by H. J. Bellus
“I’ve got her handled.”
“Walk me to the car. I’ll let Wynnie know what’s going on. You better cook enough for her, she’ll be thrilled.”
“Always the charmer, you are,” I tease.
We walk across the street and I see a lady on Wynnie’s porch throwing a massive fit.
“Oh, fuck.”
“What?”
“My cousin, Carly.”
We get to the porch and for the first time I see a person who has been truly affected by drugs. The person in front of me is an empty shell covered in sores and scabs. Her clothes are literally falling off of her and she’s very fidgety when we arrive on the porch.
My eyes notice a little dark haired boy holding her hand. He has piercing blue eyes and the sweetest little round face. He grips tighter onto the lady’s hand when we approach and immediately hides behind her tiny body. It’s very apparent that he doesn’t approve of our appearance.
“What’s going on?” Miles asks as he steps up on the porch.
“I need someone to watch Ridley, and Wynnie can’t.”
Miles notices the little boy hiding now.
“When did this happen?” he asks with anger filling his voice.
“C’mon, Ridley baby, let’s go get some cookies,” Wynnie suggests, leaving us three on the porch.
“What the fuck is going on, Carly?” Miles growls.
“I just got him back, Miles. I have a job interview and need someone to watch him.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Miles challenges her. “Really? Where? With who? You got an appointment to suck your drug dealer’s cock?”
“Fuck off, Miles. I’m clean.”
“Drop the bullshit. Give Ridley a chance. You know he’s better off without you.”
“The state gave him back. They think I’m a suitable parent.”
“Well, newsflash—you’re not,” he fires back.
“Stop,” I finally interrupt.
They both listen and turn to look at me.
“I’ll watch him today,” I suggest, fearing for the little boy’s safety.
“Deal,” Carly says, and takes off, exchanging no further information.
What the fuck just happened? This lady has no clue who I am or where I’m from or where I might take her son. Not one care or worry in the world about him. This poor kid has just been ditched by the person who’s supposed to love him and take care of him. Who knows what he’s seen in his short lifetime. My heart instantly melts at the thought.
“Fuck,” Miles roars as he punches the side of the trailer.
Wynnie races out to the front porch with a worried look on her face.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I volunteered to watch him,” I squeak.
“Oh, thank the lord. I couldn’t cancel my doctor’s appointment today, and I can’t stand having him in that home,” she whispers.
“When did this happen?” Miles demands.
“They dropped him off this morning. I knew that she was seeing him during supervised visits, but last I heard they had found a nice home for him,” Wynnie says.
Miles wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight and the worry that passes between the two of them is very reflective of Miles’ own childhood. I finally convince Miles to leave, and then shortly convince Wynnie that two of us will be okay.
I come to find out that Ridley just turned four this past September, does not talk much, and tends to have several accidents throughout the day. He wasn’t impressed when Wynnie left. Much like with Miles, Wynnie has constantly had her eye on Ridley, taking care of him every chance she gets.
She explained to me that it was the hardest decision to call the child protective services, but with her age and health, she was unable to raise any more kids. Wynnie showed me the little dresser in her spare room where she kept plenty of extra clothes. I’m not sure why she called it a spare room, it was obvious this was a little boy’s room. She made sure to point out all of his favorite toys and the ones she thought he would be in the mood to play with. She also was very clear about talking to Ridley as if he was a normally functioning four-year-old.
Ridley hasn’t moved from the couch since Wynnie left. I’m afraid to approach him because I don’t want to spook him or cause him to have an accident.
“Ridley, I need to go to the store to get groceries. Would you like to walk with me?”
Ridley shakes his head no with panic, so I take a few steps closer and kneel on his level.
“Are you sure? We can play a game as we walk there.”
He shakes his head again, refusing to make eye contact, so I inch closer to him. My phone goes off in the silent trailer, playing that obnoxious ass fox song. I quickly try to silence it, so it doesn’t spook him any further.
“Fox,” Ridley says.
