Speaking of which, where is Ellis’s mom?
“I’m sure Ms. Lewis has things to do,” Rhonan answers for me.
“I do, but if there’s time, I’ll ask your dad if it’s okay. How does that sound?”
Ellis nods enthusiastically. “Okay!”
“Now, go brush your teeth so you don’t get any cavities.” I urge her toward the hall.
“I eat all of the cavities,” she mumbles, letting out another yawn.
I turn to Rhonan. “Did she just say sheeatscavities?”
“Yeah. I made the mistake of telling her that any type of sugar is called cavities, so now that’s what she calls candy, cake…pretty much anything sweet.”
“That’s really adorable.”
He shrugs. “Some parenting mistakes work out okay.”
“Not sure that’s classified as a mistake, Rhonan.”
“Well, it’s definitely not as big as other ones I’ve made.”
Silence rests between us. “I hope I’m not out of line for asking, but…where is Ellis’s mom?”
His smile falls. “I figured you would have already heard that story.”
“How so?”
He shrugs. “Small town.”
“Yes, but it’s not like I’ve been going around asking about you.”
He stares at me, debating his reply, and I’m not sure if his lack of words is annoyance or not. “Ellis’s mom isn’t with us anymore,” he starts. “She, uh…died giving birth to her.”
My hand flies to my chest. “Oh my God. I’m so—”
He holds a hand up, stopping me. “We’ve done okay.”
“I know, but—”
“Seriously, Vienna. Don’t.” I’m not sure if he meant to sound that harsh, but I close my lips like he asked.
An awkward silence rests between us again, but ironically, it’s filled with emotions—pain, grief, sadness, and anger—most of which are wafting off the man in front of me.
Not wanting to push him on a topic he clearly doesn’t want to speak about, I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Well, I’d best be going. Thank you again for the shower and the ice cream.” Reaching for my bag, I hoist it up over my shoulder just as Ellis reappears. “Good night, Ellis. Thank you for sharing your ice cream with me.”
“Good night, Ms. Lewis.” She runs up to me, hugging my legs tightly until her little arms give out.
Glancing back at the man who is making me more confused by the minute, I wave. “Good night, Rhonan.”
“Good night, Ms. Lewis.”
As I walk back to my house and step inside, finding Roscoe still in his kennel where I left him, it dawns on me why that look in Rhonan’s eyes is so familiar.
It’s grief. Pain from loss.
Turns out we have more in common than I thought.
