Christopher was staring out of the window when Kate entered the room. She had seen his father do the same thing many moons ago. And for a moment, she forgot about the hospital and thought about his future. He would look more like his father every day. And one day, his voice would change. And one day, he would be taller than her. It was unreal to think that Christopher would start shaving his face in six years. But he would. As all boys do. And it was her job to make sure he would be as good a man as he was a boy.
That and to protect him.
He turned and smiled at her. Her hand found his, and she whispered while she talked. Like a secret.
“Hey, honey. I have a surprise for you.”
As she reached into her purse, she saw his eyes light up. She knew her son well enough to sense his little prayer to Jesus and Mary that she was pulling out a box of Froot Loops. It had been two days of hospital food. Two days of his second-worst nemesis. Oatmeal.
“It’s from the school,” she continued and watched his heart sink.
Instead of Froot Loops, Christopher’s mother pulled out a big white envelope and handed it to him. They opened it together and saw Bad Cat eating the words “Get well soon” off the front of a huge greeting card.
“Your whole class signed it. Isn’t that nice?”
Christopher said nothing, but somewhere in his eyes, she knew that he understood that all the kids were forced to sign the greeting card like how they were forced to give Valentines to everyone so no one would feel left out. But still, he smiled.
“Father Tom had the church say a prayer for you on Sunday. Isn’t that nice of him?”
Her boy nodded.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” she said. “I got you a little something, too.”
Then, she reached into her purse and pulled out a little box of Froot Loops.
“Thanks, Mom!” he said.
It was one of those little wax-lined boxes that didn’t need a bowl. He greedily broke it open while she took out a little plastic spoon and milk from the cafeteria. When he started eating it, she would have thought he was feasting on Maine lobster.
“The doctors said you can go home tomorrow,” she said. “What is tomorrow? I can’t remember. Is it Wednesday or Thursday?”
“It’s Movie Friday,” he said.
The look on his face nearly broke her. He was so happy. He would never know about the $45,000 hospital bill. The health insurance that denied coverage because she hadn’t worked at Shady Pines long enough. The lost wages from the week of work she missed to look for him. And the fact that they were now financially ruined.
“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” she asked.
“Get movies from the library,” he said.
“That sounds boring,” she said. “Don’t you want to do something different?”
“Like what?”
“I heard that Bad Cat 3D is opening tomorrow,” she said.
Silence. He stopped eating and looked at her. They never went to first-run movies. Not ever.
“I spoke to Eddie’s mom. We’re going tomorrow night.”
He hugged her so tightly she felt it in her spine. The doctors told her that there was no sign of trauma. No sign of sexual or any other abuse. Physically, he was fine. So what if her son needed some father figure or imaginary friend to make him feel safe? Considering that people sometimes saw Jesus’ face in a grilled cheese sandwich, her seven-year-old boy could believe anything he needed to believe. Her son was alive. That’s all that mattered.
“Christopher,” she said. “The rain was terrible. There were accidents. And this deer jumped in front of the truck ahead of me. I would never leave you in front of that school. I would never do that. You know that.”
“I know,” he said.
“Christopher, this is you and me now. No doctors. Did anything happen to you? Anyone hurt you?” she said.
“No, Mom. No one. I swear,” he said.
“I should have been there. I’m sorry,” she said.
And then, she held him so tightly, he couldn’t breathe.
* * *
Later that night, Christopher and his mother lay side by side like they used to before she told him he was big enough to beat up the monsters by himself. As she fell asleep, he listened to the breath that she had given him. And he noticed that even here in the hospital room, she smelled like home.
Christopher turned back to the window, waiting for his own eyelids to get sleepy. He looked at the cloudless sky and wondered what happened to him for six days. Christopher knew that the grown-ups didn’t believe the nice man was real. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was a “fig newton of his imagination” like Special Ed said.
Or maybe not.
All he knew was that he woke up in the middle of the woods. In a giant clearing. With one tree. He had no idea how he got there or how to get out. That’s when he saw what he thought was the nice man in the distance and followed him out of the woods.
The sun became the nice girl’s headlights.
And she screamed, “Thank you, God!”
And she rushed him to the hospital.
Right before Christopher’s eyelids drooped closed, he looked out of the window and saw the clouds drift by, blocking out the moon. There was something familiar about the clouds, but he couldn’t quite remember what. In the quiet, he noticed that he had a little headache. And drifted into a peaceful sleep.