Chance put his hands on her shoulders as he came to stop behind her.
Her gaze went to garbage bags that looked to be filled with clothing and a few toys. Just three of them. Not much for a kid’s possessions.
“Does he have a favorite blanket or anything that he sleeps with? Cups or plates? We bought everything yesterday, but it might be easier from a comfort standpoint.”
“He’s got a blanket that he sleeps with,” Nettie said. “I’ve got it in the bag.”
“Can we get it out so he can hold it when we leave?” she asked.
“I didn’t think of that.”
When Nettie was looking for the blanket, Chance moved over closer to his son sitting on the floor in front of the TV. He was hesitant but trying.
“What does he like to watch?” he asked, his head and gaze moving over the boy from the dark hair and eyes to his slippers.
“He’ll watch anything,” Nettie said. “I only get two channels. He likes noises and music.”
She was trying really hard not to shed tears over the living conditions. Chance’s body was tense, as if he wanted to grab his son, tuck him under his arms and make a mad dash out the door.
“What about food?” Jocelyn asked. “Any allergies that we need to be worried about or things he likes or doesn’t like other than bananas?”
Which she’d made sure were at her and Chance’s house.
“He’s not a fussy kid. I just give him what I’m eating and cut it up small.”
Which wasn’t much help, but they’d work through it.
“Do you have his birth certificate and any medical information?” he asked. “I’ll need that.”
Nettie moved to the table and picked up the sheets of paper. “Here. It’s all I can find. His doctor’s name is there too and where he goes. They can tell you what he needs in terms of shots and stuff.”
Jocelyn grabbed the papers. “Chance, you can call tomorrow and set up an appointment to bring him in.”
“I planned on it.”
Chance inched closer to Maverick sitting on the floor. He had the same jeans on that didn’t fit him well on Sunday, a different shirt, his dark hair was combed to the side, no sneakers on his feet, just gray slipper socks.
“Hi,” Chance said, squatting. “Remember me?”
Maverick looked up and pointed to Chance’s sweatshirt. He had one of his fireman sweatshirts on and there was a firetruck on it.
“Tuck,” Maverick said.
“Truck,” he said, the word coming out slower. At least they could figure that out.
“His speech is a little slow,” Nettie said. “But he will speak if he wants something. Or he points. I just show him things and ask.”
“I’ll go put the bags in the truck,” Jocelyn said.
“I’ve got it,” Chance said, standing up.
“I think you should spend a few minutes with your son. I’m sure the bags aren’t that heavy.”
She moved to pick one up and it wasn’t bad, then left and sucked in some fresh air.
When she was back in after the last bag, Chance had his son in his arms, a toy firetruck she hadn’t realized he’d had to give Maverick, and a smile on the boy’s face.
She almost burst into tears over the sight and pulled out her phone to snap a quick picture.
