by Nan Rossiter
31
SUE HANDED A CLOTH GOWN TO MASON AND WAITED WHILE HE SLIPPED IT on. “Did you check in?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Disinfect?”
He nodded.
“No cold or sore throat?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
She laughed. “Okay, so normally, if I’m not here, you just log in,” she said, and then waited as he signed the logbook. “Disinfect your hands again because the immune systems of these little guys are not up to snuff yet, so there’s no such thing as too clean.” Mason nodded, and she led him into the NICU where there were six cribs. “Some babies are more fragile than others, and as you learned in orientation, the more fragile, the more precautions you have to take, but these little guys—and one little gal—are pretty sturdy.”
She walked to the first crib, gently picked up a tiny bundle, and eyed Mason. “Have you ever held a baby before?”
“No,” he said, grinning impishly.
“Okay. Well, why don’t you sit in the rocking chair?”
Mason did as he was told, and Sue brought the blanket-wrapped bundle over to him. “The most important thing to remember when you’re holding a newborn is to support its head.” As she said this, she showed him how to cradle the baby’s tiny head in his palm, and then she gingerly placed the baby in his arms. “This is Logan.”
“Hey, there, Logan,” Mason whispered, and then he looked up at Sue. “He hardly weighs anything.”
Sue nodded. “You were that tiny once.”
Mason shook his head in disbelief and then pulled the blanket back to see Logan’s fingers. Immediately, the baby boy reached up and wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Mason’s. “Wow, Logan,” he whispered softly, “you have a strong grip for a little guy.”
Sue smiled, and then took out her phone, and Mason looked up as she tapped the screen. “You’ve come full circle, Mase,” she said, showing him the picture.
“Can you send it to me?’
“Absolutely.” She tapped her phone, sending the picture to him, and then slipped it back in her pocket. “You okay for a few minutes?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Okay, just hit this button if you need help. I’ll be right down the hall.”
“Okay,” he said, completely swept away by the amazing little person in his arms. As tiny as he was, he had all the working parts—miniature organs, ten fingers and toes, and a tiny beating heart. He was a miracle—it was almost too amazing to believe, and the idea that he had once been this small was even more unbelievable. He looked into the baby’s dark blue eyes. “You know any songs, little man?” he whispered, and then he started to softly sing the Gershwin song his mom had always sung to him when he was little. Mason smiled as he softy sang, and the baby’s eyes grew wide as he made a small “O” with his mouth and then smiled a little, crooked half smile that lit up his eyes. “Wow,” Mason whispered. “Singing really does make a difference.”
“It really does,” Sue said, and Mason looked up to see her leaning against the doorway. “I didn’t know you were such a good singer, Mason.”
He laughed at being caught. “Not really.”
“Your mom had a beautiful voice, too.”
He nodded and looked down at Logan. “I can’t believe how perfect he is—to think he has all these little parts, all working together just the way they’re supposed to. He’s so tiny, but he has emotions, sensations, thoughts, talents . . . and a whole big life ahead of him. I wonder what he’ll do with it.”
Sue smiled. “That’s why your mom and I loved working in maternity and in the NICU—it gives you pause, and makes you realize just how miraculous life is . . . not to mention how calming holding a baby can be . . . when he’s not fussing,” she added with a chuckle.
Mason nodded and then looked up. “Soo . . . I’ve made my decision.”
Sue eyed him questioningly. “Decision about what?”
“College.”
“And?”
“I’m gonna go this fall.”
“Oh, that’s awesome, Mason. I think it’s the right decision.”
He nodded. “I’m also going to try to find her soon.”
Sue’s face lit up with a smile. “Your mom would be so happy. I’m sure she’s looking down and beaming right now. She’s still watching over you, you know.”
“I know,” he said with a wistful smile. “So, do you have another little miracle for me to sing to?”
“You bet,” she said.
Mason got up and gently laid Logan back in his crib. “Don’t worry, little man,” he said softly. “We’ll do this again.”