“Yes, the fox song,” I say, as I hold my phone out to him.
He takes the phone from my hands and hugs it to his little chest.
“Fox,” he repeats.
“Want to hold my phone while we walk to down to the store?”
Ridley bobs his head up and down. He reaches up with one hand to grab mine and keeps the other tightly clutched to his little chest. I grab the bag that I packed with some extra clothes and snacks in it.
“Let’s go, Ridley,” I say.
“Go fox,” he repeats.
“Yep, with the fox,” I say, smiling down at him.
Looking down at Ridley clutching my phone to his chest, I instantly feel sick for the lost little soul. Such a sweet baby brought into a cruel world with no hope of ever knowing true happiness. He might have Wynnie to rescue him from certain situations, but he truly doesn’t have a safe haven, just like Miles never had.
Milly may be pissed at Miles for springing this secret on her, but at least she escaped this cruel world before her childhood was kidnapped permanently. She felt love, she had love, a safe home, and a caring poppy to raise her. These boys weren’t as lucky.
Without thinking, and swept up in the memory of a baby Miles being abused and abandoned, I scoop Ridley up in my arms. The shocked look on his face reminds me of his fragile state. I do what I would have done to Mac, Rose, or Annie—I kiss his cheek and then blow raspberries against it.
“I keep fox,” he says, with furrowed eyebrows of concern.
“You keep fox, silly boy.”
Ridley is quite the little trooper while shopping. He doesn’t speak another word, instead just clutches his fox to his chest. Every once in a while I reach down and hit play on the ringtone for him. It’s an instant smile from him.
On the way home, he decides to walk, which helps make carrying the couple bags I have much easier, but I notice he always has to have a hand on me or one of the bags.
“Ridley, do you want to go to the park?” I ask him.
I’m not sure the play structure we passed on the way here hardly qualifies as a park, but from my experience with Annie, my imagination can make do with anything.
“School,” he says.
“Oh, do you go to a school with toys?”
He shakes his head up and down.
“Let’s go play,” I say.
We spend nearly an hour at the park swinging and going down the slide. My phone keeps going off while we play, and I can tell Miles is trying to call. Finally, I’m able to accept the call and put it on speaker while Ridley holds it. I assure Miles that we’re doing just fine, and he lets me know that Lance’s dad needs some mechanical help and he’ll be home in a couple hours.
We make it back to Miles’ childhood home hungry and exhausted.
“Mies,” Ridley says as we make our way up the steps.
“Yes, this is Miles’ place. He’s not home, but let’s go make some lunch.”
After we enter the trailer, Ridley stays glued to my side. I manage to set the bags down on the counter in the kitchen. Thankfully, Sarah is still in her bedroom. Miles said she will probably stay in there the whole time to avoid us. I sit Ri
dley on the counter and talk to him while I take out the groceries, naming each item, and then prepare our lunches, slicing up some apples and making turkey sandwiches.
While Ridley eats and listens to music on my phone, I start a batch of cupcakes. Nothing fancy, just a simple chocolate batter with buttercream frosting. They are Miles’ favorite kind, and I also plan on making him lasagna for dinner, another favorite of his. Surprisingly enough, I find one actual cupcake pan hidden away in a drawer. I wash it off with hot water and dish soap, and when Ridley sees the pan, he goes wild.
“Cupcakes. School. Pretties.”
“Ridley,” I exclaim.
“Cupcakes,” he shouts again, and rubs his belly.
“Yes, cupcakes. Did you get cupcakes for your birthday at school?” I ask as I walk over to him.
“No. Lucy. Cupcake.”
“Lucy got cupcakes?” I ask.
“Yes, cupcakes,” he says again with his first genuine smile of the day.
“These are going to be Ridley’s cupcakes,” I cheer.
Ridley sets down my phone in the remnants of his turkey sandwich and starts clapping his hands together. I clap with him, and throw my arms out to him. Ridley jumps into my arms, wrapping his arms around my neck. I hold him on my hip as I fill the first cupcake tin. Then I hand him the spoon. Ridley shakes his head no at me.
