Dolly All the Time(53)

My already shaky nervous system kicks into gear. I call him. “Are you okay? How much blood? Is there a doctor?”

“I don’t know how to say how much blood,” Gus says. “But they said they’d give me a new T-shirt. I’m fine, but I feel kind of weird, like wavy.”

“Wavy?” I say. “What is wavy? Can I talk to a counselor?”

“This is Matt,” is the next thing I hear. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Yes, hi. Does he need to see a doctor?”

“Probably. Can you come get him?”

Christopher lets out a groan that sounds like he’s having all his teeth ripped out rather than just sitting still while a single tooth is scraped clean. What he doesn’t know is that he’s going to have to sit there while an impression of his tooth is taken and then suffer through the placement of the temporary crown. He actually deserves to groan all he wants. Point Judith is thirty-five minutes away, and we won’t be out of here for at least an hour. This is a system failure. I can do every single thing to parent my son and also meet my other responsibilities, until I can’t. Just one loose screw and the whole thing falls apart. A crack in a tooth, a crack in the system.

My heart races as I call Naomi. She doesn’t answer. My dad can’t leave Rikki in charge of the store, so I don’t text him. I’m about to call Sully at work when Stewart calls.

“Hey, hi,” I say. “Little crisis here, can I call you back?”

“Sure,” he says. “What kind of crisis?” I look up and Christopher has gone red with fury.

“Christopher cracked a tooth, we’re at the dentist. Gus hit his head on a rock in Point Judith and needs to see a doctor.”

“Oh God. How can I help?” he asks. And of course. This is what money is for, it’s better than the roof.

“Are you back from New York?” I ask.

“Yes. What can I do?”

“I hate to ask but any chance your driver is free? To get him and bring him back to my house?” I take in a little breath. It’s a lot to ask, but it’s the perfect solution.

“No, I’ll go.” I hear him push back a chair and start walking. “You can’t have a thirteen-year-old bleeding in the back of a stranger’s car. At least he knows me. Text me the address and tell them I’m coming.”

That’s actually the perfect solution. The tightness in my chest subsides. “Thank you” is all I can say.

“No problem. And I’ll bring him back here to see my mom, so you don’t have to deal with another doctor’s office.” A door opens, closes. “Mom, don’t go anywhere. I’ll call you from the car.” Then to me, “Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”

When I’ve hung up, I let my head fall into my hands. I picture Stewart coming back to my rock when I was unsteady at Ruddy Duck Cove. That took my breath away, but this. This is a man walking out of his workday to tend to my crisis. I feel as if he’s taken part of my heart. We’ve got this.

Christopher puts up an impressive fight over the impression being made of his tooth but has given up by the time he gets the temporary crown. I hold him in the parking lot before we get in the car. “I know that was awful, buddy. It’s over.”

I bring him home and set him up on the couch with some crackers and The Wizard of Oz, before heading to Eight Oaks. I park right by the front door and ring the bell. I am anxious to see Gus and wrap him in my arms. Alarmingly, I am also anxious to see Stewart and wrap him in my arms. Gladys answers and smiles when she sees me. “What a doll your boy is,” she says.

I smile. “Thank you. And thank Stewart. This is really above and beyond.”

“They’re in the kitchen,” she says. “Follow me.”

We walk through the grand foyer and the cutting room into the kitchen. Gus is eating a sandwich at the stainless-steel counter, catty-corner to Stewart. Between them is a backgammon board. Gus has a white bandage on the side of his forehead, attached with surgical tape. Stewart looks up and smiles at me. He’s completely relaxed, like he had nothing to do today but take care of us. Gus turns and sees me and smiles too.

“Pretty nice here,” he says, holding up half a sandwich.

I cross the room to him and hug him from behind. I spin him around and check him for cracks. His shoulders, his arms, his hands. “Are you okay?” Then to Stewart, “Is he okay?”

Victoria is in the doorway. “He’s good,” she says. “He didn’t need stitches, but I did a butterfly bandage under there. No signs of a concussion.”

“His appetite seems fine,” Gladys says, bringing him a second bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.

Gus thanks her and tells me, “She puts cheese in it instead of mayonnaise.”

“Stewart doesn’t like mayonnaise,” Gladys says. “I’ve been reworking recipes for years.”

Gus is fine and we’re talking about mayonnaise in Eight Oaks’ kitchen. I thank Victoria and then Gladys, and when my eyes land on Stewart, in a dress shirt because he’d been working, in front of a backgammon board that suggests he has no intention of letting my kid win, I tear up. I go to him and hug him, right on his barstool. I stand between his legs with my face in his neck and all the stress rolls off me. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For the backup.” I breathe him in and feel him do the same, nose in my hair.