My Dad’s Valentine by greenday0418..,
Romance category of course, but no sex.
*****
This story is narrated in separate chapters by Bobby and his father, Luke. Tragedy hits the family, and Marta, the mother and wife, can’t cross over until she’s sure Bobby and Luke will be okay. The bereaved father and son believe she talks(written in Italics) to them, trying to save Luke’s life.
No editor for this, not enough time, so it is what it is.
*****
Chapter One — Bobby Begins
*****
My dad forgot my birthday cake, so Mom went to get it. She got hit by a big truck, and she died. Dad cried at the funeral and the cemetery. My grandma and pop are his mom and dad. One night he fell down, and I called Grandma.
“Bobby, talk slow, baby. What’s wrong?”
“My dad was sad, and he was drinking from that Jim bottle. He was talking to Mommy, but I know he wasn’t. He laid down on the rug and is snoring.”
“Bobby, is he on his side or back?”
“His side.”
“Lay on the couch and watch him, and if he starts choking, call 911. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
She came and got me, and Pop stayed with dad.
*****
Chapter Two – Luke’s in Pain
*****
“I’m sorry, Marta. It’s all my fault. I forgot the cake. Please don’t go.”
Someone was shaking the bed. “Marta, is that you?”
“Luke! Luke, wake up. Wake up, son.”
“Dad? Why am I on the floor? Where’s Bobby?”
“He called grandma, and we came over. She took him home, so let me help you up.” I crawled up to my knees, and with a hand on my fathers’ shoulder, stood up.
“Good, now get cleaned up while I make coffee to sober you up. Then we’ll go home so you can be there when Bobby wakes up. He needs his father.”
***
After the intervention of my parents after the funeral, alcohol left my diet for good. I helped Bobby through sleepless nights, then bed wetting, and when he slept, nightmares. We talked to a grief counselor, and it seemed to help Bobby, not so much me. By May, he could sleep alone in his bed again all night long. I still had nightmares and woke up shaking.
Mom came over and watched him during the summer while I was at work. I am an architect, a very successful architect who has a two-year backup of design requests. I started my business with Marta, and seven years later, I am the owner of one of the up-and-coming architectural firms in New York City.
And I would gladly trade my success and work in fast food if I could have my Marta back.
***
After eight months of therapy, Bobby started 1st grade in September. He goes to a public elementary school close to my condo and twenty minutes away from my parents’ townhouse. I drop him off at school in the morning, and Mom picks him up after school and takes him home with her. I leave work at 3:00, get Bobby, and by 4:15, I’m cooking dinner for us. He is sleeping all night now and seems like a normal child, except sometimes when he’s alone in his room, I hear him talking to his mother.
His grief counselor said he might believe he was talking to her but do not press him for details.
I was able to get about four hours of sleep at night now.
***
Two weeks after school started, I had a parent-teacher meeting after school, so I left work early to be there. After stopping at the office to check-in, I went to room 116 and entered through the open door. Bobby was standing by a desk, smiling and laughing with his teacher. I stopped in the doorway and watched the happiness on his face; a long time had passed since I’d last seen him so happy. His teacher looked up and waved me in. She’s, uh, cute, um, very pretty.
“You must be Mr. Larson. I’m Miss Dalton.”
“Please call me Luke.”
“Then please call me Betty.”
She spoke and I stared while she explained that Bobby had some problems reading. “If you would read one of the books, which are really short stories, on the first-grade list with Bobby at bedtime, it would help him a lot.”
“Can I get a copy of this book list?”
“No need to have one. Tomorrow, he’ll bring the first five home, and you have from Friday night thru Thursday night to read them with him. Send them back in next Friday, and I’ll write them in a book I keep, so I don’t send the same stories home twice, and he’ll bring home five more. There are no grades involved in reading the books; that will show up in spelling, pronunciation, and understanding what the words mean.”
“I am afraid I’ll mess this up. Do I read, or do I let Bobby read?”
“Luke, don’t worry. He can explain everything. He’s a smart little boy. And if you have questions, write a note and let him bring it to school, and I’ll call you that night.”
“Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
As I turned to leave, a couple came in; they must have the next conference. Bobby was sitting at his desk drawing, so I called out to him, “Bobby, time to go.”
He smiled and went to get his jacket as I waited by the door and I heard the voice for the first time.
‘She’s cute, Luke.’
My head snapped upright, and I looked around to see who’d spoken. There was no one near me.
“I’m ready to go, Dad.” He was smiling strangely, almost like he knew something I didn’t.
That night, when I went to tuck Bobby in, I thought I heard two voices coming from his room. The second voice seemed vaguely familiar.
“Bobby, who were you talking to?”
“Mommy.”
*****
Chapter Three — Bobby Manipulates
*****
I got five books and showed them to grandma. “Dad’s reading to me.”
“That’s nice, dear. You take good care of your dad.”
“We will.”
Dad worked late, so Grandma fixed dinner; fish sticks and macaroni. Dad got home and ate with me. After a bath, he sat on my bed. I handed him a book and told him, “This one first. I read, and you creckt me.”
“Creckt? Don’t you mean correct, Bobby?”
“See, Dad, Miss Dalton said you could do it.”
*****
Chapter Four – Luke Comes Back to Life
*****
So, reading with Bobby became an addition to our daily routine. Bobby also began fixing my cooking. My Mac-n-Cheese didn’t taste right, not like Marta’s. Friday night was Mac-n-Cheese night. Friday morning, I found a cheese grater on the counter.
I woke him up, showed him the grater, and asked him, “Bobby, why was this on the counter?”
“Mommy says you hafta use great cheese. That makes great cheese.”
“You mean grated cheese, Bobby?”
My Mac-n-Cheese was always clumpy. So this time, I grated my cheeses, and after baking and tasting, I had to agree; it was just like Marta’s.
I was setting the table when the phone rang, and it was his teacher. “Hello, Miss Dalton. What can I do for you?”
“It’s Betty, Luke, and Bobby says you’re a plumber?”
“I’m an architect, but not many people know I worked as a plumber to put myself through college. How can I help?”
“I have a leak behind the wall in my bathtub. Can you come over and see if you can fix it?”
“Bobby and I can come right over. What’s your address?”
She gave it to me, and I went to get Bobby from his room. “Hey, Bobby. That was your teacher on the phone. She has a water leak in her bathroom and wants me to fix it. How did you know I could do plumbing?”
“Mommy told me.”
I didn’t tell Marta how I paid my way through college as a plumber’s apprentice until a year ago. Maybe mom or dad did.