Sue lifted out another baby and handed it to him. “You’re not gonna believe this, but this little guy is named Mason.”
Mason looked down at the baby. “Nice!” he said with a grin.
32
“GUESS WHO I MET THE OTHER DAY,” MAEVE SAID, EYEING HARPER AS she sat with her sister and niece in one of their favorite downtown restaurants, Goose Feathers Café, having breakfast.
“Who?” Harper said, taking a bite of her chocolate croissant.
Maeve casually dipped her spoon into the café’s signature dish, the Bird’s Nest, a yummy bowl of grits with homemade salsa, poached eggs, cilantro, and a ring of cheddar cheese, making it look very much like its name. “None other than Master Sam Finch.”
“No way!” Harper exclaimed. “Where?”
“Way,” she said nonchalantly. “At his house . . . and I can definitely see why you’re enamored of him.”
Harper’s cheeks flamed. “I’m not enamored of him.”
Maeve raised her eyebrows. “How can you not be? He’s very cute . . . and he definitely has eyes that ‘look like pieces of moorland sky,’” she teased in her best British accent. “Oh, and I also met the infamous Ty Coon.”
“What were you doing over at the Finches’?” Macey asked, sipping her coffee. “And how come you didn’t stop by?”
“I was making a delivery . . . and I didn’t stop by because I’d just seen you at church.”
Harper frowned. “What kind of delivery?”
“We had another incident with the chickens, and we ended up with an orphaned baby fox, so I brought it to Mrs. Finch.”
“Oh, no,” Macey said, eyeing her sister. “What happened?”
“Did Gage kill its mother?” Harper asked, looking horrified.
Maeve nodded. “He had to, Harp,” she explained. “She was attacking his chickens, and she was going to keep coming back.”
“That’s so sad,” Harper said, shaking her head.
“It is,” Maeve agreed, “and I wasn’t going to tell you, but I thought you might hear it from Sam, and then I’d be in trouble. Fortunately, Gage was able to catch her baby, and Mrs. Finch said she would release it when it gets a little older.” She blew on a spoonful of her grits, and commented, “She has quite a menagerie over there—two baby possums, a baby owl, a baby robin, and a whole host of other little critters.”
“Yeah, everyone says she has a very gentle way with them,” Macey said, sipping her coffee. “They say she’s an animal whisperer.”
“Sam’s an animal whisperer, too,” Harper said, and then looked at her mom. “Can we stop by and see the baby fox on the way home from Sea Camp today?”
“Maybe,” Macey said. “I’ll have to call her and ask. If she’s planning to release it back into the wild, she probably doesn’t want it to have too much interaction with humans.”
“I know,” Harper said hopefully. “I don’t want to hold it. I just want to see it.”
“I’ll ask her,” Macey assured her daughter, who she knew loved animals. She turned to Maeve. “So, are you guys going to Mom and Dad’s tomorrow?”
“We are,” Maeve said. “You?”
“Yep. Hopefully, we’ll both get out of work on time.”
“How are things at the germ center?” Maeve teased.
“Germy as ever . . . and busy! Lots of
back-to-school physicals and inoculations. I can’t believe school starts again in less than a month. Seems like they just got out.”
Maeve nodded. “Summer’s flying by, per usual.” She eyed Harper. “And how is Sea Camp?”
“It’s awesome! Monday, we studied sea turtles; Tuesday, we studied dolphins; Wednesday, we studied plankton . . . and today, we’re studying sharks!”
“Nice!” Maeve said. “And how are afternoons with Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Great!” she said. “I’ve beaten Grandpa at checkers every day this week.”
Macey laughed, remembering how merciless their father had been when they’d played board games. “Are you sure he’s not letting you win?”
Harper frowned. “No way. He said I’m the best checker player he’s ever played.”
Maeve laughed and eyed her sister. “Either that or he’s turned into an old softie.”
Macey nodded. “It’s possible, although Ben loses to Harper all the time.”
