Page 42 of My Husband Problem

Michelle sniffles against my shoulder. “I’ll call the contractor this morning.”

“Be sure to do that.” I glance at Wilson, who nods as he pats the cat that is nestled, fast asleep, in the baby sling he’s wearing. He already knows what I’m going to say. “If you have any trouble getting the work done, be sure you let Wilson know.”

Over the last couple of hours, I have found out that Wilson is just a nickname for William James Bienvenu, who is seventy-six years old and has lived in Rebel, Louisiana, all his life, except for the few years he spent in college and law school. The nickname started after he and his friends went to see the Tom Hanks movieCastaway. They all decided that his bald white head reminded them of Tom’s volleyball friend Wilson in the movie. Apparently,even at nearly fifty years old, you can get a goofy nickname from your best friends. Now ‘Wilson’ is all anyone around here calls him. It’s also what he’s insisted I call him.

I also learned that Wilson and Astrid have been having this same meeting every week at this kitchen table for the past six months.

And Astrid never says no to anything either.

I suppose I’m glad that if Astrid is going to give my money away to anyone who shows up in this kitchen and asks, at least she has the assistance of an attorney.

“I’m sure Wes will get started as soon as you can. But keep me informed,” Wilson tells Michelle.

She wipes a hand over her wet cheek. “I will.”

I finish filling out the check and hand it over to her.

I made a mental note earlier to ask Iris what she knows about this “foundation” my wife formed and how she gets the funds into it, but I’m no longer interested. This is amazing.

I’m guessing Astrid thought it would annoy me that she was giving my money away, and that I’d find it beneath me to sit at this table, being nickel and dimed by people requesting money for things like a wheelchair ramp and bathroom remodel or new AV equipment for the high school.

I’ll be honest—if someone asked me if I wanted to do this two weeks ago, I might have said no. Iris handles all of my charitable giving, and I trust her to choose good causes and donate the appropriate amounts.

As long as I have enough to support all of my siblings and their causes first and have enough to never worry that any of them will go without, I don’t care where the rest of it goes.

But I also don’t necessarily trust myself to be the best one to make those decisions. My siblings are the ones who think in terms of bettering the world.

My sister is a wildlife rescuer and advocate who oversees an animal park and preserve. She also advocates for legislative changes for wildlife from Baton Rouge to Washington, D.C. and educates kids from preschool through college about endangered species, the protections they need, and how to care for the wildlife around them.

Torin, even now that he is king, is passionate about conservation and ecology. He and his wife, Abigail, are bringing green energy and agricultural modernizations to our island and are using our country as a testing ground for innovations that will benefit other countries that have agreed to partner with us.

And my youngest brother, Cian, thanks to the love of his life, has found that supporting single parents and advocating for better policies, programs, and funding for families, from the city level all the way to the federal government, is where his heart lies.

I just provide the support network that they all need to do their work.

But now I’m sitting face to face with real people who have real problems that a simple check can solve. Or at least make much better.

Astrid might have thought she was going to annoy me with this, but instead she’s given me an opportunity to put my money directly in the hands of people who need it and toseewhat an impact that can make. That’s something I never get.

And I really like it.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to come see the bathroom renovation when it’s finished,” I say to Michelle. “I’ve never seen something like that before.”

Honestly, I had given very little thought to what kinds of adaptations people have to make for various physical disabilities before Astrid was injured. She’s come so far in the six years since her injury, but initially she did spend time in a wheelchairand then with forearm crutches. It nearly killed me and her grandfather.

Other than those assistive devices, I have no idea what kind of accommodations she required, though, and now I am suddenly deeply curious.

Michelle is looking at me with shock. “Sure. You’re welcome over anytime. If you let me know ahead of time, I’ll bake a pie.”

I smile. “I’d love that.”

I actually haven’t eaten much pie in my life, but Michelle seems like the type of woman who would bake a good pie, and even I can understand that it would be important to her to feel like she was giving me something in return for my contribution and visit.

“I owe you for breakfast anyway,” she adds.

I shake my head and gesture at Wilson. “That was entirely thanks to him.”

She gives Wilson a smile. “I won’t tell Bruce that you’re over here serving biscuits and gravy.”