God In The Kitchen (18 page)

            “Okay then,” she agreed. “Are you ready to answer the music man’s questions?”

            “I get to talk into that thing?” Ian asked, looking at the microphone attached to the recorder with interest.

            “That’s right,” I said, adjusting the volume button and testing the VU meter on his small little voice.

            “Cool!” Ian said with as he climbed on the couch between Chloe and me.

            “I’m just going to ask you a few things and you can tell me what you think, does that sound okay?”

            Ian nodded. I would have to get him to answer with his voice, but I didn’t think that would be too hard once I got going with my questions.

            “Ian, can you tell me how old you are?”

            Ian held up his hand and slowly folded down his thumb and then tucked his pinky finger down underneath it. “Three,” he stated and then he let the pinky finger go, “but I’m going to be four soon.”

            “Next month,” Chloe added quietly behind him.

            “Yeah, I’m gonna be four next month and I’m gonna get a new train.”

            “A new train, huh?” I said and Ian shook his full head of blonde hair vigorously.

            “One that makes its own sounds,” he said as he looked down at the microphone with his eyes slightly crossed.

            I moved on. “What is it that you like about trains so much?”

            Ian shrugged, “I dunno. They go really fast and they never get tired,” he said as he picked up the peeling train from the track on the floor in front of the couch. “Sometimes they take naps when I take naps, but they don’t really need to like I do.”

            I saw my chance and I dug in. “Tell me about that, Ian,” I said in a soft voice, glancing up at Chloe who had her full attention on her son. “What’s it like to be tired all of the time?”

            Ian shrugged again, running his finger on the wheel of the train to make it spin. “I guess I don’t really know any different,” he said, speaking with wisdom beyond his years. “It would be nice to just play all day and never have to stop. I know that much.”

            “That would be nice,” I nodded in agreement. “What do you want more than anything?” I asked, taking a chance. There was a possibility he would only think about the train he wanted for his birthday, but I could do some editing and no one would ever have to know I had even asked the question.

            Ian paused, his eyes moving up to the ceiling and then shooting back and forth as he thought. “I guess,” he said as he thought. “I guess I just want to play with my mommy,” he said. “You know, for the rest of my life.”

            “Your mom is a pretty fun lady,” I said, trying to hide the fact that I was a little choked up myself as I heard the answer through Chloe’s ears.

            “She’s my mama,” Ian said as he turned to her and threw his thin little arms around her waist.

            Chloe hugged Ian back and gave me a sad smile over his head. “Are you about ready to lay down little man?” she asked.

            I waited for the normal kid answer. The ‘do I have to?’ or the ‘I’m not tired yet!’ but all Ian did was nod and Chloe scooped him into her arms and headed down the hall. She turned as she moved past the couch, “Did you get what you needed?” she asked.

            “He did great,” I answered. The interview hadn’t been long, but it had tugged at all the right heartstrings. It would play beautifully on the air and do its job well.

            “Bye Music Man,” I heard the small voice say as a hand showed itself on the other side of Chloe’s arm, the fingers bending and straightening in an awkward little wave.

            “See you soon, Ian, thanks for talking to me.”

            I sat back on the couch and waited as Chloe tucked Ian into bed. I wondered how many times a day they went through this routine. Did he nap twice as much as normal kids? Three times as much? Four? A simple interview that had lasted no more than five minutes had worn him out. That alone told me plenty.

            “He was pretty excited about that contraption of yours,” Chloe said as she returned to the couch a few minutes later, startling me.

            “It’s a pretty neat device,” I said, looking down at the recorder, which I had stopped when Chloe left the room with Ian.

            Chloe nodded. “What now?” she asked.

            “I’d like to ask you a few questions too, if that’s okay,” I said, placing my hand on the recorder, ready to start recording if she was okay with it.

            “Whatever you need,” she said, settling closer to me on the couch so she could be heard.

            I started recording once again and asked her about the day Ian was born. She looked far off into the distance and told the story of his birth; complete from when she knew it was time to go to the hospital to the moment he was born. And then the moment she heard about his special needs, the surgery he would need to have, and the idea that her newborn may or may not make it through the procedure.

            “It’s like I was given a gift,” she said, staring off into the distance. “And the gift giver told me up front that I could only have it for a limited time. The thing is, even now, it’s not enough. I haven’t had enough time. There will never be enough time.”

            The tears started to fall from her eyes and I pushed my questioning one step farther. “When did you find out he was going to need the second surgery?”

            Chloe wiped her eyes. “It was about a little over a year ago,” she said as she took a deep breath. “Our insurance was cancelled shortly after.”

            She didn’t go into details but I remembered the story. Her husband had taken off and because he was no longer at his job, they lost their insurance. The listeners didn’t need to know that part. All they needed to know was that this mom desperately wanted to save her son, and simply couldn’t do it on her own.

