Finn appears by my side at the worst time. My arm is bent awkwardly as I try to reach the middle of my back. Looking up, I squint at him and untangle my limb.
He reaches for the sunscreen, but I grab the bottle first.
“I don’t need help, thanks.” My voice is polite, but there’s an undertone.
“Yes, you do.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m fine.”
Finn sighs. He plops down on to the chair beside me, knees facing me. “Why don’t you let me help you?”
Because I’m certain Brady would just love to watch you rub lotion on me. Out loud, I say, “I’ve got it covered already.”
He eyes me, and I can tell he knows I’m not telling the truth. Shrugging, he changes position so his whole body is lying on the chair.
I do the same, crossing one ankle over the other and closing my eyes.
A few minutes later I hear the back door open and close, then the sounds of Brady settling in on my other side. Peeking one eye open, I turn my head toward him and welcome him with a smile.
“Food’s ordered,” he says, bringing the beer bottle to his lips.
“Thanks,” Finn says from my other side. Brady tips the beer to him in acknowledgment.
“Lennon, tell us more about your job.”
Turning to Finn’s voice, I see he’s not looking at me, but staring out at the sparkling blue pool.
I do the same, but the still water is quickly replaced by the image of a case from two years ago. Immediately my heart twists, pain wringing from it like a soaking wet towel.
Slowly I shake my head. I still can’t comprehend the cruelty.
“A daycare worker called. She reported redness on a toddler’s behind. On my way to check it out, I prayed it would be a bad case of diaper rash.” Tears sting my eyes, and my gaze flickers up to the sky as I try to keep them at bay. “It wasn’t. The redness... it was a burn.”
“How does a baby get a burn on its backside?” Brady asks, trepidation coloring his voice.
I glance at him. “Do you really want to know?”
He squeezes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Why did you become a social worker, Lennon? I’m all for it, but I wouldn’t have picked it for you.” Finn’s asking the question.
I look out at the water again, and again I don’t see it. I see the little girl instead. She had blonde hair, and a birthmark in the shape of a four-leaf clover on her thigh.
Finn’s question hangs in the air. Finn is sharp, seeing patterns and reasons when others don’t. He obviously knows why I became a social worker. Maybe Finn wants to make sureIknow it too.
“Some children are born to people who don’t deserve to be parents. Some people want so badly to be parents and are just waiting to be given a child. I’m not Robin Hood. I don’t take from the undeserving and give to the deserving. It doesn’t work that way. But, once in a while, it does. That little girl eventually went to a couple who wanted her. And I don’t mean they just wanted a child. Theywanteda child, it was a longing I could practically see. This little girl made their lives better. They invited me to her third birthday party. You wouldn’t believe how over the top it was. A unicorn! For a party she won’t even remember.” I laugh softly. “They wanted to give her the best, and that was how they did it. The party was huge, and they showed her off to every person there.”
Brady gets up from his chair and sinks down onto mine. Using the corner of his towel, he wipes away tears I didn’t know I was crying.
Finn moves so that he’s facing me. He takes my hand, wraps it in both of his own, and squeezes. “Maybe you have the right job after all.”
Here’s the problem though: I don’t. I have a job that keeps me in my past. As hard as I’ve fought to escape this place, escape my fucked up childhood, the truth is, I haven’t. I’ve only managed to revisit it in a different role.
But what I do have are my boys. My guys. One is holding my hand, the other is waiting to wipe away my next tear.
“I’m lucky to have both of you.” I smile at them, then take my hand back from Finn and stand up on the chair. With a palm on Brady’s shoulder for balance, I walk the length of the chair and jump lightly to my feet. When I get to the pool’s edge, I turn around and look back at them.
It’s funny how two very different men can wear the same look. Longing, confusion, desire, with a hint of sadness clinging to the edges.
