I walked to him, asking, “Are you hungry?”
He looked to the fridge then back to me, putting his hands to my waist when I arrived at him.
“Habit,” he muttered.
“Ah,” I replied.
He studied my face.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“I didn’t know the man, Hix,” I reminded him, resting my hands still holding my scarf and gloves to his chest.
“I know, but you know his wife and all funerals are rough. This one . . .” He didn’t finish that, but I got him.
Three nights before, Mrs. Whitney’s husband had slid into the eternal sleep that was far more eternal than the eternal sleep he was in already.
It was odd to think of the death of someone as a relief. However, Mr. Whitney had died long ago, so as odd as it was, it was still true, which made it difficult in a different way because, even if that might be logical to have that feeling, it still didn’t seem right.
“I’ll feel better when I see her and how she’s handling it,” I told him. “We spoke on the phone but she sounded understandably preoccupied. It’ll be good to get a handle on where she’s at.”
He nodded.
I gave him a small smile and started to move out of his hold, but stopped when his fingers tightened.
“We got a few minutes, and after this goes down, I gotta get changed and back to work, so need to tell you something now,” he shared.
I nodded and it was my turn to study him.
It was mid-February but something had been bothering Hixon and that something started bothering him right after Christmas.
It became more pronounced around January fourteenth, Corinne’s birthday, her sweet sixteen.
I got the idea that a father had issues with his daughter becoming more of a woman, especially since that daughter now had a boyfriend. I also understood that, this being the first event where the families had to officially merge—Andy, Lou, her brood and me going to the party because Corinne wanted us there, a party that had Hope and all her brood there—that this would cause everyone, especially Hix, some unease.
I couldn’t say it’d gone great. Hope, Lou, Jessie, Molly and I hadn’t stood in a corner and cackled like the sisterhood we were.
I couldn’t say it was a bust. I’d been nice but distant, as Hope made it clear she wished me to be, even though she too had been nice but distant. And Molly had clearly gotten Reed’s head out of his ass about things so he’d been civil.
It still was awkward. But it didn’t appear Corinne felt it at all.
I thought once that occasion was done, Hix would relax.
He hadn’t.
February third had rolled around, Shaw’s eighteenth (we’d just say it was a one, two, three punch with the Drakes: Christmas, Corinne’s birthday, then Shaw’s—fortunately Mamie’s birthday was June third so there was a breather).
Again, it was a momentous occasion, his son officially becoming, for all intents and purposes, a man.
Hix showed pride, affection and obvious emotion at that birthday party that, at Shaw’s request, had been split. His dad, Andy, his sisters and me for dinner. His mom and her family for a big weekend do, with Shaw and the girls going to Hope’s house for a few hours before we had dinner and cake at Hix’s in order to share some time with his mom on his big day.
But two weeks had passed since then and Hix’s manner hadn’t changed.
And it was beginning to dawn on me that it was Corinne becoming a woman, with the unavoidable threat of Mamie not being too far behind (she’d started her period, another hit for Hix that he couldn’t ignore that his kids were growing up).
However, it was mostly Shaw.
It wasn’t about him being officially a man.
It was about him intending to be the man he intended to be and that being official.
Shaw had an appointment to go to the marine recruiting office with Hix in a couple of weeks.
And that was where it was at.
Every day that passed was a day closer to him losing his boy, him losing his boy to the marines and the marines taking over the process of making Shaw into the man he’d become.
I had no idea how to make things better for Hix, and in wracking my brain, it was becoming apparent that there was no way to make things better.
He had to ride this out. It was inevitable. He had to see it through, support his son. In the meantime, I just had to be there for him, keep a finger on his pulse and do what I could to see Hix through.
So this could be anything. Hix didn’t hide the fact he was aware his kids were getting older and going about their own lives and he wanted them to do that responsibly, but he also wanted them to know they’d always be his kids and he’d be there for them. Alternately, he did hide (from all of them but me, though he didn’t tell me outright) that he was struggling with it.
I wanted him to open up to me. I also didn’t want to open up a dialogue about it with him if he was dealing or he just didn’t want to talk about it yet.
Hix was communicative. He shared. You didn’t have to guess about stuff with Hix. If it meant something to him, you knew.
But if he wasn’t ready to talk, you waited.
“Owners of my house got in touch with my real estate agent,” he announced.
That I wasn’t expecting.
“Yeah?” I prompted when that was all he said.
“Their son got a transfer. He’s moving from Virginia to Florida. They have a kid, the wife is pregnant again. They’ll be living about an hour away.”
I arched into him, getting excited. “Really?”
He grinned down at me. “They’re asking for an offer.”
“They haven’t even experienced a full Florida summer yet with its attendant humidity,” I pointed out, some of my excitement melting away.
“That’s not my concern, babe. They have experienced most a Florida winter and I’m thinkin’ they dig it. I’m thinkin’ they dig more the idea of close proximity with their son and his growing family so I’d guess they’ll learn to put up with humidity. But if they’re ready to let go of the house, I’m jumpin’ on that.”
“Totally,” I agreed.
“And I want you there.”
“Of course. That house is perfect for you. Close to work. Close to Hope for the kids. Lots of space for everybody. Why would I not—?”
“No, babe,” his hands slid from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him, “I want you there. We come to terms, I buy that house, I want you to move in with us.”
I stared up at him.
He wasn’t done speaking.
“And Greta, I want you to think on it, it’s your choice, but when you do that, I want you sellin’ this place. We’ll talk about furniture because I prefer your dining room table to mine. You got some other great stuff that’d fit. But the rest you can let go and invest all the money you make on it so you can breathe easy about Andy permanently.”
Throughout this, I didn’t stop staring at him.
However, it didn’t matter.