Maeve swallowed. “Is Mom letting you bring anything?”
Macey laughed. “She’s letting me bring an appetizer, so I think we’re gonna bring buffalo chicken dip.”
“Mmm,” Maeve said. “That sounds yummy.”
“It’s Ben’s favorite.”
“Mine, too,” Harper chimed in, grinning.
“How ’bout you?”
“She’s letting me bring dessert, so I’m thinking of making a chocolate chess pie.”
“Ooh, that sounds yummy, too.”
“I have a new recipe, so we’ll see,” she said, laughing. “No promises, but Gage was recently talking about a chocolate chess pie he had years ago, and how good it was, so I thought I’d give it a whirl.”
“How is that boy?” Macey teased. “How’s shacking up together going?”
“Good,” Maeve said. “I love living out there, and it’s nice having him around all the time and not having to schlep back and forth to my apartment.” She suddenly remembered the jewelry box and eyed her sister. “Remind me to tell you what I saw on his drawing table.”
Macey nodded, and Harper looked up. “Did he finish his drawing?”
“He did,” she confirmed.
“I can’t wait to see it,” Harper said, and then mused, “I always thought he only drew animals.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but I guess when you can draw, you can draw anything. Unlike me,” she added. “I can’t draw a stick figure.” She looked at her phone to see what time it was and then scraped the bottom of her bowl. “I hate to run, but I better get to work.”
Macey nodded, popping the last bite of her poached-egg breakfast sandwich in her mouth. “We have to go, too. I have to get this one to camp.”
“How was your sandwich?” Maeve asked, gathering her things. “I don’t know how many times I’ve almost ordered the Eggetarian.”
“It was really good, but you will never order it,” Macey teased. “You love your Bird’s Nest!”
“I do!”
“That’s cuz you’re such a bird, Aunt Maeve,” Harper teased, giggling.
Maeve tousled her niece’s hair and pulled her into a hug. “That’s enough outta you, missy,” she said. Then she hugged her sister. “See you guys tomorrow!”
33
MASON ROSE EARLY, SHOWERED, SHAVED, PULLED ON A CLEAN PAIR OF Levi’s and a light blue oxford, and wolfed down a bowl of cereal. He threw some extra clothes and his toothbrush and deodorant into a duffle bag, and then stood inside the door, trying to decide if he had everything. He tapped his left and right back pockets, respectively, for his phone and wallet, and then remembered the envelope on the table. He retrieved it, folded it in half, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He turned the button lock on the door, and stood there, trying to decide when he’d be back. He switched the porch light on and off twice, and then left it on—just in case. He had filled up his car and checked the fluids the night before, so this morning he had only two stops to make, and the first one was the Ellijay Coffeehouse for two coffees—one black, and one regular.
Ten minutes later, he came out of the coffee shop and set the cardboard cup tray on the passenger floor. Then he climbed in, pulled the envelope out of his shirt pocket, and opened the maps app on his phone. He slipped the stationery out of the envelope, typed in the address his mom had carefully printed, studied the route that popped up, realized there was a traffic delay, and prayed it would clear by the time he got there.
He put his phone on the passenger seat, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, everyone who happened to be walking by stopped and watched the rumbling old car, and when several boys gave him a thumbs-up, he smiled. Five minutes later, before he’d even had a chance to park in front of J.B.’s Garage, Jeff was walking out with a big smile on his face. “I heard you a mile away.”
Mason grinned, climbed out, and watched Jeff walk around the car, nodding his approval. “Looks great, Mason,” he said. “You know, my grandfather had a ’67 Chevelle . . . same color, too—Marina Blue.”
“No, I didn’t know. What happened to it?”
“He sold it before anyone realized muscle cars would be in such high demand.”
“It’s too bad you can’t find it—you should look around the internet.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff said. “That’s why it was so much fun to work on this one.” He spied the duffel bag on the back seat and eyed him curiously. “You goin’ somewhere?”
