Searching Lucas

40 days to find Lucas a new home.

Days after Blinky's untimely passing, a series of miracles rose from the ashes of disaster: my migraines reduced to slight pulses. The tumor still lingered, but not jabbing tissue constantly with a red hot poke iron. I took Lucas to a little ice cream shop around the corner. Louise tagged along. She made Lucas smile with stories about her grandfather and the candy shop he owned and the time they almost got lost while hiking. We ate our sundaes and laughed at ourselves. Sometimes a tear would slip from me. It was heartwarming to finally keep the end of my promise that I would one day take Lucas out for ice cream.

Of course, with each moment that happens, there is always a load of BS to counteract the goodness in life. Richard has been giving everyone hell, cursing the kitchen squad for their lack of performance, not considering that one of their cooks took a sick week. It was Josh who got the receiving end of Richard's tirade. His face was red as a beet. Embarrassed and taunted by Richard's provoking words—even the bar patrons could hear the shouting match—it was almost tempting for Josh to throw the apron and walk out. But Josh stayed resilient. He was smart enough to know that Richard feeds on your insecurity and lack of willpower. For Richard, he saw us as nothing but property—someone he could fire in a heartbeat. Easily replaceable.

Things were not going smoothly back at Sylvia's apartment either. The woman finally showed her true colors. It could have been envy or jealousy, but every time I picked Lucas from his summer classes and back to the complex, there was always disdain in Sylvia's eyes as though I was some pestilent soiling the white carpet flooding her middle-class furniture and sultry clothes. I never asked Lucas, as I didn't want to upset him. Dealing with Richard was already draining as it is. The last thing I needed was Sylvia screaming at me, telling me that she could care for Lucas better than I.

I've been having my head stuck inside the phonebook pages, searching for a lost relative from Terrance. Terrance's brother visited a couple of times back in the old house. He saw Lucas on special occasions: on his first birthday, sometimes Thanksgiving, and during the holidays. When Mom and Terrance died, I stopped hearing from Terrance's brother. He lived in Florida with his wife and two teenage girls. According to Mom, they weren't very fond of Terrance ever since he married her. No address. No phone number. The sole reminder of their existence lay in a photo from when Lucas was three years old. Terrance and his family circled Lucas with confetti, helium balloons, glitter, banners, and a birthday cake. The photo was gone, but I still remembered the faces.

But each phone book provided nothing. In Florida alone—for the name Williams, the pages exceeded three.

And then I remembered something else that Mom said to me about a dentist in Tampa. A name resounded, the consultant. Dr. Williams. And then a forgotten memory resurfaced from the abyss of my mind: Terrance had a dentist for a brother.

The next day I quickly found the number and dialed it from my apartment landline. It took two rings.

"Tampa Dentistry, how can we help you?"

"Yes, hi. Is Dr. Williams there?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Um, no. But I must talk to him."

"Ma'am, this phone is for schedules only. If you wish to speak about personal matters to him, call him on his private line. Have a good day, ma'am."

"It's about his nephew, Lucas Williams!"

I waited, holding my breath. She didn't hang up.

"Who are you?" The woman asked defensively.

"Jessica," I said. "Terrance Williams's daughter." Silence. A distant phone rang, and someone chattered in the background. I was worried she'd cut the call abruptly. "Hello?"

"Look, Jessica. The truth is, Dr. Williams. I mean, Joe. He doesn't work in this consultant anymore."

"But his number is on the phone books."

"The doctor left years ago. It's probably outdated or something. I'm sorry, but I can't help you no more."

And then she hung up, leaving me with the tone dial on the receiver as my only reply.