I stare at the screen, Mitch’s number pulled up next. My fingers hover over the keypad.
I should call him. Or at least send a text.
But as I start typing, Elijah tugs on my leg, his small hand gripping tight, pulling me back to reality. I glance down at his wide, tired eyes and the way he clutches Pikachu like the world is ending.
“Mommy, Pikachu’s tired,” Elijah mutters, holding the stuffed toy to his chest, his voice low. There’s fear in his eyes, and it’s enough to make my heart squeeze.
I exhale, letting the phone drop onto the table. Mitch can wait. Right now, Elijah can’t.
I squat down and kiss his forehead.
“Hey, how about we help Pikachu feel better by making this place a little more homey, huh? He’s a fighter, and fighters need a comfy place to rest.” I wink at him, and for a moment, I catch a flicker of a smile.
“Okay, Mommy,” he whispers, clutching Pikachu tighter.
“Let’s see…” I crouch down, brushing Elijah’s curls away from his face as I force a smile. “Where should we start? The kitchen, maybe? We need to clean this place up a bit, right? Can’t have Pikachu fighting bad guys in a messy house.” I ruffle his hair, trying to keep my voice light.
He looks up at me with a small nod, but he’s still nervous. I can see it in his eyes.
I stand up, looking around the cabin. Dust on everything. The air feels thick, like it hasn’t been touched in years. It used to feel different. It used to feel…alive.
“This place,” I begin, pulling a rag from my bag, “it belonged to my mom. Jake and I used to come here to play.”
Elijah tilts his head, “Jake your brother, Mommy, who went to heaven?”
“Yes, baby.” I continue cleaning, wiping down the countertops. “Jake always said the walls had secrets. He kept… well, he kept stuff here.” I glance toward the old wooden floorboards near the fireplace.
Stuff we don’t talk about.
I shake the thought away and turn back to Elijah, who’s looking at me like he’s waiting for more.
“Now, I’m sure Jake would be thrilled to know we’re here to help him out with this mess.”
Elijah nods his head and responds, “Yeah, Jake would say, ‘Good job, keep going!’” He grins.
I lean down, forcing a smile again. “So, let’s makeJakeproud. Let’s clean this place up with Pikachu. Can’t have him sleeping in a dusty old cabin, right?”
Elijah grins and takes the rag I hand him. He starts wiping down the table.
“Good job, baby!”
I move to the stove, scrubbing the grime that’s probably been there for decades.
“You know,” I say, glancing over at Elijah, “Pikachu wasn’t always the strongest Pokémon. Oh, no. He had to train, just like you.”
Elijah looks up from his cleaning. “Really?”
“Yep. He had to work hard. And he didn’t do it alone. He had his friends with him. They helped him when things got tough.”
Elijah’s eyes brighten a little, and he starts wiping down the table with more energy, his cheeks flushing with a bit of life.
“Mommy, this place isn’t that bad,” he says, his voice perking up. “Look, there’s a secret spot for Pikachu to hide!” He points to an old, small cubbyhole built into the wall by the fireplace.
Jake’s spot.
“Perfect,” I say, laughing. “Pikachu can use that to hide from Team Rocket.”
We work in silence for a bit longer, wiping down the counters, clearing out the dust as best we can. Elijah chatters away about Pikachu and bad guys, his fear slowly slipping away.
