So Much More - Kim Holden Page 0,17

in my mind, I still see her sitting on the floor. “What were you doing? Meditating? Praying?”

“Both, I guess, though I don’t like to pigeonhole,” she says as she walks by. “I like to multitask.” She winks.

I don’t know if the smile reaches my lips because I’m tired, but on the inside, she makes me smile. “I need to grab my box fan and some towels and go back down to help Hope clean up.”

“Why don’t you give me the fan and towels and I’ll help her? I don’t mind at all. It makes me feel useful,” Faith says.

“But I told Hope I’d be back down to help her,” I argue because I hate letting people down, especially when I’ve promised something.

Faith smiles and I already know she’s not going to let me win. “Your kids have school, and you have to work in the morning, I don’t. Get some rest, Seamus.”

“You’re sure?” I feel bad backing out, but she’s right. I have to get up for work in a few hours.

She nods.

I insist on taking the fan and towels down myself and explaining to Hope the situation and that Faith will be back down to help her. I also tell her to come up and knock if they need anything.

Hope nods in understanding but doesn’t say a word.

Faith and I cross paths at my doorway.

“Thanks for helping Hope out tonight. Sorry I had to wake you. We needed a hero.”

It’s nice to be needed. “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Faith.”

She pulls the door shut behind her, but leaves it open an inch and whispers through, “Nighty night, Seamus.”

Your knees are attractive; it’s a shame to bloody them

present

It’s seven o’clock on a Saturday morning, which is a guarantee of two things.

One: Kira is wide-awake and has been for over an hour now, sitting on the couch watching cartoons.

Two: I’m semi-awake, sitting on the couch next to Kira watching cartoons…through closed eyelids.

I haven’t slept in past six o’clock in the morning for eleven years.

I’m not complaining. My kids are only little once. The boys sleep in now, and I’m sure she’s not far behind them in making the shift.

“Daddy, are we going to the beach today?”

I answer with my eyes still closed, “Is it raining?” The weatherman on the local news last night said it’s supposed to rain today.

She walks to the front door and opens it; I guess an accurate weather assessment requires immersion and not a simple peek out the window.

“What’s this?” Kira asks curiously, looking at the ground outside the front door. Curiosity is not always a good thing when it comes to Kira. She’s fearless. The kind of fearless that requires trust. Her trust is a bottomless pit. Trust that the world is good and nothing bad ever happens. But even when bad does happen, like getting stung by a bee when she was three because it looked soft and fuzzy and irresistible to tiny fingers, or bad like her mom leaves the family and moves out of state, she never loses her trust. She’s still fearless.

I walk to the door for a close-up examination of the this half of what’s this.

There on the W…E mat is a cane. It’s wooden, and though it’s not bulky, it looks substantial, like it serves its purpose and serves it well. And it’s obvious it’s had plenty of opportunity to serve well. The varnish and stain are worn away on the handle and the bottom foot shows some battle scars. There’s an envelope underneath it, and my name is written on it.

When I see my name, a few things bubble up in me.

The first is embarrassment because someone thinks I need this. It makes my stomach lurch.

The second is anger because someone thinks I need this. It makes my stomach boil.

The third is foreign, a traitor that has invaded my bitter existence. It’s relief because someone thinks I need this. It makes my stomach settle.

But relief only sticks around for a nanosecond because I’m a stubborn, thirty-four-year-old man. I refuse to use a cane.

Canes scream helplessness, weakness, and deterioration.

That’s not me.

I may not be able to feel my legs from the waist down, except for occasional pinpricking pain, but I will not use an aid like an old man. A broken old man.

“Kira, darlin’, can you do me a favor and put that in my room?” I want to douse it in gasoline and light it aflame on the W…E mat in a proper act of defiance and protest. I also can’t