“Trouble,” he says.
“You make,” I prompt him.
I take the spoon and dab some batter on his nose and then mine to lighten his fear of being in trouble.
“Take it, bud,” I try again.
Ridley holds out his shaky hand and grabs the spoon. I guide his little hand into the glass bowl, spooning out batter, and then guide it over to the tin and dump it with him. Ridley starts to squeal with delight.
“I see you two are having no trouble getting along,” comes a familiar voice from behind me.
I spin around to see a greasy Miles standing behind me.
“Dear lord, you scared me, babe.”
He leans down and kisses me and then kisses Ridley’s forehead.
“She’s kinda loveable, isn’t she, little guy?” he says to Ridley as he ruffles his hair.
“Cupcakes,” Ridley replies.
“Oh, I love her cupcakes, too.” Miles winks.
“You stink. Go take a shower,” I say as I slap his chest.
Ridley and I finish making our cupcakes. The three of us settle in a recliner and watch a couple episodes of cartoons while the cupcakes bake and cool. Ridley falls asleep quickly, but we don’t move in fear of waking him. I can’t wait to see his face light up when we actually make the frosting.
“I love him. It’s not fair, Miles,” I whisper as tears slide down my cheek.
I place my hand on the side of Ridley’s face and stroke his little cheek.
“You know I dreamt of holding my baby, stroking his cheek, and watching him sleep. I would have given anything for those silent moments with him, but it never happened. And here lays a perfect child with a perfect cheek to be rubbed, loved, and kissed on and his mom doesn’t want him, Miles. It’s not fair,” I finish this time sobbing down into Ridley’s hair.
“I know, baby. I know,” Miles whispers with his own tears clouding his eyes.
***
Wynnie was surprised to find us all enjoying ourselves when she entered Miles’ trailer. By that point, we had all the cupcakes frosted and decorated. Ridley probably ate more frosting than anything else.
Miles and Ridley are now playing on the floor with a bunch of Miles’ old rusty cars while I finish up dinner. Wynnie has no idea what to do with herself. I told her to get out of the kitchen and enjoy the boys. I can tell this situation makes her very uncomfortable, and I’m not sure if it’s being in this house, me cooking, or the boys playing. My gut tells me it’s a combination of everything. The atmosphere in the trailer is light and playful, and I have a feeling that it never has been that way.
“What’s for dinner, sweetie?” Wynnie asks from the living room.
“Lasagna and all the fixings,” I reply.
“You do know my boy well. That’s his favorite.”
“Ridley, come here, pumpkin. Let’s wash up for dinner,” I call.
Miles helps Wynnie to the table while she swats at him the whole time. I wash up Ridley at the kitchen sink with my back facing Miles and Wynnie. I start to blow bubbles at Ridley while he soaps up. He squeals with joy, and I continue to blow dish soap bubbles his way while he swats at them. I can barely overhear the conversation taking place between our other two guests.
“You see that, Miles?” I hear Wynnie say.
“What?”
“Her heart has picked that boy,” she whispers.
We all settle down for dinner at the table, and I suggest that Miles go get his mother. The tension immediately fills the air
“Miles, I can handle her words. It’s your choice, babe.”
Wynnie nods him on in approval. Miles reluctantly gets up from his seat and pulls up an extra chair, then heads down the hallway to fetch Sarah.
“That’s my boy, Ridley. He loves his momma and will always choose to do the right thing. We can’t live life bitter because we were fed lemons our whole life. We must stand up for what’s right even when it’s the hardest thing to do. You hear me?”
Little Ridley nods his head up and down at Wynnie as if digesting each word. As painful as it is for Wynnie to instill a love in these boys for their mommas, she know it’s the right thing to do. Doing the right thing sometimes hurts more than swallowing glass.
