The Romeo Club

We climbed down the stairs and headed across the yard. When I got on the Foster’s stoop, I rang the doorbell. A moment later, Mr. Foster answered. Staring back from his face were a pair of puffy, red, bloodshot eyes. Did something happen?

He glanced down at Jimbo. “I’m sorry. He must’ve gotten out again. This week’s been rough. I-I can’t think straight.” He rubbed his temples. “Mrs. Foster passed away last night. And I keep forgetting about the dog.”

Choked up, I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry for you loss, Mr. Foster. I didn’t realize … ”

He patted my hand, fresh tears in his eyes. “Jimbo keeps looking for her—”

“If you want, I can watch him this week. My mom won’t mind if I take him back to my house.” Or at least I hoped she wouldn’t. “That’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.”

“Thank you, Delyla. I—if you go find Carver, he can get Jimbo’s dog food and dishes for you.”

My fingers curled around Jimbo’s collar as we made our way inside. People gathered in the living room. Most of them cried, or held wadded up tissues. My heart ached for them. Mrs. Foster was such a nice lady. As I moved past, I heard someone utter the “C” word. Cancer. People talked about how fast she went. How the doctors had given her six months, but it’d only been a few weeks.

I peered around the living room, but didn’t see Carver. So I headed into the kitchen. But he wasn’t there either. As I turned to leave the room, he walked in.

His blond hair was disheveled. His normally brilliant blue eyes were lackluster and rimmed red like his dad’s. He wore a wrinkled T-shirt over a pair of faded jeans. “Hey, Delyla. My dad said you were gonna take Jimbo for a few days?”

“Yeah. I just have to get his food and stuff.”

“Thanks. You don’t have to do this.”

“No. It’s okay. Really. You guys have enough to worry about right now.”

“Follow me. His stuff is in the breezeway.” I traipsed after his tall frame and into a small room between the kitchen and garage.

When we got inside, Carver shut the door behind us and leaned against the wall. “I’m trying so hard to keep it together. To be strong for my dad.” He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay—they keep saying they’re sorry,” he said. “I-I just can’t listen to it anymore.”

My gaze met his. His eyes filled with anguish. And for once, I didn’t know what to say.

“I should’ve been here, last month or hell even last week. Bu-but I didn’t come home. I let a stupid fight with my dad keep me away.” He punched the wall, his fist busting into the plaster.

I jumped.

“I should’ve come home, Delyla.” Sobs raked through him. “You know the last thing I said to my mom?”

“No,” I whispered. My vision blurred with tears. Hearing the pain in his voice tore me up.

“I told her to tell my dad he’s an asshole, and it’d be a cold day in hell before I came home.” He crumpled to his knees, crying.

Without hesitation, I dropped down beside him and hugged him tight. I stroked his hair like my mom had done for me so many times—like his mom would’ve done for him if she was here. Jimbo curled up around our legs, whimpering.

“I’m not gonna tell you things are going to be okay,” I said. “Because sometimes things suck. But you will get through this. I promise.”

He pulled me closer, nestling against me. “I hurt so bad. It’s like I can’t breathe.”

My fingers ran through his silky hair, and I rocked back and forth with him in my arms. We sat together, the three of us, on the floor for a long time. Sometimes, I sang soft lullabies in his ear, other times, I just told him it was okay to cry. To grieve. Beyond that, I felt pretty helpless. Because I knew there was no way I could make this better.

After his tears had subsided, he released me. “Thanks for listening. Sorry about your shirt.” He pointed to the wet spot on my shoulder, where he’d been crying.

“It’s fine. And I’m glad I was here for you. If you need anything, you know, a shoulder or just want to kick a soccer ball around or something, I’ll be around.”

His fingers closed around mine as he helped me to my feet. “I will. And thanks again for taking Jimbo.”

“No problem.”

Jimbo and I went back to my house and I let him inside. Mom glanced up when she saw us.

“What’s going on?”

“Mrs. Foster passed away. I offered to take the dog for the week.”

Mom gasped as her eyes welled. “It was nice of you to do that. I should probably stop over and see if there’s anything they need.”

I nodded then set Jimbo’s dishes in the kitchen. Once I finished, I led him up to my room. “You better leave my underwear and teddy bears alone.”

He glanced at me as if he understood. With a sigh, I climbed back into bed. Jimbo curled up next to me and I hugged him tight. Life was so messed up. But I realized there were far worse things than not having a date for prom.

Chapter 33