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The Pieces We Keep(25)

By:Kristina McMorris


In an attempt to kill time, she revived a game Robert used to lead. “I see ... Charlie Brown.” She subtly gestured toward a stranger who resembled the cartoon character. For each accurate designation, the player earned a point. “Ooh, there’s Olive Oyl. And that guy there is definitely Shaggy. I’ve got three already. You’d better catch up.”

“I’m hungry. Can we get one of those?” Too distracted to play, he pointed toward kids with pink and blue cotton candy. The feathery bouquets were larger than their heads.

With dinnertime so close, she imagined the “right” answer was no. “Let’s have some real food first. Then we’ll see.”

As a child, Audra had indulged in plenty of treats that were no better; her Fun Dips and Pixy Stix were the equivalent of powdered-sugar injections. Yet that was also in an era when no one locked their doors and sleeping babies rode in cars on the floorboards.

Just then, Tess waved from the entrance. Her daughter, Grace, bounded alongside and submitted their tickets for admission. The eight-year-old had rich olive skin, compliments of her Italian side, and a braid of silky blond hair from her mom. Though the girl’s aqua beret was fashionably feminine, the roughened knees of her jeans affirmed a preference for climbing trees over dressing dolls.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Tess said with a grumble. “Cooper couldn’t find his mouth guard for practice. We had to turn the whole house upside down. I would’ve called, but I left my cell on the kitchen counter.”

“Not to worry,” Audra told her. “We got here a little late too.”

“Oh, good.” Tess sighed and nudged her daughter. “Gracie, say hi.”

“Hi,” she said with a smile.

Audra reciprocated, but not Jack, his attention too consumed by their environment. And who could blame him? The scents of every imaginable fried food collided with all the chaos from the amusement park.

“So, Jack,” Tess said. “I hear coming out here was your idea. What would you like to do first?”

He answered with a shrug.

“I think he’s pretty hungry,” Audra supplied.

“Me too,” Grace said. “I could eat a horse.” She grinned at the veterinary punch line, and Tess tickled her ribs to elicit a giggle.

After brief deliberation, the group decided on lemonades and pizza. In line at the booth, Audra and Tess rattled on about their most notable patients of the week. Among them was a Scottie who was neutered for his extroverted acts. Whenever company came to visit he would drag stuffed animals to the center of the gathering to show off his frisky skills.

“It’s starting to rain,” Grace interjected. “Can I go find us a table?” She motioned toward the area beneath a huge striped canopy. Her motive was likely more about boredom than being helpful or staying dry, but Audra did feel a tiny sprinkling. Over the city, gray clouds were banding together and dimming the sky.

“Fine by me,” Tess said, “if you and Jack stay together.” She turned to Audra. “You okay with that?”

Audra hedged. The urge to keep her son close battled the need to let him live and grow. But then she recalled his cast. Though it barely peeked from his raincoat, a tent would provide better coverage should the sprinkling gain momentum.

“All right. But don’t talk to any strangers.”

“We know.” Grace laughed and rolled her eyes, the lesson far too basic for a third grader. “C’mon, Jack. Let’s go.”

He followed her toward the canopy. They were just out of earshot when Tess switched to a tone of concern.

“You told me about his arm, but you didn’t say anything about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your cheek. I’m assuming that’s how you got that.”

For a time, Audra had forgotten about the two-inch scratch. An easy oversight for someone accustomed to being scraped, bitten, and peed on as part of a day’s work.

She moved forward in the shrinking line. “The ER doc said it’s pretty common for kids to lash out when they have night terrors—that’s what he called them, by the way.”

“Is there anything you can do to stop them?”

“They’re supposed to fade on their own.” Supposed to. How many things in Audra’s life turned out as predicted? “Until then, I’ve at least moved the furniture away from his bed, to help keep him safer.”

“How scary. I’m so sorry.”

Audra had since read about the affliction online but found no solutions. Nor any connection to flying. She even did a Web search for “Himmel.” Most links referenced a park in Arizona, a classical composer, the Dutch translation for “heaven.” Nothing that applied. And asking Jack about the word had gone as predicted: He had no idea.