“Morning, Mrs. G.”
Hands flew up in the air as a loud gasp echoed in the cavernous space.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Mrs. G spun around clasping her robe. “I swear I need to put a bell on you.”
She’d been making that same claim since I was eight years old.
Mrs. Garrett’s home was the eighteenth and final foster home I lived in. I was there for three years. The best three years of my childhood. Then, when I was eleven, her sister was diagnosed with cancer. Mrs. G had to move to the East Coast to take care of her and I was on my own once again. Instead of going to another foster home I was placed in a group home where I stayed until I was sixteen.
I’ll never forget the day I showed up on Mrs. G’s doorstep. She opened the door to find a scrawny, terrified eight-year-old trying to act a lot tougher than he was, carrying a trash bag that contained everything he owned in the world: two shirts, three pairs of underwear and a pair of jeans. That and the clothes on my back were all the possessions I owned.
Living with Mrs. G was the only sense of home I’d ever known as a kid.
“What are you doing up?” I asked as I crossed the room.
Joanna Garrett lived by the creed that if the sun wasn’t up, neither was she.
“Just couldn’t sleep.” She stretched her arm up and tilted her head to the side as her face scrunched. “This getting old stuff isn’t as easy as it looks.”
I hated when she talked about her age. Logically I knew that she was in her seventies. I knew that meant I needed to find someone else to take care of Lexi. The problem was, I didn’t trust anyone else. Growing up in the system had shown me what people are capable of behind closed doors.
“I can work from home today. I’ll get you an appointment with Fernando.”
Fernando was Bay Towers’ resident masseuse. He came up once a week to work out all of Mrs. G’s kinks. Which was another promise fulfilled.
When I was ten, I asked her if she could have anything in the world what would it be? I expected her to say that she’d want a car or a big house, but she’d said that all she wanted was to have someone come to her house and give her a massage once a week.
Done.
“Oh no, I’m fine.” Mrs. G dismissed my offer with a wave of her hand. “I just needed a little chocolate. That’s all.” She grabbed a pudding out of the fridge, closed the door and patted me on my cheek. “Good night, sweet boy.”
I grinned as she shuffled off to her room. I knew that it didn’t matter to her that I was a six-foot-four, two-hundred-ten-pound man, I’d always be hersweet boy.
My phone buzzed and I squinted as the light illuminated the screen. It was a group text that read:Diner. Noon.
It was sent by Maddox Cruz who was two years younger than me and four years younger than Nicholas Locke the third musketeer and the co-founders of Fostering the Future. Although Maddox was the youngest, he’d always been the most mature of the three of us. Nick was the oldest and by far the least mature. The irony was not lost on me.
We’d all met in the group home I went to when I was eleven, Maddox was nine, and Nick was thirteen. We’d immediately bonded over our love of baseball, specifically the Giants, video games, and girls. Over the years, a lot had changed in our lives. We’d all gone in different directions in our careers and personal lives, but nothing had broken our bond.
I messaged back that I’d be there and told Maddox to get some sleep. Unlike me, whose day was just getting started, I knew that he hadn’t been to bed yet. From the time we were kids in the group home he’d had trouble “shutting his brain off” so his bedtime often coincided with me waking up. Nick, on the other hand, was most definitely sound asleep, probably with a naked woman he barely knew beside him.
I had a feeling I knew why this lunch meeting was called. That fucking article. Nick held the distinction a few years back of being San Francisco’s Most Eligible Bachelor and Maddox and I gave hima lotof shit over it. The difference was, Nick had campaigned for the damn thing. I’d taken every legal avenue tonotbe dubbed the city’s most eligible bachelor.
But it was what it was. I’d just have to ride it out.
I finished my espresso and after changing into my running clothes and shoes, I quietly opened the door to the Unicorn Palace aka Lexi’s room. Her nightlight projected stars on the ceiling. The soft glow illuminated her angelic round face. Her dark hair was fanned out against her bright pink pillowcase. Seeing her breathing softly and sleeping peacefully sent warmth spreading through my chest.
My little nugget. In a little over a month, she’d be five.
She was growing up too fast. I wished that I could freeze time. Actually, I wished that I could time travel. If I could do that, then I’d stop Ash and AJ from crossing the street at the same time a drunk driver ran a red light.
But I couldn’t. And there was nothing I could do to change that.
I gently closed the door and headed out for my morning run. I ran five to ten miles every day. Rain or shine, up and down The Embarcadero. It had been the best form of therapy that I’d found. The rhythm of my feet hitting the ground quieted my mind. With each strain of a muscle, my body sank into the zone.
Some people meditated. Some had religion. Some had therapy. I had running.
Running was my meditation. My religion. My therapy.
