The black X’s Bitzy made on the DQ’s wall calendar added up fast, marking the days since Beau had left town, and her. The days had been like listening to a water drip she couldn’t fix. She’d leave work and head to Wesley every day, and that old trampoline they’d spent many an hour tearing apart.
“It ain’t gonna work.”
Wesley lay under the black jumping part of his old trampoline, reading Einstein’s Relativity: The Special and General Theory, watching the imprint of Bitzy’s feet with each of her falls.
“How about a three-wheeler?” she wheezed, winded from jumping. “I could throw it and cause an accident.”
“Brain damage! You’ll be a retard with a baby is what you’ll get.” Wesley stated the facts, while thumbing another of Einstein’s pages in his constant pursuit of scientific observations. There could be nothing wishy-washy or sentimental in his world—if science couldn’t prove it, then it did not exist.
By the fourth of July, two of the heavy-duty trampoline springs had rusted through, making jumping difficult, if not downright dangerous.
“You give up yet?” Wesley called from the porch swing, since reading in the shade of the trampoline had become a decidedly risky place to lounge.
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