I told myself he was simply tired.
That he would be back tomorrow.
I was wrong.
The following morning, Wade didn't come.
At first, I wasn't worried.
He had been exhausted the previous day, and I assumed he needed rest. The hospital had his contact information through the volunteer program, and I knew he sometimes had responsibilities at his repair shop.
Eli, however, noticed immediately.
At nine-fifty, he asked for the blue car.
I placed it beside him.
At ten o'clock, he looked toward the door.
At ten-fifteen, he asked whether the elevator was broken.
I smiled.
"No, sweetheart."
"Then where's Wade?"
I glanced at the clock.
"Maybe he's running late."
My son frowned.
"He doesn't run late."
I couldn't argue.
Wade was one of the most dependable people I had ever met.
I distracted Eli with a cartoon.
He watched for several minutes.
Then he looked toward the doorway again.
"Maybe his motorcycle broke."
I stroked his head.
"Maybe."
Eli considered that.
"Somebody should fix it."
I smiled sadly.
"Somebody should."
At lunchtime, I asked the volunteer coordinator whether Wade had called.
She checked the schedule.
"He isn't coming today."
"Is he sick?"
She hesitated.
"I don't have any details I can share. But he's safe as far as we know."
I nodded.
"Okay."
I returned to Eli's room.
He was holding the blue car.
"Did Wade call?"
I sat beside him.
"Not today, baby."
His face fell.
"Tomorrow?"
I wanted to say yes.
Instead, I kissed his forehead.
"I hope so."
Wade didn't come the next day either.
By then, Eli had begun to understand that something was wrong.
He didn't throw a tantrum.
He didn't become angry.
He simply grew quiet.
At ten o'clock, he positioned the blue car at the starting line.
Then he placed the green truck beside it.
And he waited.
I watched him from the chair beside the bed.
After several minutes, he looked up.
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Did Wade stop liking me?"
The question hit me so hard that I couldn't answer immediately.
I moved closer.
"Oh, baby. No."
He looked down.
"Then why isn't he here?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know."
His eyes filled.
"Was I bad?"
I wrapped my arms around him as gently as I could.
"No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong."
He pressed his face against my shoulder.
"Maybe I cheated too much."
I closed my eyes.
The thought that a five-year-old fighting leukemia might believe he had driven away someone he loved because of an imaginary race was unbearable.
I held him.