Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
And I believe him about Errol.
When we’re finished at the park, Bennett surprises us with a trip to a local ice cream parlor in his neighborhood. On the way home, he holds my hand as Honor skips ahead, her dark pigtails bouncing as she sings a song from school.
For the first time in years, I’m enveloped in head-to-toe warmth and there’s a fullness in my soul.
It’s a feeling I’ve felt only twice before—once with Linda and again with Trevor.
And that feeling … is home.
With them, I am home.
44
Bennett
“Anything else I can do before I take off, Mr. Schoenbach?” Eulalia asks Monday night as Honor and I take our places at the dinner table. Astaire had to work late tonight, some mandatory teacher’s workshop, so it’s just the two of us.
“No. Thank you, Eulalia. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I place my napkin in my lap, feeling the watchful little gaze at the other end of the table.
Honor does the same. She’s good at that—noticing something and copying it. She’s a tiny human sponge. A mimic.
I reach for my bourbon.
She reaches for her water.
We sip.
We exchange smiles.
“You look so small all the way at the end of the table. Why don’t you take the seat next to mine?” I offer.
She climbs down from her chair and carefully slides her placemat and bowl of macaroni and cheese to the chair on my right.
“How was school today?” I think back to our initial family dinners with Larissa. My mother would never ask about her day and my father could never be bothered to ask about anyone’s day. We were supposed to sit still, eat our dinners, and look adorable doing so.
“Good.” She chews. “Ms. Carraro let us have an extra recess today. She said we were super good and we deserved it.”
I glance at the chair to my left, where she’d be sitting if she were here, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re missing a vital piece in this little operation.
“What’d you do today?” Honor asks.
It’s a question I’m not used to having to answer, so I take a moment and try to recall the past several hours.
“Let’s see.” I slice into my filet mignon. “I read a book. Took a walk outside …”
“You didn’t go to work?”
“I’m off of work for a few weeks.”
Honor scans me, nose wrinkled. “Why? Are you sick or somethin’?”
“Just taking it easy for a while.”
“What’s that mean?” she asks.
“Taking it easy? It means slowing down, doing less, enjoying the little things.”
“Oh. Okay.” She chews her pasta, staring at the unlit candle centerpiece on the table. “Is Ms. Carraro coming over tonight?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately not.”
She pouts. But only for a moment.
She’s a happy child. Thank God. I’ve yet to experience tears or tantrums, though I know they’re par for the course and it’s only a matter of time. But so far, so good.
“You’ll see her tomorrow morning,” I add. “And she’ll be bringing you home after school.”
“Yay!” Honor bounces in her seat before stabbing another forkful of mac and cheese. There’s simplicity and wholesomeness in being around her, and I get the impression those are exactly the kinds of things I’d been missing all my life. “I lovvvve Ms. Carraro so much!”
I sniff a laugh before sipping my bourbon. “Me too, kid. Me too.”
45
Astaire
“Ms. Carraro, guess what?” Honor says from the back of my car Tuesday afternoon. It seemed redundant to send Eulalia to take her home today since I was planning to come over anyway. “Guess what, guess what?”
“What, what, what?” I match her excitement with my own, grinning back at her in the rearview mirror.
“Uncle Bennett loves you!”
I come to a hard stop at the red light ahead. I’ve worked with kids long enough to know that you never know what’s going to come out of their mouths.
But I’ve also worked with them long enough to know that most of the time, they’re parroting something they’ve heard someone say.
“Did you hear what I said, Ms. Carraro? Uncle Bennett loves you,” she says.
“Yes, sweetheart. I heard you.” I grip the wheel at ten and two, heart racing. “Wh … when did he say that?”
Everything’s happening so fast.
“Last night. At dinner.” The zip of her backpack follows, then the rustle of paper as she keeps herself busy.
“What did he say? Exactly?” I pull into the parking garage of his building.
“I don’t know … I said I love Ms. Carraro and he said me too.” She states it as fact. “Do you love him?”
The only other man I’ve ever loved was Trevor, and it took each of us a year to muster up the courage to say that word.
Love isn’t a word I toss around lightly.
It isn’t something I tend to try to rush either.
“Do you love him, Ms. Carraro?” she asks again.
They say the truest definition of love is wanting the happiness for others more than you want it for yourself.