“Soldier, why don’t we—”
“Ah, come on, Gramma. We can sleep later,” Grampa said, already climbing out of bed and pulling his red-and-green robe on. “Want a piggyback ride, Soldier?”
I never said no to piggyback rides.
We went downstairs with Gramma shuffling slowly behind us and Sully hopping around our feet, and we opened hundreds and hundreds of presents. I got lots of cool stuff, almost every single thing I had asked Santa for. But when everything was opened and there was wrapping paper all over the floor, I looked at all of my new toys, and my eyes felt like they could cry.
“Hey, what’s wrong, buddy?” Grampa asked.
I lied to Gramma and Grampa sometimes. I knew it was wrong, but sometimes, it felt right. But today, I didn’t lie when I said, “I miss Mommy.”
Gramma looked at Grampa, and I thought maybe they’d cry too. But they didn’t.
Instead, Gramma said, “You know what, my little man? I think it’s time you gave Mommy your present.”
I sat up real straight and asked, “What?” Because the only present I had gotten for Mommy was a new pencil at the school Christmas fair, and how was I supposed to give it to her if she wasn’t here?
She grabbed the phone from the table next to her chair and pressed some buttons. I still didn’t know what she was doing or how I was supposed to give Mommy the sparkly pink pencil in my backpack when she wasn’t here, but then she said some stuff into the phone and asked if she could talk to Diane Mason. Diane Mason was Mommy’s name, and all of a sudden, I was really, really happy. Happier than I had been when I opened hundreds and hundreds of presents.
“Hey, honey. Merry Christmas,” Gramma said, a smile growing on her liney face. “Yeah, he’s right here. You ready to talk to him? Okay.”
Then, she passed the phone to me and said, “Mommy wants to talk to you.”
My legs couldn’t stop moving around as I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Hi, Mommy!”
“Hey, sunshine!” She sounded different than she had the last time I’d seen her. She sounded good and happy and like a million Lucky Charms marshmallows. “Merry Christmas!”
“Did Santa know how to find you?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. He sure did. Of course he did.”
That made me so, so happy. Because even if I couldn’t find her, Santa had still known where to go. I guessed Grampa was right—hey, you know what? Maybe he could be Santa after all.
“What did he get you?!”
“Oh, baby,” she said, and I thought maybe she was crying. I didn’t like when Mommy cried. “He got me the best present ever.”
That didn’t make any sense at all. If it was the best present ever, why was she crying?
“What was it?”
“He got me a phone call from you!”
“But … but …” I bit my fingernail and turned around so Gramma and Grampa couldn’t see me because I thought I might cry too. Then, I asked, “Why are you sad?”
“Oh, no, Soldier,” Mommy said. “I’m not sad. I’m happy. I’m so, so happy. I love you, and I promise when I get home, things are going to be better. I’m going to be better. You’ll see. I’ll be the best mommy in the world because that’s what you deserve for being the best little boy. Okay?”
As she sang her sunshine song to me, I wondered what all of that meant. She already was the best mommy, and if she was so happy, why was she crying?
But if she had said she was happy and that things would be good when she got home, then I believed her.
Because that was what I always did.
I believed her.
***
Age Eight
There was still a little snow on the ground, but the birds were singing in the trees, and the sun was warm. Grampa said it was a good sign that spring was coming soon, and that was cool. Spring meant spending more time in the backyard with Sully. It meant bike rides and sleepovers in Billy's tent and going for walks with Gramma. Plus, once spring was here, it wasn't long before summer was, too, and I loved summer. Well, I didn’t like how hot it was, but summer meant I didn't have to go to school, and I got to go fishing with Grampa.
I really, really loved summer.
But it wasn't summer yet. It was February, and it was cold. But it was my birthday, and that meant it was a good day. Even if there was still a little snow on the ground.
“Soldier!” Gramma hurried past the front door, carrying a tray of cupcakes she had spent all morning baking. “What did I say about cleaning up the Legos in the living room? Your friends are going to be here any minute.”
Oops.
I had gotten distracted, staring out at the snow through the big window in the front door and thinking about everything I wanted to do once summer got here, and I'd forgotten to put my toys away.
“Sorry, Gramma,” I said, hurrying to throw the little plastic pieces into the bucket she let me keep in the living room.
“It's okay,” she said with a chuckle, stopping me with a clasp of her hand against my forehead. She wrapped her arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “You're pretty excited, huh?”
“Duh!”
I couldn't remember the last time I had gotten to invite friends over to the house—actually, had I ever? I usually went to one of my friend’s houses, or we met up at the park or arcade or library or something. Gramma said she didn't like to entertain, Grampa said he didn't wanna listen to Gramma complain about entertaining, and Mom didn't say much of anything about it at all.
Besides, she was usually working or out with her friends or going on another trip.
I guessed she was just too busy to care about entertaining.
So, anyway, when Gramma had asked if I wanted to have a birthday party at our house, I was so, so, so excited. I couldn't wait to show Billy and Matt and Robbie my room and video games and Legos. And they were gonna think Sully was the coolest dog ever; I just knew it.
Knock! Knock!
“I'll get it!” I shouted, scrambling up from the floor so fast that my socks slid against the wooden planks.
Grampa entered the room and laughed at the sight of me tripping over my own dumb feet. “Easy there, buddy!”
Billy's mom had picked Matt and Robbie up on the way over. She stood behind them on the stoop, holding a stack of wrapped packages, and she smiled down at me.
“Hey, Soldier! Happy birthday!” she said, her face bright and happy.
“You wanna see my room?!” I exclaimed to my friends, ignoring Billy's mom and the presents in her arms.
Gramma came up behind me, laid her hands on my shoulders, and kept me from leaving. “Wait a second there, birthday boy. What do you say?”
Excitement was zipping wildly through every one of my fingers and toes, and I could barely stand still. But I sighed and remembered I was supposed to be polite, so I looked up at Billy's mom and muttered, “Thank you.”
“You're very welcome,” she said with the prettiest smile I had ever seen.
Billy's mom wasn't like mine. She was more like Gramma. She baked cookies and cooked dinners and did the laundry. She brought snacks to school and went on class trips. Sometimes, I wondered what it was like to have a mom more like her, but I never really thought about it for too long.