Page 2 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Where was I, oh…” He nodded. “Oh, okay, on with today’s life lesson. So, outside of your grandmother…” He paused, but his breathing sounded wobbly, like when Noah stayed under the waterfall too long. “God rest her soul, your mom was my favorite person in the whole world. Then she grew up, married your dad, and they had—”

“Me,” Noah squealed in delight. He squeezed PawPaw’s solid middle, stretching his six-year-old arms long as happiness zinged and sizzled like the Fourth of July through his whole body.

“Yes, she did,” his grandfather said, placing a kiss on his forehead. “PawPaw loves you whether you fetch my slippers or not. I have enough love for you… your brothers, your father, and your mom. And—”

“I know you’re my biggest fan, PawPaw. That’s why I got to you first. I beat them downstairs to get the most hugs ’cause I really love you. And I’m going to be the best, most brave fireman like you when I grow up.” He beamed, releasing his grandfather’s center.

“Speaking of most,” came his father’s voice.

Noah looked over his shoulder. Both his parents strode down the stairs into the front parlor, hand in hand, his mothergiggling. They did that a lot when they were together—holding hands and laughing when no one had a funny joke. Noah had asked his dad why they always smiled. He’d said, “Happy wife, happy life.” One day, Noah would win himself a happy wife who’d giggle in his face and hold his hand to help him down the stairs.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” his mama shouted, her green eyes sparkling, before scooping him up from PawPaw’s lap. Her hair, loose waves of flowing chocolate, smelled sweet, like cupcakes, but different. “Dad, where’s your oxygen tank?”

Noah had forgotten about PawPaw’s green machine, as he called the long cylinder on two wheels with a cool curved handle.

“I feel good, Leah. Stop fussing at your daddy.” PawPaw winked at Noah’s mother, and Noah laughed. All talk of green machines and feeling good vanished from his mind.

“Good morning, Philip,” his father said in greeting to his grandfather.

He was the only one in the house who used PawPaw’s first name.

Noah dropped a big kiss on his mama’s cheek. It made asmacksound, and she laughed.

“Thank you for the birthday hug, Mama.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, baby boy.” She pressed his head to her shoulder, the way he liked. “You give the best hugs and kisses to your mama.”

“Really?” Noah lit up with excitement at the prospect of his excellence. “The best?”

“You sure do. Now, off you go. Do well at football today. PawPaw and I will have your cake and ice cream ready when you get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, as she eased his feet to the floor. “PawPaw, you sure you can’t come to cheer me on today?”

“C’mon, star player. PawPaw made the long trip. The sooner I drop you off, the soonerthe famcan decorate for your party.” Noah’s father, Levi, gestured to the front porch. His blue eyes, long legs, and big boots pointed in the direction Noah would soon follow. Petey and the guys needed him to win, ’cause he was better than all of them.

“Bye, Mama. Bye, PawPaw. I’m going to win for my birthday. And everyone will cheer—”

“Noah,” his mother sighed. “Remember we talked about teamwork. You can share the load.”

“I know,” he muttered. “But—” He didn’t say anything else about winning.

“It’s your birthday, Noah. Just have fun with your friends, for your PawPaw, okay?”

“Okay.” He shrugged his small shoulders.

“And remember what PawPaw taught you.”

Noah had done one better than remember. He’d asked Tobias to help him spell anything with four or more letters, and then he’d memorized every word. “Always be a gentleman. And treat the girls, treat ’em like a lady. Don’t tease, touch, pinch, or pull.”

“That’s right, little rabbit. Hands to yourself, and they’ll remember you.”

“Good, ’cause I want to be remembered.”

“Go have fun at your game, my fast little rabbit.”

Four hours later, Noah returned home in tears over the game loss. The scent of warm chocolate sweetened the air. Though not in the mood for cake, he needed one of PawPaw’s hugs. Noah looked for him in the worn leather recliner. He wasn’t there. Instead, there were strangers in dark uniforms crowded around the back doors of a big truck with metal and glass cabinets for walls—inside them tiny bottles in neat rows. Whirling red lights and a shrill siren hurt his ears—anambulance. And his mama, she was sad, ’cause tears were all over her face.

“Where’s PawPaw?” Noah demanded, through stubborn tears of his own, too plentiful to stop. His brothers tried to pull him away, pleading with him to calm down, but he refused. He needed his PawPaw’s arms to hold him.