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“This one is my favorite,” Zander says, kicking off his shoes before standing on our bed to return the same green truck he’d brought to the diner. “It’s my favorite color.”
“Green,” they say in unison.
“But not just any green,” Zander says, beginning his usual speech.
“Forest green,” they say together again as I rush to grab the letters before shoving them in a kitchen drawer.
That’s when I notice our tiny dining room table.
It’s littered with the diner’s take-out containers. Guilt claws at me as I toss them all into the trash.
Even though I cook all the food at the diner, I know it isn’t suitable for anyone long-term, much less a growing boy like Zander. I’ve been trying to convince Connie to implement a few healthier choices, but she isn’t listening, claiming the residents like grease, cake, and a cold one from the bar next door to wash it down with. Maybe she’s right, but what about hearty meals? Many people depend on the diner’s food when they’re in between shifts at work or on a lunch break. Maybe it would be a welcome change to have some healthier options. I heard the rosemary pot roast Grant Woods makes at his lodge is a massive hit a few mountains over.
I’d feel much better about feeding Zander something like that, along with some greens, more often. But then again, I’m just happy to feed him at all, and the diner's free leftovers allow me to do just that.
As Zander and Cole appear back in the living room, I quickly tug on Zander’s knitted baby blanket to cover a moth-eaten hole in our lumpy sofa before offering Cole a seat.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask. “Water?”
That’s all we have. If Zander wanted juice or I wanted decent coffee, we went to the diner in the morning before I whisked Zander off to school.
“Sure,” Cole smiles his thanks as Zander begins to address his concerns about their new truck-building project.
I barely get the glass filled under the tap before there are a few knocks on the door.
We all freeze, and Zander falls quiet. He knows that aside from maybe Cole and Connie, I have no friends, and we never get visitors. Not good ones, anyway.
His wide eyes find mine, but they're filled with excitement, not the dread brewing in my stomach.
“Quiet game?” he mouths, and I nod with a smile, feeling like I’m about to throw up.
The knocks grow more intense as I put the water glass down as quietly as possible before placing a finger to my lips.
Cole looks from me to the door quizzically as Zander copies me, placing a finger over his grin to tell Cole to keep quiet. Then he takes Cole's hand and then mine, just as another bang rattles the door.
As we tip-toe into the hallway, I can feel Cole’s eyes burning into me as Zander eases open the bathroom door, and we trickle inside.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“I know you’re in there, Zoe!” A male voice booms.
As Zander turns on the faucet to drown out the sound, I shut the door behind us and ignore Cole’s intense stare that’s damn near burning my skin off. I know he’s added everything together—the stacks of letters. Me selling my truck. The banging. No, he isn’t confused anymore, but I have no time to feel embarrassed. Not when I can make Zander feel like it’s all a game.
Protecting Zander from our harsh reality is my first priority.
Pulling back the shower curtain, Zander motions for Cole to sit in the tiny tub. When he does, Zander forces me in next, so I sit between Cole’s poor knees that are scrunched up to his ears. Zander does the same to me, grabbing my knees as I place my hands over his ears right before my landlord screams, “You can’t keep hiding!”
The pounding is so loud now that I pray Zander can’t hear it.
Cole’s warm hands come down over mine, shielding Zander’s ears too and the gesture damn near shatters me. His head rests on my shoulder, and our eyes meet until I can’t see him anymore because mine are filled with tears.
When the banging dies down, and the sound of an engine rolling over alerts us to my landlord’s departure, I finally take my hands from Zanders’s ears.
Cole’s hands fall to my sides before he wraps them slowly, tentatively around me in a hug I haven’t felt from anyone outside of Zander’s tiny arms. A hug I never would’ve known I needed so badly until I got it. His arms feel so solid and supportive around my frame, which feels so pitifully weak as we all get to our feet. What I wouldn’t give to be able to feel his comforting arms around me every day, helping me stay strong even when I’m so so tired.
But I can’t be like Mom and put my weight on someone else. Because when they leave, I’ll crumble.
“We won!” Zander declares, punching the air and cutting the faucet off before happily running back into the living room and peeking out the curtains. “The beast left!”
