“You were probably tall for your age,” Una notes, her eyes dancing.
“Maybe eight then,” I say and we smile at each other as we wait for it.
“Eight!” Sierra’s eyes round. “I want to learn to drive a tractor, Mike.”
“We don’t have one anymore. We have bicycles. Dad has a golf cart for the greenhouses but good luck borrowing that.”
She almost pouts, but I’m not done.
I heft a cinder block out of the back of the truck and carry it to the trailer. Once it’s in place, I stand and brush off my hands. “Of course, you could always ask Rupert.”
“Would you teach me?”
“Rupert’s tractor, so Rupert’s call, but sure. If your mom agrees.”
Once again, she’s jubilant. This time I take a picture of herhappy dance. I look at it for a minute, then make it my lock screen image. By the time I’m done, she’s peering over my arm, as if supervising me.
“I know how to use my phone,” I tell her.
“Not all old people do.”
“I’m not senile yet.”
She grins. “Noweveryonewill know,” she says with satisfaction, as if putting her on my phone makes my paternity real.
“Now everyone will know,” I agree. I send the picture to Sylvia, even though she must have zillions of pictures of Sierra herself. Sierra is watching me. “Just so she knows you’re okay.”
“She knows. I’ve been texting her all day.”
Of course. “Well, here’s something you can fix. What’s going to make this trailer look like home to your mom?”
“Fairy lights,” Sierra says without hesitation. “We always have fairy lights. They’re the first thing we put up when we move in.”
“Fairy lights, it is,” I agree.
“But our old sets are in Una’s porch now. I kinda like them there.”
“We’ll just go to Havelock and find some more then. Let’s finish the set-up first in case there’s something else we need.” I set the second cinder block in place and check that the trailer is level. Once they’re all in place, it looks good and solid. I ask Una for a level and it’s perfect.
I start to crank out the awning, and Sierra comes running with an old lawn chair from Una’s place. Una sinks into it to supervise when I realize something. I turn to Sierra. “When’s your bus?”
“Tomorrow. We have a professional development day so I’m staying a day later.”
So, Sylvia will be losing her studio day tomorrow. I’m glad she took it today, and that I was able to help with that.
Sierra drops her voice. “Una starts her next cycle of chemo tomorrow, so Mom is taking both of us to Havelock.”
“I can hear you,” Una says tartly. “Chemo doesn’t make people deaf.”
“Why would you have a PD day so close to the end of the school year?” I ask, sounding a lot like my own folks back in the day.
Una laughs. “Some things never change.”
I guess they don’t.
25
SYLVIA
