There When You Need Him

Theo and I sit together without speaking for a few minutes on the empty riverfront deck. A small breeze stirs the pines. He asks, “What about the stranger, the man who was trying to help you?”
“You know, when I got home, there was that car parked out front. The man really was a friend of my folks. After spotting me, he’d driven straight over to my parents’ house to let them know where I was. He was very apologetic about leaving me on the road, but said he didn’t want to scare me by forcing me into his car.”
“What about your mother?”
“Well, Mom had been very worried while Dad went to find me. She wanted to know if I was all right and what had happened. I told her about trying the phone and following the tire tracks and how I kept my mittens on and no matter what, kept walking.” I remember now how my mother pressed her lips together and her pride in me shot like a beacon from her eyes, and how I stood in that circle of light and shone.
“So you see, self-reliance was important in my family . . . Well, except I did rely on Teddy. He was there when I needed him, if only in my imagination.” I smile across at Theo, whose scruffy face is amused as he raises his brows above those round brown eyes. His expression gives me a most peculiar sensation—like something at the back of my mind is scratching to get in.
But then, booming through my thoughts, Louie calls up from the bottom of the stairs, “Hey, Emily! I’ve got a hamburger with your name on it. Want it?”
The mention of food stirs up hunger. “You bet!”
Louie mounts the stairs carrying a platter with a thick burger, some chips, and a carafe of coffee. With ceremony, he places the dishes before me and says, “I’d stay to visit, Em, but I’ve got some last minute deliveries coming in.”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I reply. “Thanks for the food.” I watch him with affection as he lowers himself down the stairs, then grab up the sandwich in both hands. My stomach growls as I bite into the toasted bun, the tasty meat.
Theo asks, “And why are you in this little burg?”
The food in my mouth turns to sodden cardboard. I force myself to chew instead of spitting it out, and manage a swallow. It had been a sweet respite talking to Theo, a respite from the choking, scary din my life had recently become. But now it all comes back, like a rock slide. I set the sandwich on the plate and stare at my hands limp in my lap.
Theo murmurs, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Something’s gone wrong.”
I raise my eyes. He is small, and round, and fuzzy-haired. Recognition, like a flicker in the fabric of reality, takes hold of me. I know him now.
“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me what’s happened.”
I do. I start with yesterday afternoon, after the ultrasound.

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