Ava wanted to laugh—she couldn't. Alfred may think she thinks he's stupid.
She wished she could cry, but that too would be a bad idea, cos Alfred would think they were tears of joy. Far from it, that name brought memories her heart could not just delete. The man whose presence confused Dr Phyl.
I'm sure he could even make him say vegetables are bad for children
Ava's mind couldn't resist cooking up sarcasm to validate her dislike for this man.
Anyway, that wasn't her problem now.
Today. Today, was for Alfred. Nothing should steal his spot light. All she had planned to do must be done. Ava put her camera down, crossed the room briskly to where the music played, and slightly increased the volume just enough to make Alfred smile.
She gave a soft laugh. "I can't remember ever feeling so happy Munchkin," she mused, spreading her hands towards Alfred.
"Would you like to dance with me. Just the two of us. We can stop when you get tired?"
While Alfred squealed ,his eyes awakening with joy and laughter, Ava prayed her heart could be still for a moment. She was thankful it was a slow music cos she wanted to think about what Alfred's last wish meant without ruining his day.
It's been three years since she last heard that name—Marcus Thompson. Alfred had asked her where he was, few hours, after he had awoken from a seizure, on the night they left Dr Phyl's hospital. Her mind had been too cluttered with rant, rage ,revenge, —and riches too, that having a conversation with him about it, was the least of her worries then.
She had ranted.
Then raged.
Had riches now—not wealth yet!
But she was yet to revenge and that time was close.
Alfred was eight when they left.
Leaving Dr Phyl's hospital was all she wanted to do that night. She didn't have a penny then, but she had courage, the kind that frightened her afterwards. Proving it to Dr Phyl—that serpent cladded in a dr's ward coat, and his arrogant patient, Mr Marcus, the one whose face looked like an Egyptian Myth Mommy, was one proud thing she did.
Her son was no less important than Marcus Thompson, but Dr Phyl had made it look the opposite. She had said things to him that no one had ever dared to, and left his hospital to his utter astonishment.
She remembered Stacy sobbing, the nurse whose kindness was strange, yet timely and very thoughtful. She had done all she could to stop her from leaving, still,she knew Alfred needed better medical attention.
"Where will you go from here Ava?, if the seizures came back, he might die without proper medical care, since you don't have a health insurance yet. How...?"
"Staaaacy, Ava had hushed her gently , I'll find a way."
And she did.
Few months later, she found a job as a private chef in a rising tech company in Baltimore, Foddstar! Soon, she got promoted to Head Chef. Life became bearable after that. They could now afford what they never could in a long long time.
Life on this side of her world, became so so good.
*********************************************************
Ava looked down.
Alfred still had his arms wrapped tightly around her. If anything was a lie in the world where she lived, a miracle like this, was definitely not one of them.
"Dear God, if there's a time to listen to me, inspite of what l have done in my life,it's now. Please keep Alfred alive, without seizures, till l am able to afford his surgery."
She had prayed for the first time in a long while, before leaving the hospital that night.
Simple words. Nothing extra, but it had worked like magic.
No, like miracle.
It's been a miracle.
And since then, her yoke was easy, and her burden, light.
Her life was good.
She listened to Alfred hum to the closing lyrics of the music...
🎼🎵🎶Daaaaance with my faaaaather again🎼🎙🎵🎶
The music had ended and her heart throbbed in joy. Fifteen minutes spent with her little one, was gold and very priceless. A blessing she would never ever trade for anything in the world. She stooped to hoist Alfred over her shoulder. He felt firm and light, but still weighed right for his age.
"Why did you choose this song?" Ava asked, lifting his chin to meet hers.
"It's hard to explain mommy."
"Try." Ava pleaded, wishing she could see right through his heart.
"Then we need to sit Mom, you still carry me like l am a newborn, and l know your legs ache."
Ava laughed.
Her son's empathy was admirable. He only needed to read her feelings by just a look at her. Sometimes, it was a hug he shared. Other times, she would see letters in very familiar places around the house, including her work bag. The letters would read, "Just because l have a heart like yours, l love you Mother" or "You need to rest Mother. I won't die."
"Alfred". Ava muttered.
The name sounded like good music to her ears.
She took a seat. Her legs ached, but relief swept through her tighs as she relaxed her back against her brown leather sofa. She steadied her gaze on her son, eager to listen to what he had to say.
Alfred eyes locked in hers, unafraid and eager to tell his mom, what things ,he had stored up in his heart to share...,
Very slowly, he began...,
"Mother, l invited Mr Marcus for my birthday, and he'll be here soon."