This is the sequel to "Feather in the Wind," a story about family and the...simple, odd, complicated life.
Disclaimer: all creative rights to the One Tree Hill characters belong to their original creator(s). I also don't own any songs/copyrighted lyrics used in this story.
And for the things I see
I trust the things to be;
That in the paths untrod,
And the long days of God,
My feet shall still be led,
My heart be comforted.
—John Greenleaf Whittier, My Triumph
"Jamie Scott!" I shout like a maniac as I turn the corner to the back of the apartment building.
A cool breeze blows past, carrying with it a cobweb that annoyingly sticks to my cheek. "Jamie, where are you?"
To my relief, I hear his voice call out for me. My nerves have been frazzled enough wondering if he had somehow left the compound.
"Mama!" he yells, much clearer this time.
I quickly turn around, seeing his head suddenly pop up from behind a bush. "James, where have you been?"
"Look!"
The first thing I notice is his muddy little fingers. "What have you been doing?"
"Finding treasure! See?"
He crawls through the shrub and runs to me, traces of brown on his face, jeans and t-shirt. I brush away the leaves in his dark-blonde hair, his earnest face melting my anxiety.
"Treasure?"
"Treasure," he says proudly.
A shiny coin rests on the muddy palm of his hand. "Oh, you got a lucky penny. You want to wish on it?"
"Really? Like a candle on my birthday cake?" he yells excitedly.
"Yes, like that."
He closes his eyes for a moment, then snaps them open. He grins widely, starting to bounce on his feet like the energetic boy he is. "I wished! I wished!"
"What did you wish for?"
"I can't tell you. It won't come true."
"Not even a hint?"
"No."
Laughing, I take his hand, leading us back towards the front door of the building. "Let's get you cleaned up then, pirate."
"I'm a pirate?"
"You found treasure. Captain Hook would be lucky to have you on his team."
"But I wanna be a Lost Boy."
"To fight with Captain Hook?"
"I don't like him very much."
Our apartment is on the second floor of a six-storey, and Jamie talks about boys, pirates and treasure as we walk up the stairs. I lead him to our only bathroom with its old avocado-green tub, a sink, toilet, and shower stall, all squeezed into a space big enough to give a claustrophobic a panic attack.
"Were you playing in mud again?" I ask, picking off the specks of dirt particles in his hair.
He nods. "We made squishy in the soil and I found treasure."
Kenny is Jamie's friend on the ground floor, a reserved boy who is the complete opposite of Jamie. They had a play date, and when I went to get Jamie, I chatted with Kenny's mother until we both realized that my son was not in the bedroom with Kenny. He's a sly boots, James Lucas Scott.
He frowns and flexes his muddy fingers. "But Kenny got mad and went to his mama."
"And you stayed out there alone?"
He nods again. I sigh heavily at my son's daring impetuousness that is remarkably like his father's. "Baby, what did we tell you about playing outside without telling us?"
"Not to do it. But I was having fun."
I lift him up on his small stool so that his hands can reach the sink. "I know you're curious, Jame, but you just can't go off on your own."
"Why?"
"Because there's no one to watch out for you and you can't give someone a chance to take you away."
"Someone can take me away?"
He honestly looks unsettled, and I feel terrible for scaring him. I kiss his cheek, smoothing my fingers comfortingly through his hair. "You just need to be aware of people, baby. There are those who intentionally hurt others."
"Why do they hurt other people?"
I didn't think that tonight I'd have another safety conversation with my son but a strong-willed child like the one I have means that such chats are expected when he breaks the rules. "That's a tough question, kiddo. I don't want you to get hurt. Suppose someone you don't know comes up to you and tries to make you do something you don't want to do. What do you do?"
"I say no."
I smile, pleased that some of our instructions have been sticking. "No matter what they're telling you or trying to give you, it's never wrong to say no. And if they're being pushy and you're starting to feel uncomfortable, scared or unsafe, yell and scream as loudly as you can. If you scream, someone will hear you and they will help you."
"I can yell."
I chuckle and kiss his forehead. "I know you can. Let's see those hands, Lost Boy."
In the end, there are splashes of brown water on my shirt with Jamie's determined washing up.
"All clean. And my penny. Can I keep my treasure?"
"Of course," I say, lifting him off the stool. "How about we make some cookies instead of mud pies? You can make squishy."
His eyes light up. "Chocolate chip?"
