“Besides,” he says. “You owe me.”
His last words cause me to furrow my brows, pulling back to read the expression on his face. “Owe you? I don’t owe you shit, Charley-boy.”
He rolls his eyes at the nickname, and I chuckle. My chuckle turns into a real laugh that quells some of the tears.
“You owe me for using my body for your own pleasure.”
I wipe the last of the tears from my cheeks, reaching to set both hands on his shoulders, squeezing. “And as an apology, I have to let you find a better facility for my sister?”
“Yes.” His eyes linger on mine, the crinkles that line the corner of them softening as he watches me.
“That’s a terrible apology, but if it’ll make you happy…”
His hands, which had moved to my knees, slowly slide up my legs, finding a new home on my thighs, squeezing twice. “As long as it keeps you smiling like that…it’ll make me happy.”
Chapter Seven
Ipush open the living room windows, breathing in the fresh spring air as it seeps through the screen. Today marks the first day of May. Spring is here, and the changing of seasons brings new life into my soul.
My eyes scan the row of plants under my small patio covering. I hadn’t planned on having a garden, and I don’t know the first thing about growing vegetables. But when Jackson came home from school with a Solo cup of dirt and said they had planted grass seeds and he was excited to see them grow, I figured I could do him one better.
We went to the local greenhouse and decided on an assortment of tomato plants and cucumbers, green beans and lettuce, bought the necessary supplies, and came home ready to turn the kitchen table into a mini garden. We overestimated the number of plants we had and ended up having to cut-up empty milk jugs and save every single yogurt container to fit everything.
To our absolute shock, the seedlings started to grow. A few died, some look neglected and shriveled, but there are a dozen or so that still go strong and we might be able to plant them in the ground at some point.
I set them out last night knowing it was going to rain, and the droplets on the leaves tell me it was a good soaking.
Marissa spent six days in the hospital recovering from severe sepsis and dehydration. Even though I didn’t want to, I ended up having her return to The Residences at discharge. Jim has called and texted a few times, leaving messages with the number and contact information of a newer facility in the city. I found it online and drove through the campus one afternoon after work, and the pictures didn’t do it justice.
It's gorgeous. Clean. With a top-rated therapy program and state-of-the-art treatment for individuals with brain injuries. There was a small ember of hope that sparked in my chest at the thought of seeing my sister move there. At the prospect that she might regain some of her old self.
Until I was handed a brochure that included the price list.
Even without the a la carte menu of services, the monthly room and board fee is more than what I’m paying for her current facility and a hell of a lot more than I can afford.
My mind has been whirring with figuring out how to come up with the extra money. I’ve contacted the hospital I work weekends at, seeing if I could pick up Friday night and potentially Sunday night as well. I hate the idea of Jackson having to stay with my parents all weekend, every weekend, but it might be enough to scrape by. I haven’t even let myself think of how it’ll feel to wake up Friday morning and not get more than a quick nap here and there until Monday night. My body will be screaming, mind numb from fatigue, but I think I can suffer through it knowing my sister is safe.
I researched how to sell a kidney, thinking that might be my golden ticket, but found out Iran is the only country that legally allows it. Even with that, the current going rate for a kidney is the equivalent of only one month’s rent.
“Momma!” Jackson’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts as he comes barreling out of the bathroom and into my legs.
“What’s my little man up to?”
He wraps his arms around my legs, his head nearly reaching my waist. Pretty soon, he’s going to be taller than me, and it’s going to be scary. “Dance party?”
A 10 A.M. dance party? “Absolutely.” Maybe that’ll give me the energy I need to tackle the dishes and dirty kitchen.
He nods, a grin stretching across his face that lights up the entire room. He runs over to grab my phone from the charger and hands it to me. I swipe to our dance playlist, turning the volume up as the Bluetooth plays the familiar intro to our favorite Taylor Swift song.
Jackson runs over to the coffee table, gripping the edge with both hands and pushing with all his might to move it out of the way. I lean down and help him, moving it off of the carpet and under the window, ensuring we won’t bonk a knee in our dance craze.
He claps excitedly as the first verse starts, and I toss my hands in the air, singing along.
A laugh immediately bubbles out of me as Jackson gets into position for his signature move. With both hands raised high, his fingers curled into little fists with the exception of his pointer fingers, he moves his hands along to the beat, his little butt sticking out, wiggling along.
He holds that move throughout the first verse, and I spin around next to him, letting my unruly morning hair whip me in the face. When the chorus is about to sound, Jackson reaches his arms up, and I grunt as I pick him off the floor, noticing again how much he’s grown in these last few months.
He grabs my cheeks with both of his hands, squeezing with excitement. “Are you ready?”
