“Wait until you have to grade it,” I point out. “Not so fun.”
“Remember how fun grading papers is with me?” His eyebrows waggle and I laugh. “Besides, you’re not going to do that for me? It’ll be geography papers, and I hate to say, much more interesting than your cut and paste sheets.”
“Maybe you can take them over and get Jiggs to help you. That nine-to-five job of his at the power plant isn’t enough to keep him occupied. Lindsay is ready to murder him,” I laugh. “She was saying yesterday that it’s a good thing they didn’t move to Florida. Without you to entertain Jiggs, she’d be out of her mind.”
Ty rolls his eyes. “You’d think he’d have that truck working by now with all the time he has on his hands. Maybe Delia can help him when she gets older.”
“Speaking of Delia,” I say, grinning, “I told Jiggs we’d watch her tomorrow night so they can have a date night. Jiggs had me make reservations for them and order flowers and everything.”
“It doesn’t count if you do it for him.”
“Yes, it does!” I laugh. “I just hope you want to cater to me like he does Lindsay after I have Cord.”
“Don’t I already?” he says, kissing my cheek.
“You do. Just remember me when your little sports buddy arrives in the world,” I laugh, hearing the back door squeak. We wait as heavy footsteps walk through the house and the nursery door opens.
Dustin’s head pops around the corner. Yogi bursts in at the opportunity and plops down at our feet. I reach down and scratch her behind the ears.
“Hey, can I go play some ball with Jason?” Dustin asks.
“Yes. Dinner is at six-thirty, so make sure you’re back by then,” I say, smiling at my new foster son. He returns the gesture, a softness in his eyes that’s just begun to settle in.
The Case Manager from Child Protective Services said Dustin had lived in five different homes since being turned over to them. That helped explain his attitude and behavior issues. Once we passed the foster care courses and pulled some strings, he moved in and things have changed.
His grades are markedly better. His disciplinary record at school much cleaner. And the lightness in his step much easier.
Dustin told me he’d never had a room of his own and never went shopping for his own shoes. The day he picked out his own bed and basketball shoes was one of the happiest days of my life, just because of the joy on his face.
It’s the little things. I knew that before the accident, but I know it more now. It’s not about money, it’s not about cramming in a week’s worth of work in one day. It’s not about getting from point A to point B and it’s surely not about getting irritated over the little things in life. As a matter of fact, that’s what it’s all about.
Life is about stopping to chat with Ruby at the counter at The Fountain while she makes my Bump. It’s about planning the Thanksgiving menu with your sister-in-law and arguing about who is hosting it this year, burning dinner because your husband won’t keep his hands off you. It’s about setting up Becca with every man I meet so she finds her happily-ever-after even though I don’t have time and arguing with your foster son about his curfew and making a scarecrow every fall.
Some of those things might hurt. Life does pack a punch. But it’s the scars that make us who we are, that tell the story of the life we lived.
“What are you making for dinner?” Dustin asks.
“Baked chicken and pasta. Maybe an angel food cake.”
I look over my shoulder to see Ty beaming at me. He takes my hand in his and strokes my knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“Awesome!” Dustin grins and closes the door behind him. His footsteps beat down the hall again and he leaves, the door squeaking.
“Are you ever going to fix that door?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I look at him and make a face. “And why not?”
His cheeks flush just a bit, a shade most people wouldn’t notice, but I do.
“What’s that all about?” I ask, chuckling.
“Want the truth?”
“Absolutely.”
He shifts my weight on his knee and looks me in the face. “When I was trapped, I kept thinking about how I needed to be here to fix the door and the furnace and all the things you don’t know how to do. So now I don’t want to fix them because it reminds me of my job here, if that makes sense?’
I kiss his full lips. “It does. But you have lots of jobs here. Can you fix the back door?”
His lips press against mine again, his hands starting at my cheeks and skimming my neck, shoulders, until they land on the tops of my rounded breasts.
“I can think of another job I’d like to take care of around here, if you’re feeling like it.”
I look at his handsome face. “I’m always feeling like it.”
“Then let’s go.”