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“Tru, please get that. Milo, let me see real quick.”
Tru left the kitchen and Milo moved to the side and lifted his shirt. Nothing was out of the ordinary and it appeared he got lucky, but the worry wouldn’t let me pull away from him.
“Dad, I’m fine.”
“I need to be sure, Milo, please.”
“Everything okay?” Finch’s voice was a balm to my nerves and when I looked up, I was momentarily struck.
His baby-blue hair was half up, but the rest was tumbling down to the middle of his back. He had on a slim pair of jeans and a buttoned-up cardigan with a peek of what I thought to be a band shirt underneath. He beamed as if the scene in front of him weren’t a nightmare.
“Milo fell running to the pantry, and Dad was inspecting for blood,” Tru answered when words deserted me.
Finch placed a platter of something onto the counter and sat beside me. He checked Milo out quickly yet efficiently. “Looks good. Accidents happen.” He smiled and leaped up. “I brought cupcakes—I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s it? Nothing to worry about?”
“You can check in a little bit, but I’m sure he’s okay. Milo, if you feel pain in the upper left side of your stomach, or tenderness when you touch the upper left side of your stomach, have left-shoulder pain, lightheadedness, confusion, or dizziness, you let us know, okay?”
“What would that mean?” I helped Milo stand.
“Those are signs that his spleen needs to be checked out. But he’s okay right now, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“And no bleeding under the skin, so, who likes cupcakes?”
“I was gonna make you cookies.” Milo moved over to where Finch’s gorgeous and no doubt delicious cupcakes were on display.
“You invited me, and I wanted to bring something over.”
“Okay.” Milo giggled. “Next time I’ll make you cookies.”
Finch glanced at me so fast that if I’d blinked I’d have missed it. I loved the idea of Finch spending time with us, and what was bizarre was that since Laura passed away, I’d never liked anyone other than the kids and me in this house.
“Do you like tacos, Finch?” Tru asked.
“Who doesn’t like tacos?” Finch answered, and we all laughed.
The tacos were a hit, and there hadn’t been so much laughter around the dining room table in years. Even Tru, my oh, so serious child, was a little goofy, and I loved every second of it.
Milo put on an action movie, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was or anything about it because instead of watching that, I watched Finch. He was so animated in everything he did and that once tiny feeling I’d had when I looked at him was almost unbearable.
I wanted to kiss Finch; of that I was certain.
It was close to nine by the time the movie ended, and Milo was leaning his head against Finch’s arm, his eyes drooping. Tru was out cold in one of the recliners.
“Hey, Bud,” I whispered, and Milo’s head popped up. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed?”
“But Finch is still here.”
“You think this is the last time we’re gonna see each other? We’re friends now, remember?” Finch poked Milo’s arm, and he smiled.
“Okay. Soon, though. Don’t forget.”
“How could I forget you, silly?”
Watching Milo hug Finch with so much affection, just like at the hospital the day we left, it blew me away how important this nurse had become to our family.