            “And what do you want more than anything?” I asked softly, wanting nothing more than to comfort her.

            Chloe let out a small, nervous laugh. “I just want my son,” she said. “He’s all I’ve ever wanted and he’s all I’m ever going to want. If I have him, I have it all. If anything were to happen to him…” she trailed off, fresh tears streaming down her face, “I would never get over it. And I’d never forgive myself for not being able to help him.”

            I stopped the recording, laid the microphone aside, and scooted over on the couch closer to her, placing my arm around her shoulder. Chloe leaned her head onto my shoulder and I heard her shuddering breath as she tried to control her tears.

            The next question I asked was simply for me and I hated myself for asking, but I had to know. “Does he know?” I asked, referring to her husband. “Does he know about Ian? What he needs?”

            Chloe drew in a deep breath. “He knows,” she said, leaving it at that.

            I wanted to ask how he knew. If he had known before he left or if it really had been him at her door and if she had told him then. But it just didn’t feel right. I was still new to the situation and I needed to let her tell me what she wanted, when she wanted to tell me. In the meantime, I needed to guard my own heart. As much as I cared about this little family, I couldn’t let myself get drawn in too far. There were too many uncertainties.

            Just as I had myself convinced that I would take a step back, help in any way I could, and see how things played out, I remembered the way Ian had wrapped himself around my knees when I had first arrived and I knew it was too late. I was already in love.

            I didn’t know exactly where my relationship with Chloe stood and I still had plenty of questions about her husband’s whereabouts and where her feelings landed in regards to him, but my goal remained the same. To help Ian in any way I could.

            After the interviews at their apartment, I launched myself into my work, checking in with them as often as I could to update them on the progress and keep them as excited about the event as I was. In truth, everyone I ran across was excited. We needed thousands of dollars to get Ian the surgery he needed and I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it, come close, or exceed our expectations. But I knew every little bit was going to count because I knew Chloe.

            She was a strong mother and she would do everything to save her child. I could see her taking half the money and making a deal with the hospital to do the rest of the surgery pro bono. I knew whatever we raised, she would make work in her son’s benefit.

            And so I worked myself to the bone that next week to make sure the stand was as big of a success as possible. I even had interest from the national media sources I called who planned to send small camera crews to the scene to do a little filming, maybe interview me, Chloe, or even Ian, and get some footage for their morning shows.

            If the lemonade stand was a true success, I knew the interviews would only sky rocket from there. The nation would follow Ian’s surgery and recovery with a watchful eye and he would become a great success story. The radio station would be a Good Samaritan and the news would keep an eye on the promo drive events as they came up each year. But all of that was secondary. Making sure Ian got what he needed was at the top of my concern list.

            The day of the lemonade stand rolled around way too quickly and yet I was glad it was there. I was tired of working long hours and I felt as if I had a permanent wrinkle between my eyebrows from frowning at my computer, at the phone, or at the people in the office as I concentrated on my tasks.

            It was a Saturday and the weather prediction was hot and humid, perfect for a cold cup of lemonade. The stand was to open at noon in the same parking lot the city held the farmer’s market, which ended at 10 on the weekends. We hoped some of the market shoppers might stick around and we had pushed to have the stand earlier, but with all of the famers in town selling their goods, there just wasn’t room.

            When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, however, and that was just what we were planning to do that day. In fact, I had a crew on the scene beginning the process at 10, right as the farmers were packing up. The space we had at first was very small, but we were able to squeeze one table in alongside a couple of coolers and other supplies. It was enough to get them started.

            I wanted the lemonade to be as fresh and tasteful as possible. I wasn’t going to simply buy a mix and have the workers add water. Instead, they had started squeezing fresh lemons with a lemon-squeezing machine a few days prior and they continued that mission once the table was set up so they had a little shade.

            One worker did the lemons while another started mixing the lemon juice with the sugar and water until they had several big tubs of bright yellow, fresh lemonade. I could smell the concoction from a block away and it made my mouth water.

            I would have been more than happy to dig in and help by squeezing lemons or in any other way I could, but it was my job to bring the crowd. Since it was Saturday, I didn’t have my regular morning show, but I had been playing Ian and Chloe’s interviews all week on my show and I had even written up and aired promos for the lemonade stand.

            I had done a few interviews on local media stations and I saw a news van pull up by the time the 11 o’clock hour rolled around. When the news camera approached, I realized that there was a line forming behind the small table we had set up. Not only had people come, but they were already waiting for their chance to buy a drink. All for Ian - and a full hour before we had planned to open the stand.

            “Any chance we could get things rolling?” I asked the workers who were stationed behind the table, several of whom worked with me at the station.