Mind Games

“I did, because I knew the whole alphabet and I can count all the way to a hundred and know all the colors. I know yellow and blue make green like Grave Digger, and…”

Ty listened as he carted Bray into the house.

“I have so many friends.”

“I bet you do.”

Like every boy in the history of boys, in Ty’s estimation, Bray dumped his backpack on the floor.

“And when Joey didn’t know the alphabet, Kevin laughed at him and pointed, and I said that was mean, and he pushed me.”

“Wait. What?”

“And Miss Hanna said that wasn’t ’lowed, and Kevin had to say sorry to me and to Joey, and I got to help Joey with the alphabet and got another sticker.”

Ty crouched down. “You’re a good man, Braydon.”

“Okay. And we got to play trucks or build with blocks, and Miss Hanna read a book to us about dinosaurs, and we drew pictures of our first day of school. I’m hungry.”

Because he’d done his research, Ty had a snack ready. As he set it out, he thought: We survived day one.

* * *

At the end of the first week, he felt like a vet. He had a routine, a loose one, but loose worked. Get the kid dressed—he never had to worry about getting Bray up, wondered if he ever would—get a decent breakfast into him. Pack up a lunch. Wait for the bus.

When it dawned on him he could hit the grocery store alone, he did that. Then decided he missed the company. He cleaned the house his way—in bits and pieces. Worked his way, which meant diving in until he surfaced.

And he started to make plans—vague ones, but plans—on expanding the house, painting the house, maybe remodeling enough that he could have an actual main suite and a shower where he didn’t continually bang his head or elbows.

On the last day of that first week, it occurred to him he wasn’t making a life here. He’d actually made one.

He decided to take a walk up the lane because it seemed to him Thea Fox was part of the life he’d made.

The dog came running, but he’d gotten used to that.

“Just me,” he told Bunk. “He’s not home yet.”

After a long, hopeful look down the lane, the dog settled for him. They walked together.

She stood on the front porch, her hair braided back, watering pots of flowers.

He thought, yes, in sunlight, she shined.

“I wondered why I didn’t hear music today. You’ve been busy with your music this week.”

“Yeah.” He stopped at the base of the porch steps. “A lot of quiet time on my hands this week.”

“I liked hearing what he’d been doing in school when you walked him up a couple days ago. And you’ll like hearing his teacher, my friend, says he’s just delightful.”

“He got three stickers yesterday and was pretty full of himself about it.”

“Three stickers is something to brag about.” She angled her head. “You look like a man who’d like to come in.”

“I’m a man who’d like to come in. I’m hoping you’re not working.”

“Rem finished the last round of beta testing an hour ago.”

“How’d that go?”