“Savannah.”
Jeff frowned. “That’s a long drive.”
“Five hours.”
“By yourself?”
“Yep, but I wanted to stop by to show you the paint job and thank you for all your help.” Then he suddenly remembered the coffee. “I brought you a coffee, too,” he said, and then eyed him uncertainly. “Cream and sugar, right?”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said. “I can always use a cup of coffee, but you didn’t have to . . . I loved working on this car. I wish I had more work like it, and less like that,” he said, gesturing to a Ford Taurus on the lift behind him.
Mason nodded. “You should get a website and spread the word. I’m sure muscle car enthusiasts would come out of the woodwork if they knew about you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Jeff said, wiping his hands on a rag. “When are you going?”
“Now.”
Jeff nodded. “Visiting a friend?”
Mason shook his head. “Keeping a promise,” he said, closing the hood.
“Well, safe travels . . . and don’t forget, before you head off to college, we need to go to a cruise night at the diner.”
Mason nodded. “We will,” he said, a smile lighting his face. “Mr. Harrison wants to go, too. Maybe this Sunday, if they have one.”
Jeff nodded. “Sounds good.”
“All right, I better get going,” he said, reaching out to shake hands. “Thank you again.”
Jeff nodded. “You know how you’re going?” he asked as Mason turned the key.
“My phone knows,” Mason said, holding it up.
Jeff nodded and stepped back and waved as Mason pulled away.
Mason waved back, glanced down at the open app, and tapped start.
As he drove, his mind checked off all the things he still needed to do this week. A large blue-and-white envelope had come in the mail, and when he opened it, he realized it was a welcome packet from Georgia Tech. It had been full of information for incoming first-years—from everything he’d need for his dorm room, like extra-long bedding, which he still needed to find, to the schedule for the looming move-in date for athletes. There was also a note from the cross-country coach to give him a call. And as he’d looked through it, he’d been surprised by how excited he felt about going. For the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.
The drive was uneventful and traffic was light—the slowdown his phone had highlighted before he left had cleared by the time he got there—and five hours later, just as the map app predicted, he pulled up
in front of a historic old house in downtown Savannah. “This is for you, Mom,” he whispered.
He climbed out, eyed the upstairs windows warily, walked up the steps, and stood on the porch, his heart pounding like a drum. He stepped forward and looked at the name scribbled on the strip of white paper that had been slipped into the brass slot next to the bottom doorbell—it wasn’t the name his mom had given him, and the slot next to the upper doorbell was empty. He held his finger over it anyway, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Here goes nothing.” He heard a bell upstairs ring, but it was followed by silence, and he looked around the porch. There were two wicker chairs and a small table between them with a lush geranium loaded with red blossoms, and then he noticed a sign in the window: APARTMENT FOR RENT. He frowned, pushed the doorbell again, but for a second time, the only sound he heard was a faintly ringing bell. “I guess I’m off the hook,” he said, smiling, his heart feeling lighter. “I kept my promise—I tried, and she is not here.”
He’d turned to go down the steps, but then heard a door open. “May I help you?”
Mason turned back and saw a man peering through the screen. “Hi . . . I . . . uh . . . I’m looking for the woman who lives in the apartment upstairs,” he said, gesturing upward.
The man nodded. “She moved out two months ago.”
“Oh,” Mason said. “Uh . . . you wouldn’t happen to know where she moved?”
The man shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Okay, thanks,” Mason said, turning to leave. “Sorry to bother you.”
“I know where she works, though,” the man offered.
Mason turned back.
“Last I knew, she worked at the new nursing home outside of town.” He paused, frowning uncertainly. “It’s called Willow something . . . Willow Lake or Willow River. I’m not sure, but I know it’s out near Bonaventure. Do you know where the old cemetery is?”
And even though Mason had no idea where Bonaventure Cemetery was, he nodded because he was certain the app on his phone did. “Okay. Thank you.”
