I tilt my head, glancing behind him at the trailer. There’s graffiti on the side, most of the windows are broken, and discarded beer cans litter the lawn. I get the sense, after a certain time of this place being abandoned, some delinquents decided to use this as their party space.
Gods, what must it feel like to find your home has been misused in such a way?
If I found the library had been mistreated in my absence, I’d go on a rampage.
But Bo merely seems to be attempting to collect the shattered pieces of his life. And I feel for him.
“That’s kind of you,” he murmurs.
“Do you need help?” I wave toward the trailer. “Cleaning up? Or looking for something?”
Bo glances over his shoulder, face lined with despondency. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
His words sound like they refer to more than just the place he used to live.
Without contemplating the move, I stroll forward and wrap my hand around one of his thick wrists, tugging him away from the reminder of his past.
“Let’s get breakfast. Life always seems shittier when you’re hungry.”
And I have the overwhelming urge to remind Bo that he’s alive and that’s a good thing.
9
Mor
“There aren’t any buttons?”
Bo stares at the iPhone I’m holding like I’m an alien wielding Star Trek tech.
I don’t have any interest in children. Taking over the raising of Ame was enough for me. And she was a relatively easy person to deal with. But after that, I felt good to go on the child-rearing. Not particularly for me.
But now I have this monster standing beside me who has missed the last seventeen years of the world. And I can’t help but feel like I have a toddler who needs to have the simplest concepts explained to him.
I remind myself that’s not right. Bo is a grown man.
He just doesn’t know what cell phones are exactly. At least not the most modern version.
And when his eyebrows shoot up in wonder when I use mine to pay for our bagels, that’s not naivete on his part. That is just a man who has never seen Apple Pay before.
He is not a child. You don’t have to mother him. You just need to explain a few things that he missed.
“Nope. The tech geniuses of the world have figured out how to make touch screens.” I swipe through a few things and open up a couple of apps, just a preview. “It may seem daunting, but you’ll pick up on how to use a smartphone in no time.”
He looks doubtful, like a confused puppy.
I guide Bo to an empty picnic table. One of the sturdier-looking ones. He’s a big man. Even still, he is easily able to fold his body into the seat.
“How old are you?” I ask without considering if the question might be rude.
“Do you mean before the statue incident?”
“Yes. I’m guessing your aging was frozen during the curse.”
He grunts an acknowledgment. “I’m twenty-three.”
Wow. He should be forty years old. Bo should be ten years my senior; instead, he is seven years my junior. That’s so odd to think about. Also, he seems to carry himself with more reservation than the twenty-three-year-old men I’ve encountered. No cocky swagger or smirk of the youth. But I guess being trapped for over a decade and a half will change a person.
Or maybe he was this way before he was frozen.
