I Paid His Down Payment, But My Son Thanked His Stepmom Instead Chapter 13

“Mom, remember? When I was little, you carried me on your shoulders, and I held this up.”

I remembered.

But there was no wind that day. The pinwheel never turned.

At the end of the year, the retirement community updated its residents’ records.

Junie brought me the forms and went through them with me, one field at a time.

Rourke happened to be there. He looked at the form.

“Mom, could you put me down as your emergency contact?”

Before I could answer, Junie looked down and wrote a phone number in the blank. Her own.

“Ms. Marchetti, if anything happens, call me first. I’ll be here in five minutes.”

She wrote it like it was no big deal.

Rourke stared at the number for a long moment before looking down.

It was already dark when he left that evening.

I walked him to the door.

He turned to look at me. His coat was buttoned neatly, every button in the right place.

“Mom, I’ll come back next week.”

“Rourke.” I stopped him. “Don’t come anymore.”

He froze, like he hadn’t heard right. “Mom…”

“You come every week because you feel guilty.”

“I don’t want you carrying that guilt for the rest of your life. And I don’t want to relive the pain every

week.”

“You have your own family. Wren’s due next month, isn’t she?”

“Go live your life.”

I put the bracelet box in his hands.

“For the baby.”

He clutched the box as tears fell onto the back of his hand.

After a long while, he stepped back and bowed his head. He stayed like that a long time before

straightening up.

“Take care, Mom.”

I closed the door.

The next morning, Junie told me he’d stood under the crape myrtle downstairs all night and didn’t

leave till dawn.

The pinwheel on my windowsill had spun all night in the wind.

I pulled it out of the flowerpot and put it in the cabinet.

Then I opened the window.

Crape myrtle blossoms lay all over the ground. Sweet.