Aaron
I wake up the next morning to the sound of humming. Whoever it is has a scratchy voice and a poor sense of timing. I open my eyes and look up into Mr. Jacobson’s face as he stares down at me. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says.
I look to my left and right and find that the other sides of the air mattress are empty, as are the other two mattresses. “Where is everybody?” I ask.
“They went fishing.” He reaches over his head and unhooks a strand of lights that was attached to the blanket fort, and then starts rolling it up around his arm.
I wipe the drool from my chin with the heel of my hand and stare down at it. “Jake didn’t draw a dick on my forehead again, did he?” He did that once when we were twelve. I wore that thing like a badge of honor for two days because my mom couldn’t wash it off.
“No. This time, he gave you titties.” He points to his forehead and shakes his head, laughter shaking his shoulders.
I roll to my feet and rush to the mirror on the wall, already scrubbing my saliva-slicked fingertips across my forehead.
“Gotcha,” Mr. Jacobson sings out. His chuckles get louder.
Motherfucker…
I suddenly remember Miles. “Who has Miles?” Oh, God…I slept through my kid waking up. “You were with him the last time I saw him.” I look around like I’m going to find him stuffed into one of the couch cushions. He’s not there.
“He’s with Eli,” the old man says.
I look down at my watch. It’s almost nine in the morning. I never sleep this late. “Why didn’t anybody wake me up?”
“You needed your rest.” He glares at me. “Last time I checked, you didn’t have a big red S on your chest and you didn’t change clothes in a phone booth so you can save the world. And last time I checked, kryptonite wasn’t the only thing that could take you out. You have cancer. Exhaustion is a poor bedfellow, my friend.”
“But my kids—”
“Your kids are happy and well taken care of. Isn’t that why you came here?”
“Among other things,” I grumble.
Katie breezes into the room carrying a load of laundry in a basket.
“Have you seen my kids?” I ask her.
She freezes. “I saw them when I fed them breakfast, and then Gabby took them to your house to get dressed.”
“How did I sleep through all this?” I ask more to myself than to them. I never neglect my kids. Ever since Lynda died, I’ve been the one who takes care of them. The only one.
“You were tired, Aaron,” Katie says slowly and succinctly. “It’s not going to do them any harm if someone else feeds them breakfast.”
“They looked pretty happy to me,” Mr. Jacobson says. “They played the quiet game, you know, to see who could be the quietest while they had breakfast.”
“Next time, just wake me up, will you?” I know I sound sour, but I don’t like feeling like I’m failing at parenting.
“Sure thing,” Mr. Jacobson says, his voice clipped.
I scrub at my forehead again, even though I know it’s clean. “Did Miles sleep all night?”
“Nope.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were asleep.”
I gasp. “You still should have called me.”
Katie’s eyes harden. It’s almost imperceptible, but I see it, and I feel like an idiot. “Okay, Aaron. Next time we’ll call you. We’ll wake you. You can take care of your own kids. Even though you just had a grueling chemo treatment, and even though you were exhausted, and even though you needed your rest. Sure thing, we’ll wake you up.” She lets the laundry basket she was holding drop heavily onto the end table and then she walks out of the room.
“You just fucked that up.” Mr. Jacobson starts to hum the same tune he was humming when I woke up.
I sink down onto the couch and drop my face into my hands. “I didn’t mean to sleep late.”
“It’s really not that late. The kids didn’t get up until a half hour ago.”
“Really?” Kerry-Anne is usually up at the crack of dawn.
“Yep.” He goes back to humming.
“Okay.” I face Mr. Jacobson. “So, they’re fishing?”
“Last time I saw them,” he says tersely.
“Miles woke up during the night? Did you give him a bottle?”
“Eli came over and took care of him.”
He did? I feel like I’ve woken up in some alternate universe.
“I walked over and woke him up. The little fella didn’t even cry. He just woke up and started babbling.” He stares at me. “He’s a cute kid. Happier than any baby I ever met.”
“He is a happy baby.” And it’s no fault of mine. Lynda insisted on letting him soothe himself, rather than holding him while he slept. I would hold him all the time if I could. But Lynda was adamant. “That’s Lynda’s doing.”
“Smart woman.” He reaches up to unhook another strand of lights. “You going to help me or sit there and watch me work?”
I jump up and take the strand of lights from him. And then we work together to put the room back to rights. When we’re done, I say to him, “Thanks for watching Miles last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’d better go talk to Katie.”
He shakes his head. “You might want to give it a few minutes. That one, when she’s fired up, is a force to be reckoned with.” He chuckles. “Wouldn’t want you to be emasculated so early in the day.”
From the other room, I hear the kitchen door open and the whisper of small voices. I walk into the kitchen to find Kerry-Anne and Trixie standing in the kitchen, both dripping water all over the floor. The dog bounds in the door behind them, shakes, and water goes flying everywhere. “We fell in the lake,” Kerry-Anne says, and then they both erupt into giggles.
Of course they did. Katie walks into the room and freezes. She spins both girls by their shoulders with her hands, and she walks them toward the hallway. At the last minute, she grabs a towel, throws it at me, and says, “Make yourself useful.”
I clean up all the water, dry the wet footprints, and even dry the dog, who just sits there and lets me rub him all over. His big tongue slurps up the side of my face when I’m done.
“Well, thank you,” I mutter. “I like you too.” I scratch the top of his head and he leans into my hip.
The back door opens and Sam walks into the room, followed by Eli who has Miles in a carrier on his chest. Miles is facing me, his arms and legs flailing around as he grins at me. “Good morning, sunshine,” Eli says. “Did you sleep well?” He grins at me, too.
I narrow my eyes and stare back at him. I rub at my forehead again, even though, deep down, I know it’s bare. And that’s when I see it: the two circles drawn on the back of my hand with black nipples scribbled in the middle. Fuck me. They did get me. I can’t help but grin.
“Titties,” Mr. Jacobson says close to my ear so that the kids can’t hear. “You just assumed they were on your forehead.” He chuckles loudly.
“Daddy, can we keep it?” Sam asks.