"Yes, and this squishy is yummy. But you have to change first," I tell him, pointing to his muddy pants.
"A bath?"
"A bath."
He groans.
The kitchen is a mess, as it is when Jamie is helping. Flour, sugar, chocolate chips and eggshells litter the table, and the floor has not gone unharmed. The cookies are cooling on the counter and I'm wiping off flour from Jamie's face.
"Thank you for helping me."
"Will Daddy like the cookies?"
"He will love them, especially when he hears that you made them."
"Promise?"
"Pinky promise."
I link my pinky with his tiny one and give him a kiss on the cheek. He's making me laugh by giggling and squirming as I try to get flour off his neck when the doorbell rings.
"Can I get it?"
"What are the rules?"
He sighs, as if he's tired of being reminded. "To stay close and let you and Daddy open the door."
"What else?"
"Not to go alone even when you and Daddy are at home."
"Not to go alone."
"That's what I said."
The doorbell rings again. I've managed to wipe most of the flour from his face. "Okay, let's go."
He runs to the door, standing on his toes trying to turn the handle. "I can't reach it."
Chuckling, I open it expecting to see one of our friends or neighbours. "You're still grow—"
A chill creeps over me. I've watched enough television to know that when two uniformed officers are at your door, it's never a good thing. Something really awful has happened. Like he can feel it, too, Jamie moves close to my stiffening legs.
"Haley Scott?"
The hollow feeling inside me bursts to life. "Yes, I'm…"
They remove their caps, matching serious looks on their faces. The solemnity is in their eyes, too. I pull Jamie closer to me.
"What…what is it?" I ask hoarsely, fearfully.
"Ma'am," the taller one starts hesitantly, glancing at Jamie.
"Please, just…just say it."
"It's about your husband. He's been in an accident," he says gravely in a low voice.
My heart beats even faster, my mouth dry like it's been stuffed full of sand and cotton. I'm afraid I might buckle at any moment. "What happened to him?"
"Your husband was injured in an accident involving their team bus and a truck."
"Where…where is he?"
I don't want an explanation about the incident. I want to know about Nathan.
"They took him to the university hospital. Ma'am, they told us that he's in critical condition and—"
"I have to get my things."
I don't wait for him to finish. Hearing that is enough to snap me out of my thoughts, and suppress my fear and panic. This is not the time to lose it.
"Jame…Baby, go grab your jacket. Then run back here."
Picking up on my serious tone, he doesn't question why and runs off to his room. I show the officers my back, leaving them standing there to gather my things.
…he's in critical condition…
I can't seem to think coherently, the little bit of information I've heard about Nathan swirling around my mind. My hands are shaking as I run my fingers through my hair, trying to clear my thoughts to remember where my purse is.
…your husband…injured…accident…bus…truck…
My head is pounding, my heart is beating so wildly that I'm afraid it could jump out of my chest any moment. Nathan is in a life-threatening state right now.
I finally manage to locate my bag, my jacket and my keys. I'm about to yell for Jamie when I see him, the flaps of his navy jacket swaying as he runs over. Kneeling to his height, I run my eyes over his baby face, his watching me struggle with the zipper.
"Where are we going?" he asks as I pick him up and head towards the door.
"A little road trip."
"Would you like us to drive you, ma'am?"
I'd forgotten about them. I can feel tears threatening to spill over. I'm in no condition to drive and I don't want anything to happen to Jamie.
"Please. My son needs his car seat."
I'm running down the stairs like I'm being chased, Jamie clinging to my neck, his legs around my waist.
"One of us can drive you in your car."
"Thank you."
It's nightfall when we step out of the building, and I find it hard to believe that just minutes ago, I was waiting anxiously for my husband to come home after a lengthy trip states over.
I strap Jamie to his car seat and rush to the passenger door, buckling in as the officer starts the car.
"Mama, where are we going?"
"To see your dad."
"Basketball?" he asks excitedly.
He loves attending Nathan's games. I turn back to look at him, his eyes, so like Nathan's, eager as he waits for an answer. The large lump in my throat and the pressure building in my eyes are becoming excruciating. How do I tell him?
"Basketball, Mama?"
"N-no, baby, not basketball."
"Why?"
I can't answer him. This is not how I should tell my three-year-old son that his father's life is hanging in the balance on a hospital bed.
"There's no basketball tonight, honey," is all I tell him.
