When I open the back passenger door to tie the twine around the metal loops affixed just inside the opening, my gaze falls on Aidan. His head is drooped against the side of his booster seat, his eyes cinched shut, but I know he’s not asleep. He looks so innocent, his dark hair curling slightly at the ends, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and I just want to bundle him up and protect him from the whole world.
I try to assure myself that he just needs time, but it feels like I’m screwing up everything lately.
Maybe we should have stayed in Charlotte, where we lived when his father left us. We certainly shouldn’t have moved to Asheville in the middle of the school year. He’s not adjusting well to the change. Back in Charlotte, he barely ate anything; here, his diet resembles that of a baby bird. Well, no, I don’t do the whole chewing-up-food thing for him. It’s just that he barely he eats anything, even when I ply him with hot chocolate and gingerbread and other foods he used to love. Although he approves of his occupational therapist (Mondays at 4:30) and his teacher, Ms. Liu, whom he tells me wears “an agreeable mix of colors,” he hasn’t had much else to say about school.
Ms. Liu tells me he’s struggling. On Monday, she called to encourage me to sign him up for this program called Butterfly Buddies. It sounds like Big Brothers, Big Sisters but it’s specifically for kids on the autism spectrum. She thinks he’s lonely, and I know she’s right. It’s never been easy for him to connect with people, and inside, he’s a mess of emotions that he doesn’t know how to process.
These people work miracles, she said, and it took everything I had not to say, Oh, yeah? Can they give him his father back? Because that would be a true miracle. But none of this is her fault, so I didn’t, of course. I didn’t give her an answer either, because the idea of sending Aidan off with a stranger gives me hives. What if he hates his buddy? What if they’re a kidnapper? What if they’re a weirdo, or they steal Aidan’s social security number?
My sisters would tell me I’m going to be carried away on a river of what-ifs.
Ms. Liu did assure me that there’s a strenuous vetting system. Maybe it’s time to take a chance. Aidan needs something, and as much as it kills me, I’m clearly not giving it to him.
I don’t regret bringing my son here, though. Glenn doesn’t even live in Charlotte anymore, and although his parents do, and they’re great, I wanted to be closer to my family. Being near my sisters is good for both of us, and I’ve arranged for Aidan to spend every other weekend with his paternal grandparents for a dose of normalcy. That’s all we need, really—a new normal. Once we find it, everything else will fall into place.
A hateful little voice in the back of my head asks, What if this is your new normal?
Thankfully, we get home without any more mishaps, and after we get the tree set up in its stand and go through our nightly routine, I sit at my laptop with a glass of wine and email Glenn for the first time in weeks. Not for my own sake. I don’t want him anymore, if I ever really did.
It’s an entreaty for him to be a father to his son, or at least someone to his son.
If I had a Christmas wish, that would be it, but I know deep in my heart that, like the dozens of other messages I’ve sent, it’ll go unanswered.
Chapter Two
Jace
“Jace.”
I look up from the wall I was building to find my boss, Chuck, standing a couple of feet away.
“Got a minute?” he asks.
Nodding, I set down my nail gun. I’m not surprised by the interruption. I’ve been expecting him all day. If I’m right, he’s here to fire me.
I’ve had this job for six months, and things have been going well, but I’ve been down this road before. When something goes missing on a site, I’m the first person the boss interrogates. And Travis, one of the other rough carpenters who’s working with me now, told me this morning that a circular saw disappeared off the truck yesterday.
When I look at it from Chuck’s perspective, I get it. I mean, I did do time for stealing a car. But damn. I’ve paid for my crimes. I’ve served my time. I haven’t been that person for a long, long time, and I’m fucking tired of being everyone’s scapegoat.
I follow him from the gutted living room of the Vine Street house into the kitchen, which is only slightly less noisy. Given there’s currently no real wall between the two spaces, the sound of Led Zeppelin—Travis’s favorite group—and the rhythmic pounding of Trav’s stud gun are still deafening. The band is in the middle of a guitar riff, and Travis is shaking his ass so much his pants fall halfway over his butt cheeks.
He isn’t wearing underwear, and he seems in no hurry to cover up.
“I didn’t know there was a full moon tonight,” Chuck says in a dry tone.
I can’t help quipping, “I think that’s technically a half moon.”
Chuck presses his lips together as he surveys Travis’s ass. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
He shakes himself, then turns his back to my coworker. Crossing his arms over his chest, he levels his gaze on me. “I got a call this morning.”
“Oh?” I say, slightly confused. Had someone called in an anonymous tip claiming I’d taken the saw?
“Butterfly Buddies. They called for a reference.” He narrowed his gaze. “You looking at taking a job with a conservation group?”
I stare at him wordlessly for a moment. Then the name registers, and I rub the side of my jaw. “No.” I give him a half smile. “It’s a volunteer organization that works with kids on the spectrum.” When I see his blank look, I add, “Kids with autism.”
His eyes widen. “Oh.” Then they widen even more “Oh. Why would you do that? I thought you were done with parole.”
“I am,” I say, hating that I have to explain myself, especially since I’m so caught off guard. I never expected to hear from Butterfly Buddies after submitting my application a few months ago. The organization has been on my radar for a couple of years, but it wasn’t until my nephew’s fourteenth birthday that I took the plunge and applied. Given that I’d had to consent to a full background check and provide them with fingerprints, I hadn’t expected them to take me seriously, let alone call my boss. “I just like giving back.”
It’s a lame answer, but it’s the only one I’m capable of providing right now.
“That’s awesome,” he says. “Will you need to take off work for that?”
“They say the time commitment is minimal. Mostly after school and some evenings or weekends. We usually wrap up our jobs by three at the latest, so I shouldn’t need to take off.”
His hands drop to his sides. “You’re a damn good worker, Jace. Mitch Pincher was a fool to let you go, but his stupidity was my gain. If you need to take off an hour or so early so you can volunteer, just let me know. Maybe you can come in early to make up for any lost time.”
“Thanks.” This isn’t going anything like I’d expected.
He turns pensive, looking me over. “Are you happy working with my crew?”
I hesitate, unsure where this is going, and warily answer, “Yes, sir.”