CHAPTER
forty-six

Hugo stood at the window, still wearing his nice outfit from our trip to the school. It had taken a peanut butter sandwich and a good nap to calm him after getting home. Even so, he hadn’t felt in the mood to play a game or watch television.

So, he stared out the window, standing perfectly still.

“What are you looking at?” I asked, crossing the room to stand beside him.

“The rain,” he answered, taking my hand.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “I like watching it.”

“Me too.”

“I like it when the worms come out,” he said. “Do you like worms, Aunt Betty?”

“Well, I’m not sure that I do.” I squinted my eyes. “When I was a little girl, I was afraid of them.”

“They don’t bite.”

“You’re right, sweetie.” I sighed. “I suppose it was because of how wriggly they are.”

Hugo lifted his hand, making his pointer finger wiggle like a worm.

“Why do they come out when it rains?” he asked, putting his hand down.

“Hm. I don’t know. Why do you think they do?”

“’Cause they like the way the rain feels on their skin.”

“That’s a really good idea,” I said. “Do you like the way rain feels on your skin?”

He nodded. “Maybe I’m part worm.”

It was a joke. A joke deserving of the laugh I gave it. A joke that gave me a dose of hope that his heart was going to be all right.

“Can we listen to a record?” he asked.

“Well, of course we can.” I left him to find one he might like.

But looking at my selection, I realized I was sorely lacking in what I thought boys would like. I had no Elvis or Spike Jones. He picked one with Doris Day on the cover, smiling widely.

“Why did you pick this one?” I asked.

“She looks like Mommy.”

I winked at him, not knowing what about Doris Day reminded him of Clara, but put the record on anyway.

Peppy, bouncy, tinkling music came out of the speakers as Doris sang of a bright and shiny love.

Hugo’s head bobbed with the rhythm, and I put out my hands to him, which he took. We tap-stepped along to the song, swayed one way and then the next. I spun him and we twirled and at the very end I picked him up off the ground, dipping him up and down as he laughed until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

At the end of the song he wrapped his arms around my neck, holding me as tight as his strength allowed.

The next song—“I Want to Be Happy”—started and I hummed along with it, wishing my voice was smoother, prettier. Wishing my voice was more like Clara’s. But Hugo didn’t seem to mind; he kept his grip on me as if his life depended on it.

Trying not to allow my voice to crack, I sang, only fumbling on a few of the lines about wanting to be happy and wanting to make someone else happy too.

The weight of sweet Hugo made my arms sore and my body tired, but I didn’t want to let him go. I knew, though, that I couldn’t carry him all day long, so I let him slide down to the floor. When I released my hold on him, I felt a little pang of something I could not have defined.

But then he took my hand again.

After the rain, Hugo convinced me to go outside with him. We treaded gingerly, careful not to squash any of the worms on the concrete path that cut through the yard. He squatted down by each one, taking it in his hand, letting it move itself into curlicues on his palm. Before depositing them back in the grass, he whispered something to them, so soft and so gentle that I couldn’t hear.

Once we reached the sidewalk, Hugo went up and down in front of the half dozen houses between us and the intersecting road, rescuing worms from drying up once the sun came out and giving them what I imagined was a benediction.

A good half an hour later, his work done, Hugo and I went inside to wash up for a little supper. When I asked him what he’d said to the worms, he shrugged as if suddenly shy.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I said.

He crooked his finger, beckoning me to come near and putting his mouth close to my ear.

“I said, ‘stay off the sidewalk,’” he whispered.

“That’s all?” I asked.

“Yes. I don’t think worms are very smart.”

He pulled the step stool to the kitchen sink and scrubbed his hands clean under the faucet.

Oh, how that little boy enchanted me.