I want to tell him to stand up straight, make eye contact, but any reference to the rules of being a gentleman would be hollow now. “Take good care of your mom,” I say, willing him to look at me.
He doesn’t. Instead, Jake takes a bracing breath, squares his shoulders, and stands tall, offering, “I will, sir. Thank you for the time you were able to give us.” He thrusts his hand out, and when it’s firmly grasped within my larger palm, he shakes strong and with purposeful confidence.
Watching him turn and walk away makes my chest swell with pride. He’s so different from the attitude-filled, snot-nosed kid I first met months ago in the convenience store. Much as I don’t want to risk seeing Chloe, I stay where I am and watch as Jake starts the mower and finishes the last strips of longer grass. He doesn’t acknowledge that I’m still here as he wheels the mowerto the side of the house, thoroughly cleaning it off. Not even a glance as he pushes it past me and stows it in the garage.
But when Chloe steps out onto the patio to admire his work, my heart stutters to a stop.
She looks exhausted, her skin pale, her eyes swollen and red. She hugs Jake to her, holding him tight. When she pulls back and cups his face between her hands, concern pinches her eyes. A small smile. A single nod and a kiss to his forehead, and then she turns and ushers him into the house.
The last thing I see in my rearview mirror as I drive away is Chloe leaning against the sliding glass door, a hand pressed against her stomach and the other pressed to her lips.
TWENTY-FIVE
Chloe
Tonight’s dinner was way too much work for just the two of us, but my baby was sad. It was no big thing, figuring out what had taken the bounce out of Jake’s step. There are only so many curvy, fully restored green ’52 Chevy pickup trucks around. The muscle-clad arm, dark and messy hair and beard left no doubt about who was behind the wheel.
I held in my tears as I watched Jake’s excitement at seeing Miles morph and change, settling into complete letdown. So, I did what any mama would do and scraped my sorry self up off the couch and made a roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. Fresh hot rolls and, of course, a chocolate cake.
My boy ate with gusto.
And helped clear the dishes.
And helped put away leftovers.
And then he asked if he could go up and shower before we had dessert.
He’s so grown up, and yet, when I went out to tell him what a great job he did on the lawn, he wrapped his arms around me, squeezed me tight, and was my sweet baby all over again.
While Jake’s showering, I switch his mowing clothes from the washer to the dryer. The soggy wad of cash that’s now spread out on the dryer is a mystery though. Twenties, tens, a handful of ones. Two hundred forty-eight dollars that I know for a fact Jake didn’t have in his pocket when he went outside this morning.
“Can we have dessert in the living room, Mom?” Jake’s newly acquired man smell hits my nose seconds after his feet hit the wood floor.
“We can. How big of a piece do you want?” I ask, pulling plates from the cabinet.
Jake puts his pointer fingers together, showing me how big of a wedge he wants. It’s not nearly as much as I thought he’d ask for.
I cut us each a slice and drop a fork on each plate, and before I have a chance, Jake picks up both plates and carries them to the living room.
“Jake,” I start but pause. I don’t want to screw this up.
“Mom,” he says, shoving way too much cake into his mouth at one time.
“I washed your mowing clothes.”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, a crumb clinging to his bottom lip. He loads his fork with another oversized bite.
“I found some money in the washer. Kind of a lot of money, Jake.”
The cake forgotten, Jake’s shoulders slump forward.
“I’m not going to be mad, I promise. But I need to know where you got that kind of money, babe.” I rub my hand up the middle of his back and then hook a finger around his chin, urging him to look at me.
He sighs big and mutters, “From Miles. He promised to pay me for mowing. I thought it meant every week, like we’d keep seeing him. But…” His shoulders lift in a shrug.
“Wow. Um… Huh.”
Jake flops back into the cushion. “I don’t want it.”
