Singer
66 days with Miles
They walked into the building just in time to see Marie walking out, backward, arguing with Brandi.
“He is my grandson—”
“I’ve told you over and over again, Marie, unless Regina is here—”
“I don’t know where she is! If I did, she would be here!”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “So, Regina isn’t here today?”
“I’m so sorry you drove all the way here,” Brandi said. “I was told she would be here.”
Marie, voice cracking, tried one more time. “I want to see my grandson.”
“I don’t see any reason why you can’t.” Singer glanced at Jake. “We’ll take you to lunch, Marie.” Brandi began to object, but Jake was nodding like this was the obvious solution. Even a scrap of Jake’s approval—once so common as to be taken for granted—was enough now to warm Singer’s spine.
“I really wouldn’t recommend that at this stage—”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Marie? Can we take you to lunch?”
Marie’s expression did not soften. She hesitated so long that Singer thought, as impossible as it seemed, she might say no. “Fine,” she said at last, as if she were conceding defeat. “That would be fine.”
“I’m not sure—” Brandi began. Then stopped. “I will contact you to get another visit, with Regina, scheduled.” The door snapped shut, with attitude.
“Somewhere nearby,” Jake said, and Singer conjured an image of himself and Jake riding in the front seat of their crossover, with Marie and Miles sitting in the back. Walking distance, so I can feel less like a privileged white man, if nothing else.
“Do you know anywhere around here to eat, Marie?”
“This isn’t my neighborhood.”
“Right, well, we’ll find something, then.”
“Do you want to hold Miles?” Jake asked.
“Can’t today. Maybe when we’re sitting.”
“Of course.” Singer, then Jake, adjusted their pace to hers.
*
The diner they found two blocks down was perfect. Big booth seats, quick service, and Miles ate something from all of their plates, standing up next to his grandmother to lean against the table.
“He’s getting real big now, isn’t he?” Marie asked.
“My mom says not to worry if he loses weight when he starts walking, because he’ll be using different muscle groups, but I don’t know. I think Regina was right. He’s built like a football player.”
Marie nodded, sipping her coffee. “His daddy was a damn fool. Could’ve gone to college for that, but got caught up in drugs. He’s the reason for all this.” She waved her hand across the table, from Miles to them. “Got Regina into all those drugs and she can’t get herself off them. Fools, both of them.”
“Marie, can I ask you something?” Jake cleared his throat. “I told you my mom’s an ER nurse, right? Can I ask you what’s wrong with your back? Why you can’t— Why the placement didn’t work out?”
For a long second, Singer thought she wouldn’t answer. Her expression went steely, almost defiant. Then Miles squawked at his food and something softened in Marie’s gaze. When she started talking, she only sounded resigned.
“Car accident, two years ago. Got rear-ended by an idiot with no insurance. Whiplash, bulging disc, some kind of joint pain they keep telling me is fixed, even though I feel it every day.” She shook her head. “Kept going back the whole first year, but it didn’t matter how much pain I was in, they told me everything looked good.”
“That’s horrible,” Jake said, with feeling. (Singer could only imagine what Cathy would say.)
“They thought I was trying to get pills.” She eyed them, hand smoothing up and down Miles’s back.
“Mom says the real danger is all the overprescribing to people who aren’t trying to get pills. Doctors will give you Vicodin for a headache and withhold the Percocet you need for chronic pain.”
“I hate all of it. I don’t want to go through life with a pill bottle in my hand.”
“And they didn’t try physical therapy?”
She grunted. “Sure, they tried. The insurance gave me sixty days to ‘fully recover’ from my injuries. That was it.”
The reality of it crackled over Singer’s awareness: had a car not hit Marie two years ago, they wouldn’t be sitting here now. They wouldn’t have ever met Miles at all. He fought a shiver. Any gratitude for Miles’s placement with them was tied up in gratitude for Marie’s injury, her pain. He couldn’t be sad about Miles, but he had to beat back rage on Marie’s behalf.
Miles slammed a hand down over her potatoes and fisted it, trying to pick up enough to shove in his mouth. Marie smiled and reached out, ghosting it over his head, down his neck.
“Sweet boy. You all take him to church?”
They looked at each other, sharing mirrored stumped expressions.
“We don’t actually have a church,” Jake said. “Singer’s family is agnostic, and mine is Catholic.”
“But you don’t go.”
“I guess my parents still go to mass. My brother and I don’t.” Jake paused. “The church hasn’t always been good to us. I’m not sure I could go back to it.”
Singer caught his breath, watching Jake’s face.
“Mm-hmm,” Marie said. “Children need church. You boys don’t know that yet, but children need to have Jesus in their lives.”
“Marie,” Singer said, hoping like hell he wasn’t about to end any chance that he and Jake would ever sleep under the same roof again. “You have a church, right?”
She stared at him.
“Could we bring Miles to your church? It’s not something that means much to us, but I think you’re right, I think it’s important that he have—choices. That he have access to faith. I didn’t have that, when I was young.” He didn’t dare look over at Jake.
Suddenly Marie began to laugh, huge rolling laughter. Miles blinked up at her, and his face crumpled.
“Here.” Jake scooped him into his lap. But Jake was smiling.
“Oh, that’s funny. Oh, that’s so funny.” Marie wiped her eyes. “Picture you two pale, pale white boys—oh, that’s so funny.”
Miles, now safe on Jake’s lap, stared over at his grandmother, fascinated by her. He waved food-encrusted hands around and made noise. Singer captured each hand with napkins to minimize the damage while Marie calmed down, still wiping her eyes.
“Well, I grant it might be strange,” Singer said. “But it would be a way for Miles to see you without Brandi telling us not to. And if Regina was there, he could see her as well.”
“That girl hasn’t gone to church in years, not since she turned sixteen and knew better than God.” Marie shook her head. “You’re really serious about this. You want to raise this baby, like he’s yours. He’s not your family. He’ll never pass as yours.”
This time it wasn’t an accusation, but a question.
“We can’t accidentally get pregnant, Marie,” Jake said evenly, as if he were discussing the traffic patterns on the bridge. “We want to adopt. We love Miles. Tell us where your church is and we’ll come. Unless you think we wouldn’t be welcome?”
Marie and Jake stared at each other for a long moment, and Singer couldn’t tell which way it would go. He mopped at Miles’s face again and watched as he crammed another chunk of scrambled egg into his mouth.
“Any grandson of mine is welcome in my church,” Marie said. “And you two along with him.”
“Settled, then. Give us the details.”
And Singer’s first thought, as he reached into the diaper bag for a pen and paper, was: at least I’ll see them on Sundays. Every Sunday morning he’d spend with Jake and Miles at Marie’s church. That was worth any discomfort. And Marie’s challenging look, saying good-bye to them on the sidewalk. She didn’t think they’d show.
But Marie didn’t know Jake with a dare. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and there was no way Jake wasn’t going to church.