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“I love Saturdays. Don’t you? Sundays, too, but we got church and Sunday school on Sundays.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “And then I gotta help mom with dinner and dishes before I can do anything. Saturdays you got the whole day in front of you and it seems like it could go forever.”
Before Sara could answer, Josh launched into a monologue about a school project he was planning on the life cycle of toads. He fell silent for maybe a minute as they left the road and started up a path leading up the hill above the Sanderson plant, then he abruptly stopped, turned toward her, and flashed her a toothy smile. “Do you like Ryansville? Are you gonna get a job and stay here? Maybe you could hire me to walk Harold every day. That would be so cool!”
Sara studied him, taken aback. She hadn’t been around many kids over the years, but did eight-year-olds really talk this much? “Hmm...I’m not really sure how long I’ll be here.”
The wide path led them to a grassy, sunlit meadow, then past a heavy stand of pines before twisting up through a tumble of heavy boulders and rocky outcroppings. Harold trotted happily at Sara’s side, his tail wagging and nose lifted to catch scents of things only he could detect.
The scent of dust and pine needles kicked up from the trail by their feet, followed them as they climbed higher.
Half a mile up the slope, next to a fallen pine tree, an almost invisible path veered off to the right. “Let’s check this out,” Sara said to Josh. “Where do you think it goes?”
It led, as Sara had hoped, to the outcropping of rock she’d noticed from below.
Josh surveyed the small level area, then snorted impatiently. “This trail doesn’t go anywhere. Let’s go back to the other one. Maybe we can get to the top of the hill.”
“Sure. Just a second, though.” Sara paced off the area—maybe ten feet by five. Estimated the height of the drop-off. As they headed back to the main trail, she counted the steps.
She’d be coming back as dusk faded into night, and one wrong move could mean a fast drop in altitude—a good hundred feet to a dry creek bed below. But this was a good place for observation. Probably no one else would be on the trail at night, and few would even notice the turnoff to this spot.
They hiked to the top of the hill, then traversed the long, level area at the top and stopped under an old, massive oak tree to share bottled water and a package of crackers. Josh’s chatter about his parents, school, friends, and Timmy continued, punctuated by questions about Harold and Sara, until they returned to the Shuellers’ house.
At the front steps Josh pulled open the front door, shouted that he was back, then gave Sara a big grin. “Can I go next time, too?”
Her head spinning, Sara replied. “Um...we’ll see, okay?”
At Zoe’s throaty chuckle, Sara raised her eyes and found the boy’s mom standing in the doorway.
Zoe unlatched the screen door and held it open. “Josh, Timmy is sleeping, so you need to be really quiet. Can you go into the family room and pick up your Scrabble game? It’s still scattered all over.”
Josh gave Harold a big hug, then trudged into the house and disappeared. The abrupt silence was nearly as distracting as all the chatter had been.
“He’s a good kid,” Sara ventured. “I can’t remember ever hearing kids talk about their parents as much as he does. Especially in such a positive way.”
Zoe’s eyes filled with tears. “Really? He never complains, but I know my condition sets him up for a lot of teasing from the other kids.”
“It isn’t fair.”
Slipping out onto the porch, Zoe closed the door behind her and leaned against the railing. “He’s not very big for his age, and he has such a good heart. Too good,” Zoe added, her voice laced with grief. “He wants to defend me against the world, and when the other kids taunt him about his ‘monster mom,’ he gets into fights he just can’t win.”
Sara’s heart turned over. “I’m so sorry. I guess kids aren’t any kinder now than they were when we were growing up.”
“It seems worse because it’s my son and not me—and I can’t always be there to defuse the situation.” Zoe sighed.
Sara wanted to ask if she’d sought newer treatment options as an adult but hesitated.
Zoe gave her a knowing look. “No, the newer laser methods weren’t available up here when I was a kid, and my doc says I probably wouldn’t get good results now. I learned to live with my appearance long ago, but didn’t realize that birth-control pills can cause greater risks for women with port-wine stains.”
“What happened?”
“Blot clots, and I ended up with a stroke.” She smiled, but her smile was off-kilter. “Having a disfigured mom is a big burden for a young boy.”
“Did you go through physical therapy?”
“Everything I could afford. The therapists worked miracles, really. I still have a noticeable limp, but I’m truly thankful that I don’t need a cane any longer.”
All the way home, Sara thought about the people who had everything and appreciated little, and about Zoe, who’d endured more than her share of pain yet could find ways to be thankful. And wished there was something she could do to help.
* * * *
