Page 159 of Broken Vows

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

Theo nods, eyes shining. I pull him into one more tight hug.

“But I’m very glad you came.”

Theo comes back the next afternoon. He’s wearing one of the shirts we bought together, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hair flattened on one side like he’s been leaning against the car window.

“Hi,” he says.

My chest warms and aches at the same time. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“He said I have to ask before I come in.”

I glance past him. Levi’s Mustang is parked at the far end of the lot. He sits behind the wheel, staring straight ahead.

We settle in and as Theo scratches under Fifi’s chin he says, “Levi asked if she’s eating okay.”

I go still.

Theo doesn’t notice. “I said I didn’t know, and he told me not to ask you too many questions because that’s annoying.”

“It isn’t annoying.”

“He said you’d say that.” Theo looks up. “Is she?”

“Yes,” I say. “She’s eating just fine.”

“Good.” His shoulders relax. “He’ll ask.”

I don’t know what to do with that, so I nod toward the tiny table. “Did you bring homework?”

Theo groans. “Spelling. Again.”

“Excellent. My favorite.”

He dumps his backpack on the chair and pulls out a crumpled worksheet. I smooth it out. We sit side by side at the table, the world narrowing to spelling words, pencil shavings, and Fifi snoring near our feet.

Theo is halfway through writing necessary for the third time when he says, “Levi had his meeting with the counsellor lady today.” He wrinkles his nose. “He looked like he was going to be sick.”

“He did it though?”

He nods. “He had to write his feelings about being my guardian in a notebook.”

The image hits me harder than it should. Levi in a school office, probably too big for the chair, shoulders hunched, scowling down at a notebook.

“He wrote one word,” Theo says. “And the therapist said feelings are usually more complex than that. Levi said that they weren’t.”

Of course he did. I can only imagine the word he word. Irritated, maybe. Tired. Trapped. Frustrated. Some hard, blunt word that would make sense coming from him.

“Happy.”

I look down at Theo. “What?”

“That’s what he wrote.”

Something pricks behind my eyes before I can stop it. I blink fast and look toward the window, like there is something very interesting outside. There isn’t.

Happy is a big word from a man who acts like feelings are an inconvenience and joy is something that happens to other people.