Matrimony Homies

21: Gone (Loren)

When my alarm sounds, I rub my eyes following the best night's sleep I've had in ages – or at least since the night Gemma informed us we would be planning her wedding. Something about spending the evening with Harry has calmed me. There's a growing level of comfort between us, and it means more than I ever suspected or expected.

You don't know what you've got until it's gone.

I catch him leaving his mum's house, a stick thrown over his shoulder with a bandana package tied onto its end as though he's in some cartoon from the 1960s. He carefully and quietly pulls the door shut behind him, and turns to tiptoe away when he spots me. Every muscle in his body freezes – or at least that's how it looks.

"What are you doing, Dork?"

He puffs his chest up. "Running away." Lowering his voice, he pleads with me. "Don't tell though, Lor. Cause then I won't get very far."

"Hmmm," I plant my hand on my hip and stare down at the 8-year-old. "Where do you plan to live?"

"I'm gonna get a job."

His pride and confidence make me want to smile, but I fight it off. He would see it as an insult for sure. Reassuringly, I nod once. "That's good. You'll need one with the way you go through clothes."

Peeking over his shoulder, he rushes in the direction of the road, hiding behind the bushes there as he beckons to me. "I'll miss you, Lor." His tone is soft and gentle, and my heart melts at this child who means so much to me.

"I'll miss you too," I tell him, keeping my tongue firmly in my cheek. I give him three hours tops. He'll likely be home for lunch. "What did you pack?"

"A sandwich," he grins. "And some grapes. Gotta be healthy."

"Excellent plan. What about clothes?"

Shrugging, he announces. "I'll buy them with the money from my job."

"Ah, yes," is my knowing answer. "Are you heading to London?"

"Nah. Probably Manchester. It's closer."

Gotta hand it to him. He's right. "Cool. Maybe I'll run into you there someday." With those words, I wave goodbye to him and return to his mum's house, knocking on the door.

Anne opens it as I'm looking behind me to see if I can spot in which direction Harry heads so I can find him later. Of course, I know all of his hiding spots.

"Loren! It's nice to see you," Anne hugs me. "Come on in. I think Gemma is still asleep, but Harry should be around somewhere."

"Nah. He's running away."

"What?" She places her hand on her chest, looking at me before walking to the door and opening it, peering around. "What makes you think that?"

"Eh. He told me he was. Don't worry, Anne. He'll be back home around lunchtime. He won't go far."

"You're probably right. You don't think he would hitchhike or anything, do you?"

Biting her lip, she appears worried, so I say what I can to calm her as though my 12-year-old self has any idea what adulting is like. Except, of course, I do, having parented myself for years at this point. "Why don't you call around to some people we know and ask them to keep an eye on him?"

"You don't think we should go get him?"

"Nah. He'll be back." Naturally, I speak from experience as I've run away multiple times. One of these times, I'll actually stay away forever.