He shrugs but I can see the interest in his eyes. Not sure if it’s for the camping or the marshmallows, but at least it’s something.
When I glance over at Dixie, she has a certain gleam in her eye as well. Maybe she’s not dreading spending time with me as much as I thought she was.
That’s something, too.
I’ll take what I can get. It’s what I’ve done all my life.
23 | Dixie
I FEEL LIKE I can breathe again when Liam and I arrive home with Gavin following us in a green pickup.
Gavin seems to understand Liam in a way I can’t. He relates to him, chats easily with him, and doesn’t seem as nervous about screwing up as I am. When we were getting into the van earlier, I went to help Liam up and I saw some alarming scars on his back. One is dangerously similar to the shape of a belt buckle.
Each mark on him, each sign I missed all this time while giving him lessons, is affecting me in ways I can’t understand. I do the best I can to hide how much I want to curl up and have a good cry. I don’t deserve to get to cry. Liam is a tough kid and he deserves my strength, not my pity or my tears. Gavin has kept my pity party in check and I’m glad he’s here.
But it’s hard, too. Hard to look at him and not kiss him, hard to be so close and not touch him.
We walk toward the house, the three of us, and there is an odd peaceful feeling soothing me as if I am exactly where I need to be in this moment.
Gavin holds the door open and we step inside and get busy pulling out the old two-person tent he and my brother used to use and every pillow, blanket, and sleeping bag we can find. I put Liam in charge of organizing the snacks on a plate at the kitchen table and he remains very serious and intense about counting out and lining up marshmallows, graham crackers, and pieces of Hershey bar in methodical groups.
“Good job,” I tell him once Gavin and I have the tent and pillow and blanket fort assembled in the living room. “Now let’s get cracking on these s’mores.”
Liam grins, proud of himself for his hard work, and it both warms and breaks my heart to see him smile. He’s so small and vulnerable and my mind keeps drifting to how big his dad is and what kind of life this little boy has had so far.
Gavin catches me tearing up a little and steps in. “How about Liam and I handle the s’mores and you be on movie duty?”
I nod and my skin heats from the embarrassment at being caught breaking down again.
Buck up, buttercup, my subconscious scolds me. I take a deep breath and do that.
I’m tough. I lived on the road alone for nearly three months. I started a business by myself. I’ve got this.
Even though I do feel as if I can handle this, I also know that just as Gavin’s pain is my pain, Liam’s pain is also seeping into the broken places inside my heart and that I won’t allow this child to receive another mark on his skin or miss another meal no matter what I have to do.
The ire burns in me, anger at the kind of people who allow children to be hurt or go hungry, rage at those who inflict pain on the innocent and helpless.
“Breathe, Bluebird,” Gavin tells me quietly. “Go pick out a movie. One of those Disney ones you’re always telling me I need to see.”
I take a deep breath and turn to go into the living room, but not before hearing Liam ask, “Why do you call her Bluebird?”
I can’t help myself, I need to hear the answer. Once I’ve stepped out of sight, I lean against the wall and do my best to eavesdrop.
“Well . . . that’s kind of a long story, I guess,” Gavin says, barely speaking loud enough for me to hear. He mentions something about a story he already told Liam outside this morning but I don’t know what he’s referring to.
When Liam doesn’t respond, Gavin continues.