The Ties That Bind Us: (The Ties Duet Part One) by Danda K. (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📕

Still, it’s as if I’m actually hearing them for the first time ever.

Seven

Jaxon

“Everyone, find your walking buddy! Stay in a straight line, please, and do not wander off!” the camp counselor shouts as she moves out of the way so a family can pass her.

“Chaperones, please find your group and make sure they stick together! It gets packed by the greenhouses at this time of day so stay alert, and let’s have a great time.” With her hands cupped to her mouth to throw her voice above all the noise of tourists, loud kids, and crying babies, she continues, “This will be the last exhibit before we head back to camp to finish up our day!”

Her voice is giving me more of a headache than the screaming toddler next to me.

I’m pitching in to help Sayeed with Samir, or Sam, which is what the little monster prefers to be called.

Sayeed has been a widower since his seven-year-old took his first breath. His wife died during childbirth, and although I’m sure an experience as traumatic as losing your wife would send most into a tailspin, it seems as though it humbled Sayeed.

Since living in his house, we’ve grown incredibly close. I consider him and Sam family. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to help make his life a bit easier like he’s made mine.

So, when Sayeed calls and explains he’s stuck at work due to a broken fridge, then asks if I can chaperone his son’s field trip, I don’t hesitate. Early this morning, he called me explaining the broken refrigerator crisis at the store and how he’s forced to go in to be there for the technicians when they arrive.

Little man wasn’t complaining. We enjoy each other’s company, and he likes having an adult around who lets him get away with slightly more than his dad does.

Plus, I like being the cool neighbor.

The tropical greenhouse is beautiful to look at, even if it is extremely humid. The mist is falling everywhere, soaking my already damp forehead. There are rows and rows of large green leaves from bushes and small trees hugging each other over our heads as we walk, making a tunnel of sorts. Bright pink and yellow flowers mark the bushes adding some contrast to the greenery.

Kids are climbing over the railings to get a closer look at what looks like a Venus flytrap.

“Kids, please! No climbing on the railings! And stay in the area marked for visitors!” the counselor shouts again.

I roll my eyes. Does she really think fifteen kids under the age of ten aren’t going to use this place as their very own jungle gym?

I lean over and put my hand on Sam’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Get our group of little impractical jokesters to stay off the railings and make it through this sauna without her reprimanding any of you, and I’ll buy you the extra-large cone in Carvel this weekend.”

I’m not ashamed to resort to bribery.

He twists his neck to look up at me. “Make that one extra-large cone and at least two tries at the claw machine, and you got a deal.”

Damn it, smart kid.

“Done. And just so you know, I would’ve done anything to not have to listen to her whiney voice yell another time. You totally under bargained.” I tousle his hair, stand up straight, and give him a few easy slaps on the back.

We continue to walk through the aisles of greenery, and I see Sam conspiring with his friends to keep them in line. Before I know it, we’re at the end of the tour, about to return to the concrete jungle.

The doors fly open, and kids scatter to the tables not far from the exit. The counselor starts her headcount and instructs the kids to get their belongings together before heading back to the bus.

Sam looks up at me with one of his tan hands covering his eyes to block the sun. “Thanks for coming to hang out with me, Jax. My dad thinks I’m gonna be mad at him about this, but I’m not.”

“Why would he think that?” I ask him, confused. “It’s not like he does this often. Things happen. You know that, right, buddy?”

With a wry smile, he shrugs. “I know, but there’s this new Kingdom Hearts game coming out on the Xbox in a month, and I really, really want it. I figured guilt would be the quickest way to raise my chances.”

Kids, man, they’re the most conniving creatures to walk this planet. I should be concerned, but I’m actually impressed. “Yeah, Uh, no. You’re not going to guilt your dad into buying you that damn game.” I pull him into me and mess up his hair. “You’re a good kid; you deserve it. Keep being you and doing the right thing.”

He looks down, so I crouch down in front of him and rest my arm on a knee. “I’m sure your dad will get it for you eventually, buddy. Maybe for your birthday in October.” He seems more hopeful now, so I continue, “Now make sure you go home and let him know you understand that he couldn’t be here and he’s still the best dad on the entire planet yadda yadda...” I finish this statement with a wave of my hands.

Everyone knows you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar. And adults respond way better to compliments than guilt. That’s a fact.

We’re walking past a little brook on our way back to the bus when I spot a familiar head of hair. I have to stop and do a double-take because that can’t be her. I’m not entirely convinced because her back is to me, but I can spot that hair anywhere, anytime.

All I could think about this whole week was how it felt when she jumped on me and her hair brushed against my face. The smell of her coconut