by Leslie Pike
“I think he’s waking up.”
I hear Bristol speak from somewhere far away. My eyes try opening, but it’s as if weights are holding them shut.
“Sawyer. Sawyer. Wake up, baby.”
A warm strong hand grasps my left arm. Can’t feel anything on my right one.
“Brother, wake the hell up so we can give you the good news.”
I recognize that voice. Atticus. Good news? With the might of Hercules I open my eyes.
“Hey,” I slur the greeting.
“There he is!” Brick says, wiggling my covered foot.
Bristol leans over to kiss my forehead. And cheek. And lips. That one I was able to return.
“Did someone say good news?”
Bristol’s face is beaming with happiness and it’s slowly sinking in.
“I’m going to be okay?”
“Yes, baby! They removed the tumor in its entirety. There are clear margins all around. The cancer is gone.”
A smile is all I can muster. But if they could feel the joy in my heart and the sense of rebirth, they’d know how relieved I am. “That’s great. Jesus.”
“Jesus is right. You had the entire congregation praying for you. Grandma Birdie enlisted her prayer circle and Mom had her yoga class meditating for peace in your heart and mind,” Bristol says.
“Namaste,” I say with a weak chuckle.
She kisses me a dozen times more.
“My breath isn’t good. Water.” I point to the plastic cup on the side table.
She puts the straw to my lips. “I’m just so happy. Nothing else matters.”
“Me too. But what am I going to do for a career?”
Her expression says a thousand words. Most of them telling me to be grateful that work is my worst problem.
“Don’t worry about that now. We’ll put our heads together and find you a great fit. You’ve got plenty of money to take your time deciding,” Brick says.
“Let’s not think about it today,” Bristol adds. “Jude’s in the waiting room. He’s been here with Mom and Dad. They made sure he’d be watched over and told your status. Want me to bring people in?”
“Let Jude come in first. I want to have a private conversation.”
“Okay. We’re going to the cafeteria. I’ll send him in,” Atticus says. Brick follows him to the door.
“Happy for the great news, Sawyer,” he says.
As they head out, Bristol starts to follow.
“Where you going?” I say.
She turns back. “I thought you wanted to be alone with him.”
“No, baby. I want us three to have private time. You and I have got so much to talk about. Figure out. Important things.”
“No need to worry anymore. I know we’re going to get there. In fact I’ve been…”
Her half-finished statement was just about to get interesting when Jude peeks into the room.
“Hi,” he says softly. Shyly.
“Come in,” I say waving him over.
Bristol rises. “Grab that other chair and pull it up here,” she says pointing to the side of my hospital bed.
He does as requested while chewing on his bottom lip. Looks like he’s going to puncture a hole in it.
“Hey man,” I say extending my hand to him.” I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
Now his lips are pressed together, holding back a smile. But he takes my hand and I squeeze it.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. If I hadn’t been chasing you I’d never had been hit by the car. And I never would have landed in the hospital. If they hadn’t found this tumor it would have been another ending to my story.”
Bristol puts an arm around his shoulders and brings him in close.
“How you doing? We’ve been thinking of you a lot.”
Sitting in the chair he lets go a deep sigh.
“They’re sending me back. My foster dad’s really sick now and they can’t take care of me.”
Fuck. My heart just broke. But I can’t let him know what I’m thinking. I have to discuss it with Bristol first. In depth.
“Okay, so at least you know how much they liked having you in their family. You didn’t do anything wrong, Jude. Sometimes life just kicks us in the butt.”
His nod is the only response.
Chapter 22
Bristol
“I need to talk to you about something important,” Sawyer says repositioning himself in our bed.
He’s up on an elbow and I’m having a hard time not kissing those perfectly formed lips. Then I’d crawl under the sheet between his legs.
“Tell me,” I say.
He glances at me with an intent I haven’t seen before.
“How do you feel about Jude? I mean how would you define your relationship?”
“Very simply. I love the boy.”
This brings a wide smile to Sawyer’s face.
“I do too.”
“And where does that lead?”
“You and me Bristol, we haven’t had a typical love. Nothing has gone in a slow straight line, like it does for most people.”
“Very true. But it’s been beautiful despite the twists.”
“We love each other. And that’s never going to change for me,” he says tenderly.
“Or for me,” I say, feeling my heart start beating stronger.
He takes my hand.
“Do you think there would be room in our lives for the boy?”
“What are you thinking?”
He takes a big breath of air as if he needs more oxygen to speak the words.
“I want to be there for Jude on a permanent basis. I’d like to see if I can adopt him. Bristol, I know I’d be a good father to him. In my heart he’s already my son.”
I sit quietly, absorbing the enormity of what he’s proposing. He continues.
“Is this something you’d even consider? Could you see a future where you’re a mother to a clearly wounded but really awesome child?”
“To answer your first question, yes. I’ve thought about it a lot. But I didn’t want to plant that seed in your mind. You needed to come to that place on your own.”
His embrace is full of joy and emotion.
