And you don’t know what that means.

—Grace

Should’ve seen me.

In the lobby fighting myself. We can’t do this. We can. We can’t do it without him. We can. What’s different about where it will come from? Should’ve seen me a foot in and a foot out the door, riding the elevator for trips. But in the end, what else can I do?

My eldest answers dressed in a tank top and basketball shorts and this is the first time I’ve noticed his arms, a man’s arms, protective. I need you, I say, and fall into him. He catches me, holds me up, presses his chin to the top of my head. I step back and gather and we step inside. He pulls out a chair for me at the table.

Is this about Big Ken? he says. The custody?

How do you know? I say.

He mentioned it, Champ says. But I didn’t think he meant to see it through.

Well, he has, I say. Or he intends to. I’m scheduled to go to court.

Court? he says. When?

In a month, I say. Champ, I thought I could do it on my own but I can’t. I can’t keep fighting this fight by myself.

You’re right, he says. So what now?

We need a lawyer, I say. Can you pay for one?

He sighs from someplace other than himself. He drops his head and rubs above his eyebrows. He lifts his eyes and looks away and looks at me.

What’s wrong? I say.

Timing, he says. You wouldn’t believe this timing.

So do you have it? I say.

No, I don’t, he says. But how much do you need?

Forget it, I say. I’ll find a way.

No, you won’t. I will, he says. How much?

He leans into a shaft of light and you can see a tiny scab on the high side of his face, see flecks of red in the white of an eye. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know, I say. Whatever you can spare and I’ll make do.

He ventures into his room. There’s the sound of the closet door sliding open, of Kim murmuring. This while I jitter in my seat and wonder whether I should stay or leave, whether this is yet another test of what I sacrifice every time the time comes. Champ slugs out and plops in his seat. Let’s start with this, he says, and slaps down the key to the Honda. It’s attached to a silver key chain. That and now this, he says. He takes out a knot, counts out a stack, and lays it in front of me. I don’t pick it up to count. Whatever it is, it’s what I need. What I should know not to accept.

My God, I say.

Mom, let’s leave Him out of this, this time, he says. You came for help and here it is. My help.

Son, thank you for this. For all you’ve done.

We listen to what wafts in from the street, a motorcycle revving by, the shrill voices of kids. Kim, in leggings and a tentish shirt, totters over to us and she lifts the bills off the table showy and sets them down. Wow! Looks like you won the lotto, she says.

I scoop the money off the table and dump it in my bag. How’s my grandbaby? I say. How are you?

Me, still instasick every morning, Kim says. But she’s just fine.

Did you say she? I say.

Yes, she says. He didn’t tell you? Your son will soon have a baby girl to care for. He might want to start practicing now.

I throw Champ a look and he shrugs and says that he’s sorry, that he meant to mention it sooner.

Kim wanders over and checks herself in the hall mirror—pinches her thigh, turns this way and that way—and groans. She takes out a jacket and wrestles on the sleeves. Oh, I sooo can’t do this, she says.

You sooooo can’t do what? Champ says.

Look! she says.

Why don’t you quit complainin and get some that fit? he says. It’s simple if you ask me.

She toddles over and poses. All right, Mr. Simple, she says. You must be feeling generous today.

What about what I gave you last week? he says.

That was last week, she says.

He looks to the ceiling. This isn’t a good time, he says.

Oh, so you don’t care if I feel like this another week? she says.

He thumbs what looks like less than he gave me and holds it up for her to grab. Take care of me, you take care of her, she says. She pecks him above his eye and dodders out, the sweetest scent in her wake.

He apologizes for Kim, but I shrug it off. He asks if I’m hungry and tells me to stay put and goes into the kitchen. He fixes us breakfast—sausage, eggs, toast—which is more than I thought he could do. He makes me a place setting and serves me with that gap-toothed grin of his and sits across the table with his back against the chair and his elbows off the table just like I taught him when he was a boy.

Since when did you start cookin? I say, forking a mouthful.

Since I live with a girl who scorches meals on the reg, he says. A man can only stand but so much suffering.

She’ll get better when the baby comes, I say. And the baby will be here before you know it. How are you two doing otherwise?

You just seen it, he says. And that’s been for weeks.

Hormones, I say. The first time’s the toughest. Be kind. Be patient.

Yeah, the estrogen attitudes I get, he says. But she’s been talking marriage.

Has she? What’s wrong with that? I say. That is how it’s supposed to be done.

Says who? he says. Not for me. A father now, yes. But a husband, hell no.

Champ, that’s foolish, I say. And selfish. Don’t be so selfish. You’ve got to learn to give, son. More than what’s in your pocket.

We finish and he digs the bag—it’s as swelled as it was when New Years I brought it back—from a closet stocked with boxes for my grandbaby. He carries it out behind me to the Honda. It’s filthy; its hood and roof are painted with bird drops. He drops the bag and kicks a hubcap. As you can see, it’s been sittin since you left it, he says. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to spend a few bucks on new juice. He loads the bag in the trunk while I circle the car checking for dents or a low tire. I climb inside and he closes the door and stands at the window while I settle, while I grip the wheel and let it go, while I adjust the seat and shift, while I flip the visor and case myself in the mirror.

He motions me to lower the window. He ducks inside and keeps balance on his arms.

If it ain’t enough let me know and we’ll see what else we got, he says.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I say, and ask if he can get his brothers together before we go to court.

Done, he says. I got you.

Yes, you do, Champ, I say. And you don’t know what that means.

He taps the car and backs a step away.

Do you really think it’s selfish? he says.

Do it for you. For you and for her and the baby. Champ, you have to believe me. Living against the risk of love is no way to live.

Look, he says, and points to the sky. Birds sail high and silent, a prayer in flight, their flock formed in the shape of a V.