extended it to him. I then pulled out two more tools from the set to show him.
The little man had obviously been around someone who used tools, because he immediately knew what the screwdriver was for and practiced on the closest piece of furniture—exactly how Bodhi used to.
My heart felt like it had a stranglehold on it, but I took a deep breath and remembered what Dr. Frank had recommended: focus on the child in front of me.
Gretchen beamed down at her son. “Just likedaideó’s,huh, baby? We’ll have to take those over next time we visit him andmamóso you can help him.”
Wearing a big grin, the little boy replied, “Help DoDo!” and continued his attempt to unscrew the nailhead trim on her brown faux-leather couch, chewing his tongue as he concentrated on the task.
“What do you say to Mr. Mitchell?”
“Tank you,” and then I think he attempted to say, “Mr. Mitchell,” but it came out sounding like mashed up consonants that started with an M and ended with an L.
“You’re welcome, buddy.”
A beeping sound came from the kitchen that I recognized as the oven timer, and I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the last time I was here when it went off, along with the smoke detector.
Jake’s mouth formed an “O” when he looked at her with wide eyes. She played along and made a dramatic gasp when she exclaimed, “Dinner’s ready!”