“Oh God! I’m so happy it’s not a no.”
“Hold on. I have to say this now because you’re jumping the gun.” A pointed look accompanies my monologue. “Father? Mother? I’d never take on the responsibilities that will come with this unless I was married. And I’m a little pissed that I have to bring it up myself!”
He covers my face in kisses then moves to my hands.
“Baby, I’m sorry! No, don’t say that as if it hasn’t been an understanding between us. I only hesitate to talk about it more because I was waiting for the storms to pass. With all that’s happened you could have changed your mind about us.”
“As if.”
We both are half laughing at ourselves.
“Listen to me, Mr. Sawyer Tom,” I say with a steeled stare.
“Yes, beautiful? What do you want to tell me?”
“You might think I’m not the traditional type. That I don’t entertain the typical girly dreams. But you’d be wrong.”
“See. You’re always surprising me. I love that about you.”
“So, when the time comes, I want the proposal done properly. Bended knee, ring, your stomach flipping because I might just say no.”
He starts to chuckle but quickly sees I’m serious. Leaning his forehead against mine, fingers thread through my hair.
“I’ve got it from here. Don’t worry, baby. I’ll do it right.”
I roll on top of his warm body, and we wiggle the sheet out from between us.
“There. I don’t want anything cock blocking me,” I giggle. “We have just enough time to make love before I need to take my shower. We still have to make the sweet potato dish. It’s Thanksgiving, you know.”
“Have I told you yet today that I love you?”
�
�No. And it’s nine in the morning already. You getting tired of me, man?”
A naughty grin and a stiff cock pressing into me is his clear answer.
Driving onto Mom and Dad’s property is a joy that doesn’t get old. The long tree-lined driveway leading to the house looks beautiful in the crisp November sunlight. Some leaves of gold and red cling to the branches, others fall to the ground.
While Sawyer and Jude listen to their favorite Sirius comedy station, I think about the last few months.
Sawyer’s diagnosis and subsequent surgery changed a lot. His future with the Mavericks over for good. The ability to pitch a cannon is a thing of the past.
But for us both, knowing he’s cancer free is the only thing that matters. Everything else is just details.
It’s odd that destiny brought us together through baseball. I imagined years spent watching home games, traveling whenever my schedule permitted.
I never liked the sport, but now that I love a player, I’ve come to love the game. I would have jumped in with both feet. His passion would have become mine. Now it’s a moot point.
Atticus and Brick have shown their affection for Sawyer in many ways. In fact, the entire Swift brood has wrapped their hearts around him. He feels part of the family now, even before anything official happens. Although it appears to be getting closer every day.
And Jude. He’s becoming part of the family too. Since the surgery he’s spent all his time with us. Everyone’s happy for that. The three of us, and even Julie. Now that his foster father’s on hospice, it’s one less child the mother needs to watch over.
Seeing death approaching when you’re not intimately connected feels like an intrusion. It sucks to be the outsider. I think that’s how Jude felt being in the house.
I believe he has begun psychologically separating from his fosters. He feels safe with Sawyer and me. And although we parent him, he never acts like he’s our son. He takes on the role of friend. It works. Moving slowly forward is the way to go. Especially till we find out about our ability to adopt.
It’s a fine line we walk, loving like mother and father, but not being able to give clear voice to our roles. I can’t stop thinking about the possibility. There’s an excitement building regardless of reminding myself not to assume it will happen. Is this my child?
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t notice Grandpa Davis standing at the open front door. A persimmon bow tie for the occasion, and the wiggling Colonel in his arms. Now the barking starts. Every time he hears Sawyer driving up he goes bananas.
“The Colonel!”
Jude opens the back door and races to the house.
As Sawyer comes around to open my door, I watch Grandpa setting the dog down. How funny that it runs directly to him.
“Hey, boy!” Sawyer greets his biggest fan.
“Well, come in now everyone. The cooks are preparing a feast!”
All twelve of us sit around the dining table. The platters, half-eaten casseroles and wiped-clean potato bowls dot the table. As usual there’s lots of turkey left over. Despite the fact we all had seconds.
My father rises and lifts his wine glass.
“I’d like to make a toast.”
There’s hear hear’s all around and one whistle from Atticus.
“My family. For us the word is powerful. It means in life’s lottery we found the people we were meant to love.”
Now, not only Dad is getting sentimental, but so is almost everyone else. But Jude, who sits between Sawyer and me, is stoic. He’s simply listening.
“This Thanksgiving there are three new faces. Beauregard, Sawyer and Jude.”
Warm smiles on our faces and my mother’s outstretched hand make their mark. It’s touching watching Grandma Birdie patting the sleeping baby in Brick’s arms. She just loves the little ones. Somehow I think mothers never get over their longing for the baby stage. Must be how totally the child relies on them for life.
“It’s a strange thing,” my father continues, “their being with us feels so right. As if we had been missing them. I hope you all know, whether you like it or not, we consider you family now.”
