“Come here, Maggie,” he said.
I stood up and walked over to him. He allowed a few moments of silence to pass before speaking once more.
“Emily Dickinson didn’t like meeting new people, you know.” Of course he knew about Emily Dickinson’s life. “She only left her father’s home a few times, and after some time, she never left at all. She was always dressed in white, and she never spoke many words.”
I stared outside, seeing kids playing catch, riding bikes, living more life than I’d lived in all my years. I wiped away another tear so he wouldn’t see it.
He saw it and smiled. He always saw my tears and smiled—but it was a sad smile, a broken grin. “Just because she was different didn’t make her a freak. People called her a reclusive eccentric, too, you know. People called Einstein a mentally disabled fool.”
I smiled, but somehow he still saw the sadness living within me.
“Maggie May, you’re good enough just the way you are.”
What a typical thing for my father to say.
“I can tell you care. You care what others think of you, what your mother thinks of you, what I think of you. Which frankly, is a waste of time. Your mother and I may be older, but that doesn’t make us wiser in any way, shape, or form. We’re still evolving, too. It doesn’t matter what names others call you—reclusive, eccentric—none of those words matter. What matters are the names you call yourself when you are in your own company.”
He smiled at me once again. “If one day you choose to step outside and explore those things, then by all means, do it, but do not do it to make your mother happy, or me happy, because in turn I think you’ll lose your own happiness. Leave when you’re ready, not when you feel pressured. Okay?”
I nodded.
Okay, Dad.
He kissed my forehead. “The world keeps spinning because your heartbeats exist.” He turned to leave my room, but before he left, he cleared his throat, scratching at his hairy chin. “Oh, and you have a surprise in the dining room.”
I walked downstairs to the dining room and sitting at the table was an old woman, with two turkey sandwiches and two cups of tea. “So,” she said, holding one tea cup in her hand. “It turns out my memory isn’t the best that it could be.” She stood up from the table and walked over to me with a walker, limping a little. There were a few small bruises on her cheeks. But still, she looked her beautiful, overdressed self. With a tiny smile to her lips, she nudged me in the shoulder. “But it could always be worse,” she said playfully. “I could’ve been mute.”
Snickering, I nudged her back.
I had never hugged someone so tight in my life.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Brooks said, stepping into the dining room to see Mrs. Boone and me embracing.
“No, no. Any boy who’d sing to an old lady in the hospital is allowed to interrupt.”
Brooks gave her his crooked smile. “You heard me?”
“My goodness, the whole hospital heard you. After you left each night, the nurses went crazy over your voice and your facial hair, which I couldn’t understand for the life of me. Your voice was decent, but you look like a hairy monster. Shaving is okay, you know. I’ll buy you a razorblade if you’d like.”
I walked over to Brooks and rubbed his hairy chin. I liked it, his new look. His arms were toned and muscular, as if he’d been working out for years. He looked so grown up, so manly.
Mrs. Boone groaned. “Well, of course you like it, but your opinion is bias therefore it doesn’t matter. Anyway, here, Brooks.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a set of keys.
“What are these for?” he asked.
“It’s a thank you, for watching over me. Calvin told me you boys are here through the weekend, and he was saying how overly stressed you have been, so I figured you guys could go up to my cabin for a guys’ weekend, do whatever the heck it is that you young folk do nowadays.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. Thank you, Mrs. Boone.”
There was a knock at the front door and Daddy went to open it, revealing a woman with a kind smile. When Mrs. Boone saw her, she rolled her eyes. “Ugh, not you again.”
“Hi, I’m Katelynn,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Boone’s new caregiver. It’s just kind of hard to keep up with her. She’s a mover and a shaker.”
“The only thing I’ve been trying to shake is you, stalker,” Mrs. Boone murmured.
I snickered. Good luck to you, Katelynn. She had her hands full with that old lady.
The two of them shuffled back over to Mrs. Boone’s house, and Brooks jingled the keys in his hands. “We don’t have to go up this weekend. I haven’t had nearly enough time with you, and I want to take in every moment.”