She says he’s got medical problems. She needs money. But, I don’t know if it is Luke’s baby. I could not see my boy in that child. Nothing about that baby feels like our Luke’s blood, our blood. Does that make sense? We called Rider about her and he told us to ignore her. He said she’s claiming paternity to more than just our family. I don’t want to call the police on her, but it’s got to stop. Anyway, it was you and not her so that’s good. Do you want tea?”
I let all her words seep in there on the Hansons’ beige and dusty rose floral sofa with the scratched and frayed armrests from their old-as-dirt cat and shook my head, my eyes landing on a framed photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Hanson with Luke, when he was about six or seven years old.
“Did you forget I was coming today? And no thanks to the tea.”
The cat climbed into my lap and made himself comfortable. I petted his head while she disappeared into her kitchen.
My heart was racing, mind whirling at the notion that a piece of Luke might be here on this planet. He wanted kids. Lots of them. It was one of those things we talked about in our late-night text conversations when he couldn’t sleep and when I’d force myself to stay awake to keep him company. He joked that he wanted all boys. I retorted that I wanted only girls because I’d had enough boys in my life. I steeled myself against the pain that Luke might have a little boy, a little boy he’d never get to watch grow up.
Mrs. Hanson came back with a tray holding a tea pot, two cups, milk, sugar, and a plastic sleeve of biscuits.
“I must have forgotten, sorry. But, I’m happy to visit with you. No tea? I’m having some.”
“Uh, okay,” I amended. “Can you tell me about this Melanie situation?”
Mrs. Hanson took a big breath and smoothed her long, dark hair away from her face. She had dark circles around her eyes again today.
“She turned up here with a baby and said she was sorry to bother us but thought we might want to know our grandson. We were just…shocked.” She stirred her tea and then nudged the sugar in my direction. “My husband slammed the door in her face. I was so shocked I didn’t do a thing. I wanted to talk to her, get a better look at that boy. The next day while he was at work, she came back. I let her in, and she said she needed money for the doctor. She said she only had diapers and milk to last her two more days. I took her to the store and bought her diapers and milk, but I told her I couldn’t pay for a doctor. Told her about a clinic a few blocks from here where they’d help her. She was back two days later again for money, five minutes after my husband left, like she’s just out there waitin’ for him to leave, saying she needed it for the doctor, that there was something wrong with him and I’m sorry, but I didn’t believe her. I think it’s for drugs. She didn’t have him with her the last two times she came. I don’t know for sure, but… I suspect Rider’s right and that’s not my son’s baby.”
I was flabbergasted. I needed to talk to Rider.
“But what if he is?” She twisted her upper lip nervously between her thumb and forefinger. “My husband won’t discuss it, but I’d really hate to not help if he is our grandson. I mean, we don’t have much, we’re just getting by, but…” She stared off into space.
“Do you have her number?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
She looked at me with confusion.
“I’ll try to help you get to the bottom of it, Mrs. Hanson.”
She reached for her purse, looking relieved.
Mrs. Hanson was lonely and may as well have been alone, really. I had stopped in to see her after we spread Luke’s ashes over the valley, and she seemed so sad and despondent that it tugged at the part of me that wanted Luke, wherever he was, to know I cared. I promised to visit again. And I had been back three times. It was becoming a regular thing and each time I visited she was a little less despondent. It was a long drive, so I usually added it to some other activity