Seven Days in June(80)

“Mom is my emotional-support buddy,” admitted Audre. “She’s my person.”

Shane smiled softly. “Soul mates.”

Abruptly, Audre turned her whole body to face Shane. “You and my mom aren’t just friends, Mr. Hall.”

“What? But we are.”

“Please, I’m not a child.”

“You are a child, though.”

“Only chronologically.” Insulted, she folded her arms across her chest. “Are you gonna be nice to her?”

“Nice?”

Audre peered around the corner, in the direction of the sliding doors. Shane followed her gaze. No sign of Eva, so they were clear.

“Be nice to her,” she said, low and fast. “My mom keeps a lot of stuff inside, but her thoughts are really loud. I know she’s been scared and lonely. She has a disability, but you probably know that. It’s a barometric-pressure thing. When it rains or snows or gets really hot or really cold too fast, she hurts. But alcohol, stress, loud noises, and weird smells do it, too. You have to learn her triggers. And please, just be patient with her. Sometimes she has to lie down for a long time. You might feel bored or lonely or even rejected, but she can’t help being sick.” Audre rested her hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Mom feels guilty about who she is. Make her feel happy about herself.”

Shane nodded but kept his mouth shut. Words escaped him.

“She can’t put on lipstick, ’cause her hands shake too much from pain,” revealed Audre. “But she put it on today. For you.”

“I hear you,” Shane managed, his words a broken croak. “I get it.”

“Are you crying, Mr. Hall?”

“No,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn’t shed a tear since that morning in DC a thousand Junes ago. He’d thought he’d forgotten how. “No, I’m not crying. I’m fucking bawling.”

“Ugh, I have this effect on people. But it’s okay to cry,” she said, handing him a cocktail napkin. “Destigmatizing male vulnerability is the first step toward rebuilding the absolute ruin that straight men have left the world in.”

“This is so inappropriate. I’m sorry.” With a mighty exhale, Shane ran his hand over his face. Christ, this girl was a feelings ninja. “Don’t worry—I’ll be nice to her.”

“You have to promise.”

In theory, he knew that making promises to children was a dangerous thing. You fall short, you shatter their safety net. But he did it anyway, because he knew that he’d keep his word. What was the point of doing the grueling work of staying sober if he didn’t also become trustworthy? Shane was a surrogate dad/uncle/mentor figure to dozens of lost kids, and he’d vowed to them all that he’d be a FaceTime call, a text, or even a flight away. Which he was.

It wasn’t easy. Being permanently on call for a cross-country crew of delinquents was stressful as hell. And time consuming. Ty called him every time he hit a high score on Roblox. Shane had no idea what Roblox was, but if it kept Ty off the block, then cool. Shane was responsible for him. He’d made a vow, and he staked everything on it.

“I promise,” he said definitively. “Real talk? I waited a long time to make your mom happy. Fifteen years felt like thirty.”

“Well, duh, why didn’t you find her before?”

“Scared.”

“And now?”

“Still scared. Just don’t care.”

“Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”

“A few, yeah. No one is your mom,” he said. “Turns out, that’s a huge problem for me.”

“Mr. Hall, I’m extending an invitation to you,” Audre announced grandly. She sounded a lot like Cece. “Tomorrow, I’m getting on a plane to Dadifornia.”

He looked at her blankly.

“My dad’s house. In California. Me and Mom always go to brunch at Ladurée before my flight. Wanna come? We make it really fancy. You have to dress up.”

Shane drew back a little in surprise.

“Yeah? But that sounds like a special thing for just you and your mom.”

“It is. But you are, too.”

“You think I’m special?” Shane’s face got hot, a tingling rush of warmth spreading all over him. His hands trembled. What the hell was happening?

This is that family feeling, he thought. Of total acceptance, belonging to people. A connection that eclipsed everything. Shane hadn’t experienced this since his foster parents—for so long that he’d decided he didn’t deserve it.

So he’d expected to never feel it again.

“Yeah, you’re special. You can quote me on that.” Audre gave him a fist bump. “BTW, you’re not antisocial. You talked to me.”

“I said I couldn’t talk to normal people. You’re not normal.”

“Team abnormal,” she giggled.

Shane remembered how he’d said that to Eva once. You’re not normal. Now, like then, it was given and received as a compliment. Mother and daughter mirrored each other in the most striking of ways.

*



One hundred and ninety-five miles away, in Providence, Rhode Island, thirteen-year-old Ty Boyle was scared. He was a big dude, so this feeling wasn’t usually part of his emotional language. But it was right now, and the only person he would’ve admitted this to was ignoring his calls. Maybe he wasn’t ignoring him. Mr. Hall wouldn’t do that. Maybe he was just busy.