A clatter from the hallway grabs all our attention, and a few moments later Miles appears, carrying his mom. He carefully sets her down in the chair next to him. Sarah is completely wasted. I’m not sure if she will even be able to keep her body upright during dinner. The one thing that can shorten her life is the only thing she can’t give up, alcohol.
“Sarah.” Wynnie nods.
Sarah smirks and refuses to recognize Wynnie in any way.
“Mom, Willow made dinner. You want anything to eat?” Miles asks.
“You got any cocktails around here,” she slurs.
Wynnie throws down her fork, grabs the nearest plate, and starts piling it with salad, lasagna and bread. She may be the oldest one at the table, but I sure in hell would never want to take her on in a battle. I could totally see her tying down Sarah and force feeding her just to prove a point.
Wynnie slams the plate down in front of Sarah. “Eat. Now. This is the closest this place has ever been to a home. Fancy it, for your son.”
Not another word is spoken as we finish our dinner in silence. I don’t let Sarah’s bitterness ruin the dinner, instead I decide to focus on Ridley, who is devouring his meal. On his fourth piece of bread, I watch him sneak pieces of it in his pocket. Just another tell-tale sign of his hidden scars.
“Time for dessert. Anyone want cupcakes?” I announce.
“Me!” Ridley squeals, which startles Wynnie a bit.
“What kind of cupcakes did you all make?” Wynnie asks.
“Chocolate,” I respond over my shoulder, while hoisting Ridley up on the counter.
“Jesus Christ, can I be done with this playing mom act?” Sarah snarls.
Miles finally loses it. He stands up and throws his plate of food at her.
“You want to be done?” he yells.
Sarah sits, shocked, in silence.
“Miles, don’t,” I warn.
“Well, you can be fucking done, because I sure in the hell am,” he yells in her face.
Wynnie rushes over to Ridley, and I go for Miles.
He grabs his mom by the arm, starts to yell more. “You done, uh? So, does that mean no more men trampling in here fucking ya and beating the shit out of me?”
“Enough,” I finally scream and grab Miles.
I pull him away into the living room and then manage to get him outside and down the stairs.
“Miles, pull it together. Ridley is in th
ere.”
He throws his hands up in the air and then rests them behind his head. “I am fucking done, Willow. I’m done. I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t look at that little boy’s face any longer. I can’t fucking be the man Wynnie wants me to be. I’m done.”
There are no words to comfort him this time. Nothing can heal or fix him with the poison of his mother still lingering. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his middle.
“I love you, Miles,” I whisper.
We stand there for minutes without moving or talking, and Miles doesn’t touch me. He just stands there.
“Have I lost you?” I ask, looking up at him.
Miles shakes his head no, and finally relaxes and wraps his arms around me. His phone begins to ring and I see Lance’s name flash across the screen.
“What?” he growls into the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in thirty.”
Miles hangs up the phone and then makes his way over to the bottom stair and collapses on it.
“I have a fight.”
“Okay,” I respond.
“I don’t want you there tonight,” he finally admits.
Standing in front of him, I silently nod my head. Miles grabs my hand and pulls me down onto his lap. He buries his head in my neck and takes a deep breath.
“Have you read the notebook?”
“No.”
“My mom’s third husband used to burn me. Those are the scars on my stomach. He would hold me down and put out his cigarettes on me whenever I would play too loud or irritate him. I lost it tonight when my mother asked if she was done. Having you here and seeing Ridley, it’s all too much for me.”
I wrap my arms tighter around Miles’ head and squeeze him tight. Nobody will ever hurt him again. Ever. I lay my head on top of his and kiss him lightly.
“Ridley has burns.” He sobs into my neck.
“No, no, no,” I scream, as I shake my head against his.
We sit there and cry together until his phone rings again. Luke’s name appears on the screen. I get up from his lap, and walk around him up the stairs.
Turning back, I say, “I love you, Miles.”
Wynnie and Ridley are still at the counter enjoying their cupcakes, and Sarah is still upright in her chair. Moments later, I hear his car roar out of the trailer park.
