Roscoe turned slowly.
His mother was sitting right behind him.
The blanket had slipped down one side of her knees.
Her hands were resting on the wheels of her chair.
She looked at her son.
Then she looked at Jasmine.
Nobody spoke.
I watched Roscoe's face change.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked uncomfortable.
"Ma?"
His mother didn't answer immediately.
She looked at the woman holding his arm.
Then she looked at the boys.
The oldest was still holding the pizza box.
The youngest had moved closer to my side.
Roscoe took a step toward her.
"What are you doing out here?"
She looked at him quietly.
"I came to see you."
Her voice was steady.
It wasn't loud.
That somehow made it worse.
He glanced toward the restaurant.
"You should have stayed inside."
His mother looked down at the blanket.
"I was waiting for you."
I felt my throat tighten.
She had been waiting with her coffee.
She had been excited enough to insist on coming along.
And now she was sitting in the cold, looking at her son as if she had never seen him before.
Roscoe rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ma, this isn't a good time."
She looked at him.
"I noticed."
Jasmine let go of his arm.
It was a small movement.
But I saw it.
Roscoe turned toward her.
Then back toward his mother.
He seemed to be searching for something to say.
His mother didn't help him.
She simply watched him.
The boys remained quiet.
I wanted to take them somewhere else.
I wanted them to remember this afternoon differently.
But there was no way to make the last few minutes disappear.
His mother finally spoke again.
"Those boys made you something."
She nodded toward the cardboard sign.
Roscoe looked at it.
The oldest grandson held it a little higher.
"Grandpa, we made it for you."
His voice was small.
Roscoe stared at him.
For a moment, I thought he might say something kind.
Instead, he looked toward me.
"Lib, we need to talk."
I nodded.
"We do."
His mother turned her chair slightly.
"Not here."
Roscoe looked at her.
She continued.
"Not with those children standing in the cold."
There was no confusion in her voice.
She was still his mother.
And even sitting in that wheelchair, she sounded like somebody who expected to be listened to.
I went over and adjusted her blanket.
"Are you all right?"
She squeezed my fingers.
"I'm fine, Libby-girl."
Her eyes stayed on Roscoe.
I knew she wasn't fine.
Neither was I.
But I understood why she didn't want to show it in front of the boys.
Roscoe looked toward Jasmine.
Jasmine looked away.
The two of them seemed suddenly unsure of where to stand.
I took a breath.
"Let's get everybody inside."
The boys followed me.
The oldest still carried the sign.
I walked beside his grandmother's wheelchair.
Roscoe stayed where he was for a moment.
Then I heard his footsteps behind us.
I didn't turn around.
I had spent forty years making sure he never felt left behind.
That afternoon, I wasn't going to chase him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Coffee Had Gone Cold, the Boys Had Stopped Asking Questions, and Roscoe Finally Had to Face His Mother
Forty Years of Goodbyes, Packed Coolers, and Promises I Never Thought I Would Have to Question
Part 5 of 20
