Darren had bought it for him two months before the sickness took him from us. From then on, Eli brought it everywhere.
“What do you mean, gone?” I asked.
Eli gulped. “Sorry, Mom. I gave it to someone.”
“You gave it away? What about…”
His chin lowered.
For a brief moment, I was not gentle. I was not proud. I was only an exhausted widow staring at one more empty place where my husband used to exist.
“Eli, that was from your dad.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you give it away?”
“There was a lady at the bus stop,” he said quickly. “She was pregnant, Mom. Really pregnant. She was crying, and her coat was soaked, and nobody was helping her.”
I could only stare at him.
“So you gave her your jacket too?”
He glanced down at his damp shirt. “She was cold, too. And she had to worry about herself and the baby. If I got sick, you’d make me soup, and I’d be fine.”
I lifted my fingers to my mouth. How was I supposed to stay angry?
“Eli…”
“I didn’t want to lose it,” he said. “I promise. But Dad always said you don’t wait to help.”
Those words drained every bit of anger from me.
Darren had said that constantly. When a neighbor’s car refused to start. When someone spilled a bag of groceries. Even when we were already running behind.
“You don’t wait to help someone in need, Carina.”
I wrapped Eli tightly in my arms.
“Your dad would be proud of you,” I whispered.
He went still. “Are you?”
That almost shattered me.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m proud of you too.”
I helped him change into dry clothes and made him hot cocoa with far too many marshmallows. He sat at the kitchen table, his hands curled around the mug.
“Do you think she’ll bring it back?” he asked. “I told her where we live.”
“I don’t know, hon. But maybe she’ll surprise us.”
“Maybe,” he said softly.
That night, after Eli had gone to sleep, I touched the empty hook beside the door. It had once held Darren’s keys, his hat, his coat, and after he passed, Eli’s umbrella.
“I know you’d be proud of him,” I whispered. “But I still wanted that umbrella to come home.”
Three mornings later, I opened the front door to get the newspaper and dropped my coffee mug. It smashed against the porch.
Hot coffee splashed onto my ankle, but I barely noticed.
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