Page 66 of Love Always

My stomach clenches. This was not a quick meeting. “You had lunch with him?”

He nods. “And Ms. Kram. She made this face.” His features morph into a mirror of the anger and trepidation she must have felt.

I give Mateus’s hand a brief squeeze before I let go and then wipe Cory’s face with the paper towel again and lean down to his level.

“Cory. You need to pay special attention to me. Let’s talk about feeling safe, strong, and free. You have to run away from someone if you don’t feel those things.”

He tilts his head to one side and says in a singsong: “Safe, strong, and free is the way to be. Find a grownup to help me.”

I sigh. “That’s right.” I pause and sit back. “Were you safe, strong, and free when that man came to have lunch with you?”

“Yes,” he says. “But then he tried to hug me, and I told him no.”

I feel suddenly faint. Swallowing hard, I try to keep my voice from shaking. “Cory, that man is a bad man. You may not speak to him ever again. Do you understand? The teachers at the school know.”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“Just know he is a bad man.”

“My daddy is a bad man?” Again, no hurt or judgment—he is just fact gathering, trying to connect dots that may never line up.

His question rips a hole in my heart. I want to take that little boy up in my arms and hold him tight and kiss him and let him know his daddy was a wonderful man. But I can’t.

“No, your daddy is not a bad man, he was a good man. But that man you had lunch with—”

“That was Kevin Barr,” he says, rocking in his chair. Having Kevin’s name fall from Cory’s lips is a sucker punch. His head swivels. “More cookies?”

Thankful for routine, my request is automatic, “More cookies, what.”

“More cookies please,” he chirps and looks around expectantly.

Mateus saves me from having to stand and steps to the cookie jar. He sets one on the table and Cory snatches it up. “I think your mom would like a cookie,” says Mateus. I start to shake my head to refuse him when Cory slides his over and then folds his arms.

“There, Momma,” he says.

It’s one of the few times he has offered something to me—to anyone really. Sharing.

“And I think you need one too,” says Mateus and hands him another.

“Thank you!” shouts Cory and starts kicking his chair.

“Cory, Kevin Barr is not a good man and if he ever talks to you again or you see him watching you, you need to tell me or your aunties or Travis or Finn—”

“Or him,” he says pointing a chocolate tipped index finger at Mateus.

My entire body relaxes. “Yes. You go to Mateus.”

“Because friends are good.”

“Yes,” I say, “because friends are good.”

My hand trembles again under the table. Then there’s another squeeze as Mateus takes it again in his.

΅

Mateus ends up hanging out with us all afternoon. He went and grabbed a laptop and a tablet from the office while I perched at the counter doing homework. At one point I glance up to see both boys sitting side by side, engrossed in their work: Mateus on the laptop, Cory watching his favorite PBS show on the tablet. I make a memory, and my heart grows lumpy.

When I take a break to make dinner, Mateus folds the laptop and pitches in. I never knew meatballs could be this complicated. He browns them in oil after adding a ton of stuff to the meat then puts them in the oven to bake. Very time consuming, but delicious. For someone who never knows when he’s hungry, he’s an excellent cook. Cory devours five of them separately and scarfs a bowl of angel hair with just butter and salt. I’m thrilled. It’s very hard to get him to eat meat.