she saw a bee. Her mess of black curls trails behind her like a billowing cape and her high-pitched scream mingles with my mother’s frustrated pleas. Not sure how holding her coffee with two hands above her head helps a six-year-old in full panic mode, but Mom has an obsession with her morning coffee that wins over Lucy’s fears.
Mom finally sets the cup on the porch then tries to contain my sister. For every half-hearted slip of my mother’s arm around Lucy’s waist, my sister zags. It’s like catching air. From the way Mom moves as if stuck in wet cement, I can tell she’s exhausted. Not sure if it’s a didn’t-sleep-well exhausted or I’m-a-single-mom-in-my-late-forties-with-a-demanding-full-time-job exhausted or just tired that it’s nine in the morning and being responsible sucks.
Six years ago, my parents filed for divorce the day after Lucy’s birth, and Mom and Dad gave me the choice of who I wanted to live with. My father had taken me out for dinner, put his hand on my shoulder and said, Your mom needs you. She doesn’t like to be alone, plus she’s going to be overwhelmed with Lucy. Your mom will need an extra pair of hands and your little sister will need a permanent, loving big brother. I need you to be the man of the house now. I need you to take care of them.
Decision made. Plus, considering Dad spent a total of ten minutes a night at home with me when they were married because he preferred work over us, choosing Mom didn’t feel like much of a sacrifice.
A car honks and I try not to be annoyed by the sound. I’m blocking the end of the street lined by one-hundred-year-old towering oaks that bend as if the weather is too hot even for them. As far as I’m concerned, whoever it is can keep honking because I’m not moving until Lucy’s safe. Besides, the house is the end of the road, the last of the neighborhood. Whoever it is can back it up since there is no more forward.
I roll down the window, and the August heat hits me like a jackhammer. I lean my head out and call, “Lucy.”
My sister freezes in place and her big dark eyes blink as she slowly swivels her head in my direction.
“Hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”
Lucy squeals again, but this time in delight. In her favorite fluffy pink skirt and sequined unicorn shirt Mom bought her on their latest shopping spree, my sister races up the driveway toward me. I open the door, hop out and offer the car waiting on me an I’m sorry lift of my hand. The older man in the four-door Cadillac that’s as big as a boat shakes his head as if pissed and decides to back into a driveway and head in the opposite direction.
With complete abandon, my little sister jumps into my waiting arms, and I place her into the truck. Lucy scrambles to the other side of the bench seat, and I close the door behind me. Even though we’re only going a couple feet backward, I click her seat belt into place then put my hands on the wheel.
“Sawyer, you need your seat belt.” Her innocent expression forces me to put it on.
Lucy can be Jiminy Cricket on crack, and most days, I need the additional conscience. I place the U-Haul into reverse, and the motor rumbles as I gently tap the gas. Seventeen isn’t old enough to drive a U-Haul, but being a pharmaceutical representative, Mom has a way of talking until people listen.
My son is a doll. She dropped her million-dollar grin and fluttered her hand in the air when the guy at the U-Haul counter protested the idea of me driving. Perfect to a T. He’s going to win Olympic gold someday. You should see how good of a swimmer he is.
Mom waves me back, in theory guiding me, but I don’t watch her. I trust the mirrors instead. There’s not a ton in the truck. Most of our possessions are in storage as we wait for our newest house to be built. It should have been done by now, but the contractor is late, the house we had been living in has been sold and now we’re in short-lease-apartment purgatory.
Bright-eyed and grinning like I took her to the gates of Disney World, Lucy opens her door the moment I place the truck into park and jumps out. She senses adventure while