The deep exhale I hear coming from Jude blows away his control. I see a tear course down his face. Sawyer brings him into an embrace.
“We’re pretty lucky, you and I.”
The boy is too emotional to speak. Thankfully Dad continues.
“Let us raise our glasses to love. We’ve got the king’s share.”
Glasses raise and the moment settles.
“I have a new tradition I want to start. We need to mark the occasion,” my mother says.
Mallory and Charlotte are the first to start clapping. They’re joined by the rest of the table. Even Jude, who doesn’t know how creative my family can be.
“What’s this one?” Brick says.
“I heard it from one of my friends. Her sister in California started it. It’s called Little Thanks.”
The entire table responds with claps and whistles. Sawyer is all in. He reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“Okay, Okay. Let me explain. We go around the table,” she says using her hands to demonstrate. “Each person tells the person to their left something they’re thankful for. Something the person they’re talking to did or said this year.”
“Sounds fun!” Charlotte says.
“I’m not finished. Then that person turns to his or her left and does the same.”
Dad jumps in the telling. “But it has to be a little thing. A nicety. In other words, Little Thanks. No big life-changing events.”
It’s so funny how when a game is explained we all want to talk at once. Put our two cents in.
“Let’s start with Grandpa Davis,” my mother says sitting.
This pleases him to no end. “As the eldest here, it’s only right.” He takes the hand of his bride of sixty plus years. “My sweet lovebird. Which Little Thanks should I pick? You’ve given me so many to choose from.”
Grandma’s lovely smile warms us all.
“Think I’ll go with what you did this morning,” he says sending her a wide smile.
That elicits comments from Atticus and Brick.
“You two still burning up the sheets?”
“Good for you, Grandpa.”
Sawyer laughs out loud. He’s still not used to the antics of my brothers.
“Boys!” My mother pretends to protest. But she’s laughing as she says it.
“A gentleman doesn’t divulge that information,” Grandpa chuckles. “What I’m thinking of is how my Birdie starts my day with a kiss. You all could learn from this. It’s the same kiss she woke me up with the morning after our honeymoon night. It’s romantic.”
They exchange pecks on the lips and both look satisfied with his answer. He’s right. We should all remember to keep the romance going.
“Thank you, my lovebird,” Grandma says.
She turns to Brick and Beauregard. “Oh, I have two Little Thanks to give.” Laying a hand on Brick’s as he cradles the baby, she speaks. “You’re my first grandchild. Beauregard is my first great-grandchild. I couldn’t love either one of you more.”
She leans in for the kiss Brick offers. “But my Little Thanks to you is this. Thank you for being so present when we talk. I feel like you really listen to what Grandma has to say. And I know it’s not always scintillating topics. You make me feel heard.”
“Mama, that’s beautifully said,” Dad adds.
“Grandma, I think you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve known.”
“Well darlin’, now I need to live up to that compliment. And as far as this bundle of joy,” she says wiggling the baby’s tiny hand, “my Little Thanks to you is for the smile you gave me this morning.”
She looks around the table and addresses the unsaid thoughts.
“And it was not gas. I know what you’re all thinking.”
There’s chuckles and giggles all around as the game moves ahead to Brick. He changes his position so
he can look into January’s pretty eyes.
“You, my darling, deserve all the thanks, big and little. But if I must pick just one, I’m going with this. Little Thanks for little looks. Becoming parents has added about a million more things to our schedules. But when you look at me like you do, it’s just you and me still and forever in love.”
The women at the table melt and the men realize they better have something as romantic to say.
“Well shit, brother. Did you just come up with that?”
“Yep,” says a beaming Brick.
January locks eyes with her man and a silent conversation passes between them. A kiss on his cheek punctuates the moment.
“Now me,” she says turning to her father-in-law.
“What do you have for your favorite father-in-law?”
“There’s a lot to choose from, Boone. But I’m thinking about one. It happened over a year ago, but I’m going to bend the rules a bit. The first time I came to this lovely home I was so nervous. It was you who read my anxiety and made sure I knew it was all right. I was standing in the kitchen so out of my element. You said ‘Let’s make the potato salad together.’ Brought the ingredients over gave me the easiest jobs and acted like you didn’t know how to do it either. I knew it was all an act, but I loved that it was for me. My Little Thanks to a big man.”
They embrace and my father looks like he’s about to burst.
“You’re welcome, daughter. That’s how I think of you and Charlotte you know. But now it’s my turn to send a Little Thanks love note to my girl.”
My mother angles her knees to his as he gazes into her eyes.
“I want to thank you for this morning. That’s all I’m saying. Little Thanks for a big … well, you know.”
The table erupts in catcalls and laughter, whistles and a few groans. Even Jude seems entertained. Not sure he gets it but maybe I’m wrong because he looks like a kid let in on an adult conversation.
“You two should write a book. How I Kept It Up For A Hundred Years,” Atticus says chuckling.
“We’re not that old!”
“Atticus!” Grandma says laughing.
“Let’s move on!” my mother says with emphasis.
